It was the Queen’s Golden Jubilee weekend and we were to give a command performance – we had been specially requested. OK it wasn’t quite Buckingham Palace, it wasn’t even the London Palladium but the residents of one of the local homes had been asked what entertainment they would like for their Jubilee party and they’d said ‘The Showtimers’. Now this either showed just how good we were or alternatively it was a reflection on just what other entertainers they’d been subjected to over the years. Either way how could we refuse?

Win, Jacques and I arrived at Bourne House to find Val and Joyce just leaving. A good start we thought. Apparently we should have been at Hamilton House. It’s a pity they didn’t tell us that when they booked us but never mind, it was no great problem as Hamilton House was only just round the corner but we were concerned that Doreen’s husband was going to drop her at Bourne House and we had visions of her having to carry her heavy suitcase to the new venue. We waited about ten minutes but I had to set up the keyboard so Win offered to wait a while longer while Jacques and I went on. Con had arrived from the other direction and had therefore passed Hamilton House on the way. I don’t think we can blame her for wondering what the hell was going on when she saw Joyce standing outside waving frantically. Win had to give up on Doreen and came on to get ready so Doreen, like the rest of us, turned up at Bourne House to be told she’d got it wrong. She was so concerned that she’d finally cracked that she wasn’t going to let on to the rest of us that she’d gone to the wrong place!

When we arrived at Hamilton House Con greeted us with the wonderful news that we were to perform outside. “Oh great”, I thought: when I’d bought the keyboard I’d been told it wasn’t designed to be heard in large halls so I didn’t really give much for its chances of being heard in a large field! I was also wearing a sundress and had visions of going down with sunstroke as the sun was beating down quite strongly – Con offered me her jacket. Well, if they wanted us to perform outside we had no choice so we unloaded and I went to set up.

The garden consisted of a firm, flat, shingled area immediately outside the building then a steep, grassy bank down to the garden itself. The Showtimers were to perform down on the grass but I decided that the keyboard really had to be on terra firma so I bagged the high ground and set up on the shingled patio area. Now the sundress I’d decided to wear had to be worn bra-less but I hadn’t foreseen any problem because I’d envisaged setting up in Bourne House with my back to the audience so anything which I might reveal while bending over would only be witnessed by a few blackbirds or maybe the odd fox in the garden. Now here I was surrounded by people and all I could do was try to bend at the knees as much as possible. By the time I’d set up my knees were aching and shaky. (And incidentally were aching for three days afterwards!) Having set up the keyboard and got the music on the stand I realised that, without sunglasses, I was going to be blinded by the glare off the white pages which I would be looking at for probably more than an hour so I enlisted the help of one of the staff to carry it all along the patio a few yards to grab what little shade there was. (Thus also avoiding sunstroke!)

Once I’d set up I went indoors to see if the others were ready. Doreen had apparently only just arrived and, because they’d all practised singing ‘in the round’ and they now found they would be performing in a line Con was keen to make sure they all knew where they were standing for ‘Be a clown’. Well, when have they ever really known where they were standing for anything? I sat down to wait while cries of “I’ve never stood here before in my life” followed by “well you’re standing there now” could be heard from the hall where they were trying to go through their movements in a space not much bigger than a wardrobe. At that moment I was feeling decidedly sick – whether as a result of the virus from which I was still recovering or the result of the sun or possibly nerves I couldn’t say. Probably a combination of the three. Whatever, the feeling went off as we finally went out to perform around 5pm.

The first problem became apparent as soon as we started: I couldn’t hear them at all! Whether or not they could near me I doubted but with the keyboard volume at full blast and pressing as hard as I could it was the best I could do. If I stopped playing I could probably have heard them singing and if they had stopped singing they could probably have heard me playing but that rather defeated the object of the exercise so basically we went for the simultaneous solo scenario, whereby we all performed the same song at the same time, though not necessarily at the same speed! We hoped that, by the law of averages (or possibly like the monkeys typing the works of Shakespeare) we would be together every so often during the afternoon! I tried to do it visually – could I read their lips or could I tell from their movements what they were singing? Well maybe in the group numbers but certainly not in the solos. Also I was then in danger of losing my place in the score and then I wouldn’t be with them at all so I put my faith in the law of averages and played like hell. (OK so my playing always sounds like hell so what’s new?!) Perhaps this was why Val, at the end of the first number, started to walk off ‘stage’ leaving the others to wonder if it was BO or something they’d said. She was persuaded to go back and act the fool like the others.

