Toffee

by Wyn Evans

It’s that time of year when thoughts once more turn to xmas shows, theatre trips and carol services. Granted, we are not yet back to the pre-Covid numbers of events or levels of participation but at least there are concerts in our schools and carol services in our churches that people can attend in person and not simply virtually via ‘zoom’. The Girl, my fifteen year old daughter who has Down Syndrome (DS), has joined the Cardiff High School (CHS) senior choir and is looking forward to the carol service at St Martin’s on Albany Road.

Perhaps full disclosure is in order here. It has been our experience that kids with DS are operatically challenged. I do not mean that they dislike Wagner or struggle to understand the plot of The Magic Flute. No, I’m referring to a phenomenon that my wife - The Boss - and I have come across often enough that I shall posit this as a general rule; that people with DS can’t sing for toffee. Or, if your experience teaches you that everyone can sing given the right environment, let me phrase it thus: kids with DS struggle more than most to sing in tune, to tempo, and at the correct volume. Maybe you know of an exception disproving my rule? Fair enough! But I submit (based on fifteen years of attendance at Special Needs karaoke contests) that by and large the rule holds true. was welcomed and treated like every other member. What she lacked in subtlety of phrasing or modulation of tone she made up for with sheer enthusiasm, albeit that she would occasionally be half a tempo behind the conductor. As is the way with our Girl, she stuck to it and now sings more or less in time, more or less in tune, and more or less at the required volume. I admire how hard she has worked to get to her current level, taking private singing lessons and throwing herself into rehearsal, here at home, with complete joie de vivre. Part of her happiness is that she is a performer at heart and loves being on stage. Quite a few young people with DS have made names for themselves on stage or screen, amongst them ‘Call the Midwife’s Sarah Gordy and ‘Line of Duty’ star, Tommy Jessop.

The best thing about a Carol concert for me is the fact that the audience, the ‘congregation’ if you prefer, get to join in. I know that during the lockdown this was frowned upon but am hoping against hope that this year, all jabbed-up as we are, we’ll get to sing along, blasting out the bass and tenor parts alongside the choir’s alto and soprano melody. Failing that, I shall be listening to the festival of nine lessons and carols from King’s College Cambridge, at three o’clock on Christmas Eve, which is when xmas officially starts in our house.

The Girl first joined the CHS junior choir in Year 8. She

Still, The Girl shows more performance aptitude than her father ever did. As a kid I was reticent about anything that required me to perform publicly. That stayed with me through most of my life although I learned how to stand up and make presentations at work or speeches at social functions. But the feeling that I am an impostor under the stage-lights, just waiting to be found out, remains with me to this day. Back when I was a kid it got me into a number of scrapes which, from this distance, may seem humorous but which, at the time, disappointed my mother greatly.

First was the nativity play at Lakeside Infants’ school back in the mid 1960s. Imagine the tableau vivant; on stage a recreation of Mary and Joseph in the stable, the crib, an Angel some kids dressed up as animals. Then, the one moving feature of the performance, in turn would appear the shepherds and the wise men, all of whom were given a gift to bring to the baby Jesus and a line to speak. I was the third wise man. (As if!) Mam and dad were part of the audience, dad having taken the afternoon off work to be there. In front of the audience a raised stage, to the left a curtain behind which the characters waited for their turn to walk onstage; to the right an upright piano behind which sat Mr Williams ready to accompany each new character’s walk onstage with a little pianistic fanfare. The first shepherd stepped up to the stage, walked across to the crib, said his piece then retreated to the back of the tableau to take up a statuesque pose. And so it proceeded: second and third shepherds; first and second wise men; all did their thing more or less perfectly. Meanwhile, I’m behind the arras getting more and more nervous as my turn approached. Then Mr Williams announced my character by tickling the ivories. You’d have been proud of me as I made my way up the step to the stage. You’d have been moved by my wisdom and regal bearing as I strode across that stage and... walked right past the crib without stopping or speaking, stepping down off stage right and finally hunkering-down behind the piano. I honestly remember nothing more of that afternoon’s events and I am able to recount it only because my parents teased me over the years. It usually got rolled-out when I was in my teens and bringing a new girlfriend home for the first time.

So I have no idea where The Girl gets her love of performing from although I’m quite sure it wasn’t from her dad. There are other stories from my childhood which attest to my deep hatred of appearing on stage or doing any public performance involving acting, recitation or singing. But I’ll spare you. What amazes me now are the lengths I went to to get out of such events; I would dissemble, even outright lie – all the while knowing I’d get caught out. It would have been much easier to face my fears and just buckle down. I can see that now but, back then, anything was better than having to perform.

Nowadays, I’d quite like to be in a choir. However, since having Parkinson’s Disease I cannot sing in tune, to tempo, or at the correct volume. Which brings us around full circle! But if the chance arises to join in the carols at The Girl’s school’s concert this xmas then I shall grab it. Even if it means The Girl telling her friends “Fathers! What are they like?! Mine can’t sing for toffee but at least he enjoys himself!”