Songs Of The Sea

This heartwarming short story by Laura Tapper celebrates the joys music can bring.

WHY did the doorbell go or the phone ring right when it was time to dish up? Claire removed the oven gloves and laid them aside.

“Dinner’s ready! Wash your hands!” she called up the stairs on her way to the front door.

She immediately recognised the woman on the doorstep as her neighbour from two doors up.

They’d not spoken, but the woman was an early morning dog-walker and the children always commented on her rather beautiful husky while they ate their breakfasts.

“Sorry to bother you. I live at number forty-one and my husband asked me to come round – not that I wouldn’t have thought to come on my own account.” The woman hurried to correct herself.

“Of course, I would. I meant to do it before, but I was busy with one thing and another and . . .”

She paused for breath and Claire simply waited, somewhat confused.

“My name’s Sue. When we sit in our garden, we can hear your singing through your kitchen window.

“I wouldn’t have dreamed of interrupting you now, when you’re probably busy; I said to Derek, she’ll be getting her kids’ tea.

“But he wouldn’t listen and there would have been no peace until I came. So here I am and there it is. I do apologise.”

Claire blinked.

“Does my singing disturb you?”

“Good heavens, no! Quite the opposite. My husband is the leader of the local shanty-singing group, the Wittleton Whalers, and he’d love you to join them.”

“Really?” Claire could feel her cheeks getting warmer. “I haven’t sung in front of anyone since I was in the school choir. Are you in the group?”

Sue gave a derisive snort. “Nobody would pay to hear me sing, I’m afraid. As treasurer, I go to every gig, and I’m the driver, too, so I could give you a lift to rehearsals.”

At that point, Claire’s two boys, Felix and Ethan, came pounding down the stairs behind her.

“Look, it’s the husky lady!” one of them shouted on his way past.

“Hello, husky lady!” they both chorused as they raced into the living-room.

Claire rolled her eyes and shook her head in tacit apology.

“I had four of the little darlings myself a good many years ago,” Sue reassured her. “Shall I call for you at seven o’clock on Tuesday night?”

Sensing Claire’s hesitation, she smiled.

“It’s all for charity and there’s no harm in having an hour or two where you get to be something other than everybody else’s dogsbody for a change.”

It was Sue’s last words, coupled with a meaningful look, which made up Claire’s mind.

As much as she loved her children, it was high time she found a way to be herself for five minutes, rather than just Mum.

All she’d have to do was

The shanty group was mired in tradition. Were the members ready for this change?

break it to Neil when he came home.

After all, he went to football every Saturday afternoon. It would be his turn to mind the kids.

****

“A girl in a shanty group? Don’t be ridiculous!”

Disdain was written all over the man’s weathered face.

In his late sixties, with a balding head and a commanding voice, he had the bearing of someone who knew his own opinions and made sure everyone else did, too.

“We come here to get away from our wives!”

Sue looked up from the magazine she was reading in the corner.

“Arthur, I shouldn’t worry. Your wife is a lovely woman, but I can’t see you muddling her up with Claire here, given the thirty-year difference in their ages.” Her husband piped up. “I’m the leader and I’ve asked Claire to come along tonight to see whether she might like to join us.”

Derek looked around the 10 men assembled in front of him.

“With you behaving like this, it seems unlikely.”

“Derek, I know you’re the boss, but Arthur’s right – none of the shanty groups have women in,” another man chipped in.

“I mean, it’s always been unlucky to have them on the boats!”

“You lot are like something out of the dark ages!” Sue spat from the back of the room.

“All right, love. I’ll handle this,” Derek reassured her, before turning back to the men.

“I hear what you say about the other crews, but that’s why I think she could be such an asset.”

He held out his hand and Claire felt all their eyes on her, though she kept hers fixed on the patterned carpet of the back room of the Smuggler’s Inn public house, where the group rehearsed each week.

“Once you’ve heard her sing, you will realise that she might well be our secret weapon, especially with Folk On The Pier coming up.”

He made direct eye contact with Arthur.

“Do you want to beat the Bartley Barnacles or not?”

For about 30 seconds the room held its breath, then Arthur stalked over to take his position at a microphone at the left-hand side of the rehearsal area.

A slim, silver-haired man beckoned Claire towards a music stand and microphone at the opposite end of the line-up.

“My name’s Dan. Come and stand next to me, my lovely, and never mind them.”

There was a twinkle in his blue eyes, and the crinkles in their corners suggested a lifetime of kindness, making Claire feel less like running out of the pub and all the way home.

At last, the rehearsal got underway.

“See? It hasn’t killed you to have a female in the room this evening, has it, Arthur?” Derek nudged his bandmate, almost making him slop his pint.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, dear, there’s a female in the room every week.”

