One Chance

by Paul Potts

  “I’ll be wearing a cream woollen jumper,” was all she would tell me.

  It was 10:08 a.m. My train from Bristol had just arrived and as I stepped down onto the platform, I saw her: a pretty girl with long blonde hair in a cream-white jumper. The moment I saw Julz, I knew she was going to be special. I was also hugely relieved that she had seen me and hadn’t decided to do a runner! We kissed each other lightly on the cheek and discussed what we were going to do for the day.

  “How about ten-pin bowling?” Julz suggested.

  I agreed. I can be way too competitive sometimes, and it can be a struggle for me to play just for fun, but on this occasion I just about managed it.

  After we finished, we went for a short stroll round Swansea. I found myself wanting to hold Julz’s hand and wondering how to go about it. What would happen if she said no? If she rejected my hand, then the chances were that I wouldn’t try again. I took the plunge and was very relieved when she did in fact hold my hand. We walked onto the seafront and wandered round Mumbles Pier. We sat there together, looking out to sea and eating fish and chips.

  Julz and I spent a lot of time together that day, chatting and, yes, kissing and cuddling. It was obvious to me that I had met someone very special, and I wanted to see her again. I was also very aware of my own past and the incident with Fulvia in Rimini. Rather than waiting to tell Julz about what had happened, I told her everything there and then. I knew I was taking a big risk, but in my heart I knew that she was special.

  Julz took the information in her stride. I was hugely relieved; I knew that I fell in love very easily, and hadn’t wanted the risk of my insecurity ruining things later on. At the end of the date, she dropped me back at Swansea station for my train back to Bristol. I was about to spend some time in the Lake District, and so we agreed to keep in touch via phone and the Internet while I was there. Normally I enjoyed being in the Lake District, but this time all I wanted was to see Julz again.

  The first opportunity was the following Sunday. I had been cast in the title role of the Bath Opera production of Don Carlos, and although I had a rehearsal in the morning, I would be free from about two in the afternoon. Julz came down to Bath and quickly became a permanent feature at our Sunday morning principal rehearsals. As we got to know each other better, we started to spend the Saturday night together in a hotel and then drive to the rehearsal on the Sunday. It wasn’t long before the strains of “O Don Fatale” and other arias were stuck in Julz’s head, and she would curse me while she hummed them at work.

  The fact that we were spending Saturday nights together meant that I had more arguments with dad. He didn’t approve, but I didn’t much care. I was falling in love with Julz, and I wanted to spend as much time as I could with her. Dad had two difficulties with the situation: he didn’t approve of sex before marriage, and he felt sure that going out with Julz would lead to my giving up singing. The fact that Julz was attending rehearsals seemed completely lost on him. Again, he was suggesting I had to make a choice between singing and love. But I didn’t see it that way.

  The Don Carlos role was the first lead part I had played, and I enjoyed every minute of it. There was a lot of great music in the opera, and lots of singing for me: an aria plus three huge duets. I was pleased to receive my first critic’s review—“high octane passion from Paul Potts in the title role”—and to know that Julz was in the audience, proudly watching on.

  Bath Opera had given me the part largely because of the progress I had made in Italy, and I was keen to return to improve further. This time, however, I wouldn’t be going on my own. I decided to go for six weeks, again having to take a career break in order to do so, and asked Julz to join me in Rimini for a week, coinciding with her birthday.

  Julz had never flown by herself before, and she has never let me forget that for this first solo flight I had booked her on a nondirect flight: she had to fly from Heathrow to Frankfurt and then onwards to Bologna where I would meet her. Unfortunately, the first part of her journey to Frankfurt was delayed and she missed her onward flight. Waiting for her and getting worried, I ended up going to the Lufthansa office in Bologna, which thankfully got hold of Julz, who was in the Lufthansa office in Frankfurt. I was keeping in touch with Julz’s dad at the same time and was able to tell him what was going on. Eventually a very tired and stressed Julz arrived at Bologna, and we made our way to Bologna station for the ninety-minute journey to Rimini. This time I remembered to validate the tickets!

  Julz arrived just in time for the first concert of the session. Annoyingly for her, and purely coincidentally, three of the arias featured were from Don Carlo. Having spent much of the year watching the rehearsals, Julz knew the opera well, so much so that while the arias were being sung in Italian, she was mouthing back the words in English.

  One of the attractions of the course that year was that it now included master classes with three very important singers: Katia Ricciarelli, Wilma Vernocchi, and Luciano Pavarotti. For the Pavarotti master class, there were to be auditions to decide who would get to sing for him. In order to prepare for mine, I worked with a principal bass from Verona Arena, Alessandro Calamai.

