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Three (Magical) Days in May 2021

by Jean Cockburn

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As I linger beside a bubbling Scottissh burn in the Cairngorm National Park, I think back to our last holiday: Three Days in May. Vacation days which seem drawn out, filled with new and wonderful experiences. That long, song-filled weekend two months ago was of no exception; with birds and humans competing as if for their lives.

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When Roger Jackson and Sue Pomeroy sent our invitation, it was a year on from the first UK pandemic lockdown. We’d had our first jab and were keen to sign up! There was light on the horizon with the possibility of getting together with others, to sing under the expert leadership of Roger. (I knew it would be good as I’d sung with him once before).

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Thirty of us converged at the delightful West Sussex home of artists Chris and Patrice Aggs, (home to Sweet Sunny South). A rusty coloured brick stable block with low barns forming a courtyard with relaxed gardens behind. These were out-buildings to a once grand country residence where William Penn had signed the constitution for Pennsylvania. The site of this long-demolished abode provided the ideal level campground along with luxury showers. It overlooked the South Downs with the trees of Chanctonbury Ring on the skyline.

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We arrived in the glowing evening sunlight - later than most. People had already gathered outside. Supplied with name stickers and a colourful triangle of fabric to wear any which way, they were singing a hearty sea shanty about whaling. There was a sense of anticipation and excitement. Bluegrass and folk festival friends were reunited.

Individuals and couples were soon changing over a delicious supper created by Erika and her willing team of sous-chefs. We were fabulously fed and watered throughout, with a twenty-four-hour supply of tea, coffee and cake; breakfasts to suit every taste; and cocktail hour at six pm.

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The group gathered to sing in the courtyard beneath the dappled shade of a walnut tree. The acoustics were perfect. Each day began with Roger’s invigorating warm-ups and some hearty laughter. You could feel yourself unwind. The day’s Timetable was full; and by the end of each session we’d learned one or two new songs in three, or four-part harmony. We tackled a range of songs from bluegrass to mountain holler and were given interesting background information to place each song in context. Sue had produced a booklet of the words to help. Roger and Sue taught each part with patience and care, and as the lead part took shape, the character and texture of the other lines fell into place. Roger and Sue projected their energy and love of the music, and their enthusiasm was catching. They were the best teachers. The music moved us, the lyrics moved us, and it was a deeply emotional experience being together with others again to sing.

Incredibly, the weather held out, and following the drenching of May we were able to sit out all day and well into the evenings. Stringed instruments suddenly appeared as bluegrass and various folk songs were shared around the fire. Chris’s ingenious fire pit – his JCB digger bucket – glowed with logs.

Memorable was the afternoon when we worked in groups of six to practise the chorus of ‘If I Could Only Fly’. We had to be self-reliant.

It was more of a challenge than I expected, and I was suddenly struggling to remember the words. But with Sue and Roger’s encouragement we started to breathe together, to watch the lead closely and to listen more. We became more attuned to the subtlety of small ensemble communication, and I think it helped everyone to return to the larger group with more understanding and awareness.

In between the music making, some jogged or walked the local footpaths, sunbathed, or popped into Ashington for an ice cream. Sue and Roger were open to be heard strumming guitars under a tent awning, honing a song they were to ‘perform’ before supper or discussing plans for the following sessions.

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We had a final concert. Not of the songs we’d been learning, but of other songs chosen by small self-selecting groups – friends, partners and impromptu configurations that came together in a few hours or minutes. Rehearsals suddenly springing up at midday next to campervans, or late at night in the stable block. The audience sat under the walnut tree and we performed between the potted plants next to the stable wall. Sue chose the order of the eighteen contributions at random, and there was an intensity and personal dedication to each item. There was a lovely natural selection to the programme. We sang choruses together and listened intently to smaller groups and solo voices. The energy and love displayed epitomised the whole weekend.

Following the last breakfast, those remaining had the chance to repeat a couple of the weekend’s songs. There was a freshness and energy to these which helped to send us on our way. We were reluctant to break camp and make our journeys home back to pandemic reality. We had experienced something so special.

As I listen to the Scottish stream running past me now, I can hear phrases, harmonies and rhythms from Three Days in May in my head, and I am thankful for these unique holiday experiences.

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