Sue took the glass of lemonade from her husband’s hand and sat down on a bar stool at the other side of the large table.

They had moved into the main lounge bar now that they’d finished singing.

Claire had found it quite a difficult rehearsal because she was unfamiliar with most of the songs.

Coming from a choral background, she could read music, but the folders on the music stand only held words.

“I don’t see as it’s made any difference.” Arthur took a sip of his beer.

“I’ve yet to hear a note from her, so she won’t be much of a secret weapon, as far as I can tell.”

There was a general murmuring and muttering amongst the other members, while Derek considered his response.

“Claire, when I asked Sue to knock on your door, it was because I’d heard you singing ‘An Eriskay Love

Lilt’ in your kitchen. Do you fancy giving us a blast while we relax with our beer?”

Claire’s stomach did a backflip and she swallowed.

“We don’t want some namsie-pamsie love song!” Arthur continued to pontificate about the sort of songs shanty groups should be performing and the others chipped in with their opinions.

Claire glanced across at Sue, who gave her an encouraging nod.

Blotting out the hubbub around her, she searched in her mind’s ear for a note and then, from where she was sitting, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

“Bheir mi oh a ro van o; Bheir mi oh a ro van e . . .”

Although she sang softly, the purity of Claire’s voice cut through the noise in the pub, so that soon everybody in the room was listening.

Even the darts match in the corner paused, as though the old words and the haunting melody cast a spell over the players.

Claire’s confidence grew and her singing became more strident in the verses before returning to its original wistful, dreamlike quality in the refrain.

“. . . Sad am I without thee.”

The last note hung in the air and there was a moment of complete silence before the whole pub was filled with spontaneous applause.

Claire, who had been lost in the story of the song, came back to reality with a jolt and put her hands up to her cheeks.

Derek looked at Arthur with eyebrows raised.

“She can sing; I’ll give you that.” Arthur raised his glass. “It’s not ‘Windy Old Weather’, though, is it?”

There was a communal groan.

****

“Homework’s all finished, there’s just Ethan’s reading to do.”

As Claire leaned over to peck Neil on the cheek, he pulled her on to his knee.

“Stop it! You’ll crumple my uniform!” She giggled as he silenced her with a kiss.

“You might have to touch up your lipstick, too.” He laughed, then his face straightened. “You look fabulous.

“I know you’re nervous for your first gig, but don’t be.

“You’ve been practising those songs around the house so much, I think we

“She won’t be much of a secret weapon”

all know them!

“Besides, I’ve told you for years how beautiful your voice is, so it’s time the world heard it.”

“I don’t know about the world.” Claire pulled herself out of his lap and smoothed her blouse and skirt.

“A fish and chip fundraiser in aid of the local care home is hardly going to bring Simon Cowell knocking.”

“Nevertheless, I’m proud of you.” He beamed at her. “Fancy me being married to the only female shanty singer on the Norfolk coast!”

She picked up the newspaper and lightly tapped him round the head with it.

“While you’re basking in that reflected glory, don’t forget to make packed lunches for tomorrow. And there’s the dishwasher –”

At that moment, a car horn sounded outside.

“Sue has perfect timing. I must thank her.” Neil winked. “Break a leg!”

The weeks went past and Claire became a more established member of the group.

She learned the songs and took occasional solo lines in some of the call and response numbers.

Harmonies were added in to make the most of their newly increased vocal range.

When they went out on gigs locally,

audiences seemed pleasantly surprised to have “a nice young girl” in the group.

Right from that first night Claire formed a bond with Dan, who looked out for her and kept her on track if she got in a muddle.

They shared a microphone quite comfortably and she was pleased to get to know his wife, who often came along to their performances.

****

Folk On The Pier was an annual event which took place in Bartley-on-Sea.

An important part of the festivities was a shantysinging competition which attracted groups from the whole of East Anglia and beyond.

The Bartley Barnacles had held the crown for three of the last five years and were the crew to beat.

Being the nearest major coastal town to Wittleton, there was a hefty dose of local rivalry between them and the Whalers.

Claire came to realise that nobody cared much what happened on that pier, so long as they beat the Barnacles.

Rehearsals were stepped up and, days before the festival, arguments continued to rage about their intended set.

“‘Whip Jamboree’ and ‘Home Boys Home’ have to be in.” Arthur bashed his hand on the music stand.

“They get everyone on their feet and clapping along.”

“Fair enough, but in a set of only three, we need some light and shade to show our range,” Derek reasoned.

“He’s right.” Dan nodded. “We have beautiful songs in our repertoire, like ‘Sleepless Sailor’ and ‘Connemara Cradle Song’.”

