Singing for Chernobyl

So a strange thing happened to me at my choir's rehearsal yesterday. We were preparing to perform at a concert for Children in Chernobyl and signing a wonderful song from Hawaii called E Malama and when we got to the words 'Hold this land in sacredness' I just had to weep. I sat down and buried my face in my hands. People were great and I was naturally embarassed and lost my usual English sense of reseve. Maybe it was the inner Wlshman coming out. This helped cope with the concert especially hearing the heartrending thngs that happened to all especially the children. Here's my my formal piece:

Hold this land in sacredness

I am not sure how much you can change the world for the better by singing; but certainly we know that choirs can improve the health of their members and probably their audiences too. And a choir can lend it support to people and causes that make a difference. That was so with the Manchester Community Choir’s concert yesterday in support of the Chernobyl Children’s project. It has been 30 years since the nuclear power station disaster at Chernobyl and it was heartrending to hear of the suffering that still continues to this day but also uplifting to hear what help was being offered especially to the children still affected by nuclear radiation. Our choice of songs reflected this situation. We sang Durme a poignant Judaeo Spanish lullaby from Sarajevo and E Malama a Hawaiian song that includes the line ‘Hold this land in sacredness’. Besides our choir there were some lovely uplifting songs from Linda Harvey, Russian music from the Manchester Balalaika Youth Orchestra, and some moving words written by people affected by the disaster read out by Artists for Peace. It is not too late to support the project more details from














Chernobyl Children's Project - Supporting the Children of Belarus

Welcome to the Chernobyl Children's Project (UK) homepage. CCP (UK) supports families in Belarus that have been effected by the Chernobyl disaster.



chernobyl-children.org.uk

Poem

Lying in the bed

In pain

I hear the birds sing

With all my gratitude - poem

With all my gratitude

I am feeling spoilt
In this moment
So much given to me
I don’t deserve it

But that is not it
I am deeply thankful
And a little scared
To whom so much is given
So much is asked

But you have given me
The joy of this sunrise
The gift of this food
The grace of this company

And still I fear what is asked of me
But
I can do what I can do
Walk the next steps
On this journey of life
Greet fellow pilgrims
Share in their pain and pleasure
And offer of myself unto them
As necessary

I can’t deny my gifts
Limited as they seem
But if I can render unto you
I will

Give me a place to stand
And people I can be of use to
And I will plant seeds
Whether they grow I cannot tell
And that is not my task

May rain fall and sun shine
And these words blossom
In all that seems true
With all my gratitude.

Musings

When I was a young man I remember thinking, ‘If I can’t be happy in love then at least let me be famous.’ Later as a therapist people sometimes treated me as special on account of how transformative therapy can sometimes be. But in more recent years it is so clear to me how ordinary I am and that I am/was pretty good at my job but that’s it. Now that I am winding down out of the academic world after 20 years I can’t believe how quickly that time went and how over it now feels despite my remaining one day a week temporary contract! Today the ordinary me is noticing the birds and nature more, feeling humility at my GPs surgery this morning – what’s my shoulder problem compared with some of the poor ones waiting in line with me? And so thankful for how well I am just now. Then a bit of shopping at the local bookshop, some philosophical banter with the shop assistant in Boots, a ‘Hello’ to our old postman and to my daughter’s primary school best friend and her dad. Simple things part of a simpler life but still oh so precious. I want to savour the time I have left and today I am truly thankful.

Raise the rafters!

Raise the rafters!

There was a real poignancy about the choir singing at St Werbergh’s Church in Chorlton at a fund raiser for Freedom from Torture North West last Thursday 3rd December. This was a merely 24 hours after the vote in parliament on bombing Syria. And it being the festive season so man of our songs sang of peace - Come the time we lay down all our arms/There will be freedom, oh glory! There’ll be peace across the land. Nevertheless we were in good voice and ‘raised the roof’ or at least the rafters as one of our songs suggested! I liked how we sang with controlled passion inspired by our conductor Liz. When each song ended there was a palpable silence with just the hint of an echo from the high ceiling of the church. So maybe we did raise the rafters after all!

