SHAKE RATTLE AND SING

 

A year ago my father was admitted to a care home in Kent. A long commute from Somerset up and down the A303, M3 and the joy that is the M25.

When visiting my father it had a deep effect on me but in one way I hadn't expected. Shame. I realised with utter shame that as a professional musician of 35 years I had done very little to give any of my time to these wonderful people at the later end of their lives. Driving alone back up the A303 after a visit to dad I realised what was so shameful was I had all these musical skills as a trumpet player, piano player, guitarist and songwriter and through music should have, and could, bring so much well being in a host of ways that I had never thought possible. The question that nagged me over and over again was where had I been for 35 years for our elderly? Why hadn't I found an hour a week or even a month to go and give my time as a musician to those who had given all their lives? 

 

My father said on one visit he had experienced his best day ever in the care home because two ladies came to sing to them. He said they weren't very good (!) but it had made him forget about himself and about being old for an hour as he sang along. Driving yet again back up the A303 at 11pm that was it for me. It was time for Paul to stop talking about it and step up and importantly volunteer not be paid. In my head if I'm paid to play music my mind shifts into professional musician mode. I just wanted to make music with the residents, residents just like my dad. Before Christmas I found myself volunteering at Glastonbury Care Home twice a week in music sessions.

 

As a musician I had worked with all sorts of people, children and animals, on all genres of music, in different countries, in all sorts of venues but never ever had I worked with elderly residents in a care home. I was out of my comfort zone. Playing a trumpet solo at The Royal Albert Hall live on TV was less terrifying. I actually like being out of the comfort zone but on my first visit to GCH I would have given anything to be comfortable.

 

I was learning on the job how to musically communicate with these remarkable people. In four months I have learned so much from them and the staff and about me as a musician. I humbly witnessed the well being emotional power of music and its untouchable magic. Music is emotional and sings the soul of every human being and I soon discovered with the GCH elderly residents it can be so much more powerful than even I had experienced as a professional musician. 

 

We meet twice a week on a Tuesday and a Thursday for an hour. The residents sing a wide variety of songs together from Elvis, The Beatles, to songs of the great musicals, to folk tunes to ABBA. During the sessions the residents have access to a host of shakers, rattles, tambourines to feel and play the beats and rhythms of the music. If they can't hold a shaker or cabasa, no problem, then their clapping hands or tapping knees are great body percussion. 

 

What has struck me is how so many of them can remember the lyrics of these songs and from memory, decades later. As they will tell you, I have trouble remembering the lyrics and I have the music in front of me, which causes great hilarity between us as I make up lyrics. Even if lyrics can't be remembered then a good dose of 'la la la' or humming does just fine, something I resort to in my desperation in the middle of What A Wonderful World to find that change from D minor to Db major. 

 

Through these music sessions and the joy of music making together I have come to know the residents well such as Ruth, Delphine, John, David and many more. At the end of the sessions chatting with them and listening in fascination to their stories and experiences of their families, their lives and their memories is a pleasure. Making music has brought us together as unexpected friends as well as music makers. I have learned much from them and the staff at GCH, some of whom often pop in and join in a song or two notably with the Nah Nah Nah ending in Hey Jude, the greatest song ending of all time and GCH do it well!

 

As the weeks go by we will be adding more songs to the GCH playlist, songs suggested weekly by residents and staff, and I will add more percussion instruments but above all we will keep enjoying ourselves as we shake rattle and sing GCH from its roof to its foundations. Thank you to music! 

 

Paul Denegri

​

​

​

Pass GO Collect £200

 

I've been playing bedside for June in Sharpham who recently asked me how I came to be at GCH. After reciting the tale of my dad being in a care home until he died in March and how utterly ashamed I was I had never stepped foot in a care home until dad was admitted, June asked ‘is it what you expected?’ To which I answered ‘no nothing like’. June followed in with ‘why was that?’ I responded ‘to be honest June I hadn’t anticipated finding so much care from those being cared for’.