  Julz came with me to my lesson, and Alessandro asked her to sing a song she knew. Hearing her speak, he felt that she had a good singing voice. She blushed a little and sung a little of “Somewhere” from West Side Story. Julz still states that she cannot sing, but both I and Alessandro disagreed! The lessons went well, as did the audition for the Pavarotti master class: I was delighted to discover that I was one of those selected.

  Julz’s birthday came, and we had dinner together in the main square in Rimini, Piazza de Tre Martiri. It was her twenty-first birthday, and I bought her a necklace with a small diamond. We decided we would tease her family, as Tara, her elder sister, had been betting that we were going to get engaged. Julz told her I had given her a diamond and left her to wonder for a few days before putting her out of her misery. It was a wonderful evening, and I knew I would be sad when the time came for her to return to Wales.

  With Julz by my side, I worked hard to prepare to sing in front of Pavarotti. The day of the master class came very quickly. I had practised a number of arias, but the one I really wanted to sing was “Che Gelida Manina” from La Bohème. It was my favourite, and the words, which I had first translated the previous year, made me melt:

  Two thieves: beautiful eyes, have stolen all my treasure. They entered with you just now, and now all my dreams are second hand. But the theft doesn’t bother me, because here in this room with you I find hope.

  Carlo, the répétiteur, told me that “Che Gelida Manina” was a risky choice as Rodolfo was the role Pavarotti had performed most, so he would know it like the back of his hand. I was insistent, however, that it was the aria I wanted to do. I knew it was a risk, but sing it I would.

  The master class was originally to have taken place at the opera house in Longiano, where I had earlier done a concert. It was moved to the regular venue in San Leo, which I was a little disappointed about, as I thought the acoustics in the small opera house in Longiano were perfect. It was a thrill to see Pavarotti in person; he was a warm and kindly presence, and took his seat in the auditorium to hear us sing.

  I watched the other singers perform as Pavarotti listened and gave out a few pieces of advice. By the time it was my turn, I was very nervous. Julz had been there the whole time, holding my hand while I waited to sing, and I could feel she was shaking every bit as much as I was. Here I was, about to perform in front of the most well-known tenor in the world. What would he think of my singing? Would he like it? I really hoped so. He had a surprisingly soft and gentle voice. He seemed relaxed and to enjoy being there.

  Despite the situation, my singing started confidently enough and I found myself getting into the performance. Then I found myself coming to the most challenging part of the piece, where the high C arrives. Because of my nerves, I didn’t take a breath where I normally did. Although I sang the high C fairly well
, I only barely made it to the end of the phrase. I finished, and waited to hear what Pavarotti had to say. To my delight, he was smiling.

  “Very good,” he said, in English. “I liked it. Just one thing, though. Rodolfo wouldn’t have run out of breath there. He would have been feeling breathless because he’d have wanted to put his arms around Mimi; he would certainly be breathless at the end.”

  Then he asked, “What else do you sing?”

  “‘Nessun Dorma,’” I replied. This made Pavarotti raise his eyebrows and smile some more. I listed some of the arias I sang. “‘Io Lo Vido.’ ‘E Lucevan le Stelle . . .’”

  “Ah,” Pavarotti interrupted. “Sing me ‘E Lucevan le Stelle.’”

  I felt privileged, because I was the only person whom he had asked to sing twice. I sang “E Lucevan le Stelle” from Tosca, and once again Pavarotti was full of praise for my performance. I was delighted. At the end of the class a group photo was taken with Pavarotti, but being fairly short and not very pushy, I can’t be seen in the picture at all. It didn’t matter—my memories of what he said to me about my singing were enough. The evening had flown by, and after a great dinner in one of the small trattorias in the middle of nowhere, it was time, all too soon, to help Julz pack. She was going home the next day.

  The rest of the course went past in something of a blur—we did a master class with Katia Ricciarelli, who was very complimentary about my voice. (Apparently Katia did not get on with Pavarotti, and we were told not to mention anything he’d said!) I also performed at another concert in San Leo, singing the finale of Don Carlo in Italian and a large part of the first act of La Bohème. Before I knew it, it was time to head home—and back to Julz.