Resurrection in Wythenshawe

Resurrection in Wythenshawe

Like fresh air in a sick room
A visiting angel
With a wheelchair
To take me to the chapel

We fall into gentle conversation
Of this and that
As we move along
Endless corridors
All empty and cold

The chapel is lit up
With bright stained glass colours
And I weep
With morphine
With relief
And touched by the known
And the unknown

The kindness of strangers
To a troubled soul
Broken in body
And needing a spiritual resurrection

Latest Mystic bit

Paul was sat on a train – London bound – with nothing to do but to stare out of the window and listen to the Pet Shop Boys on his mobile. But he couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop thinking of last night and Marilyn.

He had felt restless and for once had no stake out to do. Indeed, everything had gone cold on his list of active cases. And a night in alone had no appeal for him. Jenny was out of town visiting her mum. So it was time to call up his old friend Frankie.
- Hi Frankie.
- Oh hi mystic…. How goes?
- Not so bad…. Not so bad…. Whatsha up to?
- Tonight?
- Yeah.
- Hmm… I thought about a quiet visit to the Bar. (One of Chorlton’s finest.)
- Sounds good to me… If you want some company?
- How could I refuse such an offer?
Paul smiled at Frankie’s arch tone.
- See you about nine?
- Sounds good.

It was a midweek evening but the Bar was already pretty full with the regulars who would stay there all night and enjoy the range of good beers, along with younger ones who would call in for a beer or two before moving on. Frankie was neatly turned out as per usual with a lime green severe cut suit, purple shirt and pink bow tie. (‘Well someone has to lend a bit of elegance to this place’.) Paul as ever was dressed down in casual clothes that could suit a stake out.
- Mystic!
- Frankie!
They man hugged with real affection.
- This is good (said Frankie) nice to be out but not on the prowl.
- The night is young…
- To true….and who knows?

But there was plenty to catch up on – the antics of Frankie’s grown up, in age, if not behaviour, daughter; Paul’s love life or lack of it; the price of beer; housing; the state of mutual friends; gay marriage (‘Welcome but so dreary’ was Frankie’s wry comment). Just then the conversation was interrupted-
- Frankie?
- Yes?
- It’s Marilyn…. Marilyn Jackson.
- Oh yes, so it is! ... How do?
- Do very well actually.
- I am glad…What are you up to these days?
- Oh this and that…. A bit of teaching… lots of writing…. Lots of job applications, very few interviews but still standing.
- Good…. good. This is my old friend Paul.
- Oh hi Paul.

Paul put out his right hand for a hand shake feeling a bit foolish but it was well received by Marilyn who offered him a firm handshake in return and held onto his hand a fraction longer than was strictly necessary.
- Well any old mate of Frankie’s is well worth meeting.
Paul smiled and took in this young woman who looked back at him with a serious face, with alive eyes beneath a black fringe and cropped hair. She wore a pale green blouse that revealed more skin than strictly necessary and blue jeans with fashionable tears. (Such tears always puzzled Paul.).

Paul’s memory of the rest of the evening was something of a blur which was an increasing experience for him after a drink or three. But there was something that Marilyn had said that stuck in his mind. What was it? Oh yes she had had piano lessons from Rachel.
- Notice anything strange about her recently?
- You mean before the police arrested her?
- Yeah.
- Well there was one time, a month or two before then. I was a bit early for my lesson…It was cold and wet… and when I got to her front door I heard angry voices… She and a guy… Well she made nothing of it but-
- What did he look like?
- The guy?
- Yeah.
- Well not the usual piano playing type – whatever that is… a bit of a bruiser really.
- Hmm… tell me more.
- Muscular, clearly he works out, had a lived-in face, dark clothes, dark hair – brown or black… Hmm, that’s about it.
- Would you recognise him again if you saw him?
- Oh yeah… but?
- Just checking, it may mean something or nothing.

So maybe Rachel was being blackmailed after all. But how to take this forward? Meanwhile Dusty Springfield was dueting with Neil Tennant singing ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ Indeed thought Paul, what have I done to deserve this?