“People don’t want sensitivity from a shanty group! They want to feel it in here.” Arthur beat his chest.

After much wrangling, three songs were chosen.

They put their differences behind them and everyone pulled together to make their bid for the title count.

“It doesn’t seem right that none of the numbers in our set have solo lines for you,” Dan whispered as they turned the pages in their folder between songs.

“It doesn’t matter. Most of us won’t have solos, and I’m the newbie.

“Besides, I’d be far too nervous to sing on my own at a big event like that.” Claire shuddered.

“I’ve never been to Folk On The Pier before; what’s it like?

“Perhaps Neil could bring the kids. Do lots of other things happen across the weekend?”

“There are other competitions on the Sunday.” Dan seemed lost in thought.

“Definitely get your husband and children to come along. That way you can stay the whole day.”

The rest of the rehearsal went smoothly and, by the end, everyone felt confident about their chances.

“I’m glad you knocked on my door that day.”

Claire was standing with Sue, waiting for Derek to pack away his banjo and finish chatting with Dan.

“Singing is such a joyful thing to do and I love being able to help raise money for charity at the same time,” she added.

Sue smiled.

“I’m thrilled that you said yes. They all work far harder now you’re here. I’m sure they even stand up straighter!”

She laughed.

“Besides, women have always been a huge part of the fishing industry, whether the men like to recognise it or not.

“Why shouldn’t we sing the songs as well?”

****

The primary-coloured flags of bunting waved down at the crowds gathered on the pier as the compère took the microphone off the stand.

Claire could see Neil, head and shoulders above almost everyone else, wading his way through the crush to reach her and the boys, the ice-creams he carried melting down his hands in the blazing sun.

“Lick them quick!” she advised Felix and Ethan.

She and Neil tried to follow all the announcements, but the wind was quite blustery and the crowd was restless.

“No matter what happens, the Wittleton Whalers definitely had the most attractive singer in their line-up, and you’ll always be the winner in my book.”

Neil gave Claire a vanillaflavoured kiss.

“Thank you to all the groups who entered the shanty competition,” the compère announced. “The standard seems to get higher every year.

“In third place we have the Shoreford Shanters.”

There was a round of applause.

“In a very close second place are the Wittleton Whalers.

“So the winners are . . .” a drum roll from the back of the stage “. . . the

Bartley Barnacles!”

There were cheers, whistles and the stamping of feet as the leader of the Barnacles went up to collect their trophy and hold it aloft.

The rest of the Whalers were standing close to Claire and her family.

There were commiserations all round.

“That’s better than last year,” Derek allowed. “We’re in the perfect spot to take the title next year, I reckon.”

“Mum?” Ethan tugged on Claire’s blouse. “It says here that you’re singing in the Coronation Hall at half past.”

He held out the festival programme.

Claire frowned.

“It can’t, sweetheart. You must have read it wrong.”

“No. Look.” He pointed to a line on one of the pages and Claire squinted at the small print.

It did indeed say that she was taking part in another competition in the Coronation Hall, due to start shortly.

It was for solos and duets and she was down to be singing with Dan Wright.

She looked up at her friend accusingly.

“I confess – I’m guilty as charged.” Dan held up his hands.

“When you sang off the cuff in the Smuggler’s that night it was perfect, but I knew you wouldn’t enter if you had time to worry about it.”

His face was full of apology.

“Signing you up for a solo felt like a step too far. This way it’s just you and me sharing a mic, same as always.

“We can sing ‘Fiddler’s Green’. What do you say?”

“Go on, Mum!” Felix shouted. “You can do it!”

Claire looked from the eager faces of her two boys to Neil’s loving eyes, past Sue’s nods of encouragement and back to Dan.

“OK. I’m game if you are!” “Thank goodness for that – otherwise I’d have retuned my banjo for nothing!” Derek said, picking up his instrument case.

“Were you in on this, too?” Claire shook her head and then checked her watch. “We had better hurry.”

****

Claire sat back on the sofa and took a sip of her tea, her feet tucked up underneath her.

“Arthur seems to have finally accepted the value of having a woman in the Whalers,” Neil said, sitting down next to her.

“I guess your place might be a little more prominent next year.”

“You could be right, but I don’t need to take centre stage.” Claire smiled.

“He was just pleased that Wittleton came out on top somewhere.

“Could you pass me a biscuit, please?”

Neil leaned forward and brought the chocolate fingers closer to her.

The boys had won them on the tombola at the festival and given them to her as a reward for her bravery.

They were arranged in an engraved silver cup which read Winner – Folk Duet.

The End.