Spotting their small advert in the free paper, The Dyfi Diary, I arrived at the Centre one Tuesday 18 months ago. I wanted to do something, I wanted to sing. I was welcomed, introduced, smiled at and asked 'where' I sang! I tentatively replied “With the children?”
From that tentative beginning I have learnt to sing. The ability to hold a tune had probably always been there, but I have learnt breath control, the importance of the rhythm, of listening, the need of the smile to keep the song 'light'. I have met people who I would possibly never have met, and do not see except when we come together to sing. I have been embraced by shared music.
When I left Wales to begin this adventure, I though that would be an end to my singing. My Pape sings for a living in the local Hotels and Restaurants and I was sure we would sing the odd song around the house together, but the feeling of warmth, the feeling of belonging, the joy of mutual appreciation, the buzz of creating something beautiful, was a thing of the past.
You can imagine my surprise then when, the first week of my arrival, after singing along in the kitchen with Pape as he practised, he announced, “You have a lovely voice, come and sing into the mic.”
Five days later I was sitting beside him in Le Sud, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as I joined him in the four choruses that he had taught me, plus Bobby McGee and Blowing in the Wind, two songs I know by heart.
The crowd was small, my brown dress helped me fade into the back ground but when I opened my mouth to sing, people looked at me. They smiled, they tapped their toes, they clapped their hands when I finished, they enveloped me with their appreciation, embraced me with their attention, they invited me into their tiny individual groups of two or four for just a moment or two. I had found that wonderful feeling again.
For the past week I have sung upstairs every morning, every evening, learning new choruses, new songs. Pape has helped me think about the way I reflect the songs, we have analysed the words, unravelled a meaning, listened to the story, moulded our interpretation into a style unique to that song.
Last night I dressed not in a quiet brown dress. Last night I dressed in Black. A striking long black dress that I wore for years behind the bar in the Penrhos Arms Hotel. A dress that is not only striking, but elegant, functional, comfortable. I sat beside my father relaxed with the microphone in my hand, I sang the sound checks alone as people wandered in, unembarrassed.
When we began our evening performance, creating what we hoped was an ambience conducive to relaxation and eating, I sang happily, smiling, and enjoying every moment. The audience was larger, they clapped with enthusiasm, they taped their toes and sang the words they knew. Song after song was sung. All the ones we had practised together, the five songs I had learnt alone. When the songs I knew ran out, we sang songs I sort of knew, laughing as I lip read the words from Papes face.
The crowd smiled too enjoying our 'fun'.
When it was all over people chatted to us, we wandered over to the tables to join in conversations, we joined the small groups that we knew nothing about, that we would probably never see again. For a short time we shared a moment.
They had listened and enjoyed but most of all they had welcomed and encouraged us while we joined them for just a few hours, to sing.
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