A Ritual

Her choir practice took place in the Methodist Church on Thursday night, a gentle five minute drive from her home into the village centre.

Every week, as she travelled in, she listened to a tape her husband had made. Years ago he had carefully hung a microphone over the piano at home and recorded some scales for her.

As she drove in she sang, starting low so as not to over-stretch her vocal chords, and as she sang she left behind her tiredness that had, by that time of the week, begun to weigh her down.

She sang through the wintry evenings of rain and fog and in the summer she sang with the windows wound right down but whenever she sang it wasn’t only her voice that went up it was her spirits too.