Healthy living Blog

Carer Diary

March 5, 2008: angelic choir

Marianne Talbot

This week, Marianne, who cares with her mother who has Alzheimer's disease, remembers her mother's soaring singing voice and the angelic choir who never shut her out

When I retire I intend to join a choir. The Bach choir would be wonderful - just imagine singing the St. Matthew Passion - but they require the ability to sight read. Perhaps I should learn to sight-read, then join a choir?

I love to sing and have, I like to think, a reasonable voice. This is from mum. Dad was completely tone deaf.

This didn’t stop him singing. He used to make up songs for us. The one I remember most went: ‘Come o’er the stream Richard, sweet Richard, sweet Richard, come o’er the stream, Richard and play with Marianne’. This went on for as many verses as dad could bear, and Richard and I adored it.

But if mum was in the house dad would manage only the opening bar. Mum would instantly appear screeching: ‘Phil, please! Stop that dreadful noise. I can’t bear it.’

We thought she was a spoilsport. If dad was in a wicked mood, we’d egg him on. He’d wait until mum closed the door and start up again.

Mum had – indeed has - a wonderful voice. I loved standing beside her in church as she sang. I was proud of her and sorry for the children whose mothers had run-of-the-mill voices.

When mum retired, and before she developed Alzheimer’s, she joined the choir of the local church. She adored the camaraderie of weekly choir practice and the Sunday services.

She particularly enjoyed singing at weddings. This wasn’t only because of the £5 she was paid, though that was a major incentive, it was also because she was a sucker for weddings. Every bride was the most beautiful she’d ever seen, every groom the ‘dishiest’ (mum’s slang was always at least 20 years out of date).

As the Alzheimer’s started to bite, mum’s presence at choir practice became a rarity, her contribution to Sunday services – er - patchy. She still loved a wedding but only a brave bride would rely on her.

To their great credit, however, the choir kept her on. More. They would ring to remind her about choir practice, offer her lifts on Sunday, and they continued to pay her for weddings long after her timing had gone and they had to sing EXTREMELY LOUDLY to drown her out.

This was characteristic of her church. They were wonderful. I don’t think anyone ever gave the impression that the effort required to maintain her status as parishioner or chorister was a burden.

Mum has given up going to church. But she still sings. What she sings bears little resemblance to whatever she is singing along to, but sing along she does. Lustily.

I still get pleasure from listening to her.

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