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In my primary school there was a piano in the hall where we sat on shiny worn parquet and sang Good morning Mr Hedgehog; in junior school there was a piano in the classroom, which Miss Gladys K. Smith played every day, and we sang. We sang hymns and carols, we sang along to Singing Together on the radio on Monday mornings, we sang sea shanties and songs about Spanish maids and dead vicars; and I sang at Sunday school and in chapel and in village pantomimes, and later in Gilbert and Sullivan shows and choirs at secondary school.

And I never thought to wonder 'How do I sing?' The sense that my voice and singing were simply 'there' followed me into adulthood.

Then in 1985 workshops with The Roy Hart Theatre gave me a glimpse into an entirely different way of approaching this 'instrument' I'd been taking for granted for the previous 25 years: I heard men singing in glorious unfettered 'soprano', and women in profound depths, and I experienced a strong connection between voice and body. I exhausted myself physically, heard unimagined sounds in my voice and developed a curiosity about what else may lay there undiscovered. I took this curiosity into my theatre work...

Some years later life moved on and I took a long break from singing and performing, lived and taught in France, trained and worked as a therapeutic counsellor.

But I missed that connection with exploring my voice...

An Arts Council grant in 2006 allowed me to re-embark on this vocal journey of exploration once more  with the The Roy Hart Theatre. I now had 2 new questions:  Can I still sing? And if so, what do I want to sing?

I found some answers and, seduced by the poetry of Jacques Brel and the passion of Edith Piaf, I began singing again – this time without the safety net of theatre and character, but simply as myself. 

When the pleasure of live performing began to outweigh the terror, and I knew I was on the right path​​ ...

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