The second major problem occurred during the fourth number when Win was singing  ‘Don’t laugh at me’. (I guess the title was quite appropriate.) I had my music well clipped at the top to ensure it didn’t blow around, however, somehow the wind managed to get underneath the bottom edge and started blowing it up so I couldn’t see what I was playing. I struggled on for a short while but a) I’m no good at playing from memory no matter how many times I’ve played a piece before, b) I’m no good at improvisation and c) it sounded bloody awful trying to play with one hand while I held the score down with the other so I had to stop and get someone to hold the music for me. I had two volunteers, one either side but one soon lost interest so I got the one remaining lady to hold the left hand side which is where the problem seemed to be. Needless to say that although she held the music very effectively she seemed to forget that I still needed to get to the notes on the keyboard and I found myself groping underneath her arm for some of the notes at the lower end. She got the message and moved her arm though it did encroach again every so often later in the concert.

Of course, the fact that I couldn’t hear the singers and they couldn’t hear me rather begs the question, ‘could the audience hear either of us?’ Two of our singers have hearing difficulties anyway and since many members of the audience were probably in their eighties the chances were that their hearing wasn’t exactly all that wonderful either. When Richard told me afterwards that he’d been so far behind me during ‘Love Serenade’ that he nearly gave up I thought it would probably be a blessing if the audience couldn’t hear it! Judging by the general chatter they probably couldn’t hear much.

We soldiered on like the true pros that we are (!) and all went …….well…….until my music stand collapsed completely! Val and Vera were singing ‘I’m just a gal who can’t say no’ and I played a few odd notes (probably very odd without the score) to keep them going (though they probably couldn’t hear them anyway) while my music keeper picked up the music and shoved it under my nose again. Janet looked round and gave me a lovely smile while my music keeper and I tried hard to suppress our giggles. My helper was having a ball – she could hear the keyboard perfectly and she was singing along with gusto – we really should recruit her. The only trouble was she was trying to watch the show at the same time as holding my music and it ended up horizontal at times. At the end of the song I reassembled the music stand and off we went again with only the wasps to threaten the rest of the performance.

Well, if I was having problems what about the singers? They had to contend with the grassy bank every time they came on or off ‘stage’. They were wearing high heels (well the ladies were, I’m not sure about the men) so goodness knows how they coped with the slope. Their knees probably weren’t what they used to be either so how they felt the following day I’m not sure. The high heels were a problem in another way too – Con went to start the movements in ‘Ballin the Jack’ but found her heels had sunk into the grass and she couldn’t move! Pat was suffering for her art – when she was getting dressed for the twenties set her bangle broke (it was her bestest plastic one too) and it cut her hand such that blood started dripping. The resident first aider arrived and produced a tiny piece of micropore tape which was as effective at stemming the flow of blood as any sieve would have been and Pat was still leaving a trail which would have made any vampire think it was his birthday. Janet was having problems too – she was suffering from Hay Fever and her nose came out in sympathy with Pat’s hand. A bloody double act you could say!

The wind was causing problems around the audience too. One of the Gazebos nearly took off and the wind got under one of the sun shades which fell over, taking the table with it. Whatever hazards we normally have to contend with it’s not usually low-flying umbrellas and Gazebos. The bouncy castle had, fortunately, been weighted down with well-fed kids so only the drone from the pump and noise of the well-fed ballast caused any problem there.

And if the elements weren’t providing enough of a distraction the audience themselves were almost as entertaining as we were: Con was singing ‘Let me call you sweetheart’ to one old dear who turned to Con and said, “You’re not wearing any trousers”. One gentleman appeared with his trousers half way down to his knees so a care worker rushed to cover his embarrassment before our ladies were driven too wild with excitement. But the prize distraction has to go to the lady who cra soiled her pants while Richard was trying to sing. Was this her comment on his singing? She was wheeled away to clean up and this was one occasion when we were glad that the wind was blowing – hopefully in the right direction. Blood, sweat, tears and a whole lot more (!) though whether it was us or the audience who deserved to be shedding the tears I wouldn’t like to say – probably both!

The organiser reckoned they’d all enjoyed it though I’m not quite sure how she could tell. I’m sure she enjoyed it, singing along while she held my music. The only thing we were short of were the fireworks and apparently we nearly had these when Richard got more than a little fed up when one of the care assistants kept wandering backwards and forwards while he was putting his heart and soul into his performance. He nearly stopped and told her in no uncertain terms what he thought.

At the end of this wonderful afternoon we retreated to our dressing room which we’d had to wrestle from the resident owner who wanted it back. There were more of us than of her so we won by ten short heads, or should I say 4 short heads and 6 slightly taller ones. We awaited our refreshments: throughout the afternoon we’d seen various people bringing out plates of wonderful food from one of the conservatories and I for one had been wondering how much I should indulge as I had my dinner waiting for me at home. I needn’t have worried – after all our efforts we were rewarded with a cup of tea and a few Rich Tea biscuits. Perhaps that’s all we were worth!