 

As I travel twice a week on The Bedside Tour 2022 the unexpected has been the genuine warmth, love and care shown by residents which has humbled this battle hardened, battered professional musician. They bring me home to me. I’m regularly given care and advice such as:

 

"Are you eating properly? You could do with more veggies"

 

"Don’t go out in the cold with your hair wet you’ll get a chill."

 

"Paul you're looking tired, go to bed before midnight."

 

"Paul stop dashing around you’ll burn out."

 

"Make sure you get your feet measured properly"

 

"Remember to enjoy what you have and don't worry about the future."

 

"Make sure you wear a vest."

 

"Don't forget mothers day."

 

All good stuff my mum said including don’t forget Mother’s Day(!). Except they are not my mum. I used to think there’s not much I will be able to offer the world when I pass go at 75 collect £200 and fall into a wheel chair to watch endless Homes Under the Hammer … wrong.

 

They may not be able to cook my mixed veg for me, knit me a vest or blow dry my hair or buy that mothers day card I forgot yet again because I’m dashing around but they give so much more. It is priceless and bizarrely give what can be missing from those that can cook me a broccoli bake. From their bed or an armchair they radiate genuine, kindness, thoughtfulness, wisdom, naughty banter and quick humour. What leaves a lasting impression on my journey home is they do all this not because they want anything in return from me. A new concept compared to my working world. They just want to pass the good stuff on and it's free. Why? Because they have been where I have been. They went out with their hair wet and got a chill, left the vest at home or bought shoes that looked great but really hurt!

 

June has been saying that I would be a good match for one of her grand daughters who lives abroad. I said that's a long way to go on a blind date to which she said ‘not when you see her it won’t be!’ Lovely June great company in her nineties!

 

Last week I sat in a bar with a fairly young pro trumpet player in their late thirties and all they could talk about was trumpets. I sat there staring into my beer wishing I was sitting chatting with June about anything and everything including how to cook broccoli, laughing about my wish to have a hair style like Roger Taylor when he was 20 and learning to stop worrying about the future. Wish June played the trumpet...

​

Paul Denegri

​

​

​​​

​

​

​

​

Music is Memories

 

 

It is a year since musical shame galvanised me into taking my first step as a music volunteer in a care home. I’ve never done things by half so my first offering was an entire brass band. As the band were setting up I nervously took time to speak to some of the residents. Apart from my nan my social interaction with this generation was virtually nil.

I will never forget John. John was a wheelchair bound gentlemen who had asked me if he could be seated by the euphonium player. I asked him why he wanted to sit so close to a euphonium? John said he had played the euphonium at school and was terrible at it but had loved the social time of playing in the school band and for this one hour he would forget he was old and restricted by his wheelchair and would only remember being young in the school band.

 

I will never forget Anne. Anne asked me what instrument I played to which I said the trumpet. Anne said all the cool good looking men played the trumpet (of course). Flattered and blushing I asked her why she thought that? She told me the love of her life had played the trumpet and they had been very happy together until Anne decided to say goodbye to her trumpet man. Seventy years later she said she still doesn’t know why she did it. Anne said she went on to marry someone else and although their marriage was ‘good’ she never truly loved another man like she had 'her trumpet player'. She never saw or heard from him again but throughout her life every time she hears the trumpet she still thinks of him and how much she still loves him.

 

I will never forget Barbara. Barbara had been a music teacher and conducted many youth brass bands throughout her career. She asked me was I the conductor? I said I was. She said when ever she hears a brass band it still makes her smile no matter how much pain she is in or how lonely she feels.

 

Our favourite music transcends a life time and for John, Anne and Barbara it was the sound of a particular instrument that was an important sound track to their lives. The sound of brass still evoked in them love, happiness, youth, a smile and for that brief moment in their week it made them forget and only remember the good in their lives.

 

Music can't be seen and can't be touched, just like the human soul, and that's exactly why they are the perfect partners and why one can't do without the other. I never saw John, Anne and Barbara again and I sometimes think of them when I am playing and how one day it will be me. If I'm lucky to make it to a care home like GCH I hope a rock band will come to play. I won't be able to head-bang but I will sit as close to the lead guitarist as possible, smile and recall the days I didn't think about being old except when I saw my nan.

​

Paul Denegri

​

​

​

​

​

​