  The date I was flying home was 11 September 2001. Julz came to meet me at the airport. She’d taken the coach, as she didn’t fancy driving into the London area, and had parked her car in Bridgend, at the shopping outlet. As we picked the car up and drove through the Maesteg valley, we listened to the radio in disbelief. The news had broken that a plane had hit the twin towers in New York. We sat in the car in stunned silence. Was it an accident? If not, why would anyone do such a thing? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  When we got back to Julz’s parents in the village of Bryn on the outskirts of Port Talbot, the day’s events were unfolding on the television screen. We watched footage of the planes striking the towers and then saw the shocking sight of the buildings collapsing. The people in those buildings had left home that morning expecting it to be a normal day, and now their loved ones would never see them again. It really brought home to us the fragility of life and how quickly things could change.

  Obviously a hairbrush and I were complete strangers when I was seven!

  Mum and me with Lady our dog and Jane running towards us.

  Me on the deck of HMS Illustrious at Navy Days in Portsmouth.

  At seventeen I was ridiculously skinny!

  Graduation Day.

  At Land’s End with younger brother Tony after completing an 840 mile walk.

  Me with Dad behind me and Tony opposite at a BBQ in Ontario, Canada, 1999.

  Oh, for the days when I fitted in a pair of 28-inch waist jeans!

  Singing in a church in Ontario, Canada, 2001.

  From left; Fulvia, Elisa, and me in Italy.

  Our traditional wedding photo outside the church with both sets of parents, plus best man, Mark, standing behind me.

  Julz and I cutting the cake—I am sure there are times when she’d like to use that knife on me!

  Julz and me at an awards ceremony in Swansea in 2010.

  The performance that changed my life—I had no idea where it would lead. (Fremantle Media)

  Have I really won? Smiling in disbelief after the announcement that I had won in 2007. (Fremantle Media)

  Simon Cowell and I outside the ITV studios after my performance on Britain’s Got Talent in 2009. (Vibica Auld)

  A bit of fun with my orchestra at the end of my first UK tour at Hammersmith Apollo in February 2008.

  Natasha Marsh was great fun to have on tour with me—she is a great sport and a wonderful singer, London 2008.

  The A Team: Julz, me, my manager Vibica, and Jake Duncan, my tour manager, at the UNESCO gala in Dusseldorf, 2009.

  On the set of One Chance, 2012. Left to right: Julz, Mackenzie Crook, me, James Corden, and Alexandra Roach. (Liam Daniel © 2013 The Weinstein Company. All Rights Reserved.)

  The events galvanized something within me. The next day, I asked Julz if she would like to start looking at rings. To my relief and joy, she didn’t look too shocked and just said, “Okay.”

  We went into Swansea, and it didn’t take long to find the perfect ring: we instinctively knew it was the right one the moment it went onto Julz’s finger. It was an eighteen-carat gold with a twist and a quarter-carat diamond. As she placed it on her left ring finger, I saw the joy in Julz’s eyes. I knew she didn’t want to give the ring up. As far as she was concerned, it was already hers. Julz told me that taking the ring off was one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do.

  But I didn’t have much money left after the trip to Italy, so I had to put a deposit on the ring instead of buying it outright. I would go to the store every month and pay a little more towards it. I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to have such a beautiful, funny, and intelligent girlfriend, who by Christmas would be my fiancée. I wanted to tell it to the world, but I needed to start saving up money first, not just for the ring but for the wedding itself.

  I proposed to Julz on the seafront at Mumbles. It had only been ten months since we had met and come here on our first date, but this did not feel rushed. Our union felt like it had always been intended. Already, Julz was a great foil for me, and I was delighted when she said yes.

  Julz and I decided to tell our families about the engagement at Christmas. Right from the start, I had got on well with Julz’s family. On first meeting them, I remarked with surprise on meeting someone who was one of eighteen children. Her dad, Dave, turned and said, “What of it?” The penny dropped: Julz had already told me that her mum was one of seventeen, and I had forgotten this. That was the first of many laughs at my expense, and they still continue. I immediately felt confident that I would be welcomed as one of them. Her mum reminded me of my own mum, and I sensed that her dad and I would become friends. Her grancha reminded me of my own—the fact that he had been in the same pits as my grancha intrigued both Dave and me.

  Christmas seemed to take forever to come. I wanted it to be here now, and I wanted it to be completely happy. Finally, it was Christmas Eve, and Julz and I had dinner together before we headed to the midnight service at All Saints in Fishponds, ready to tell our news.

  I wanted my parents to love Julz as much as I did. While Mum was her ever-present mild-mannered self who would always try and get on with anyone, Dad wasn’t so easy about our engagement, and always disagreed with us spending the weekend together. While I could tell Mum was happy (her attitude was that if I was happy, she was happy), I could also sense that my father was much less than pleased. However, his attitude did change once we got married. Julz’s parents had already accepted me as one of their own. I wondered whether that would ever be fully true of my own parents. Julz was the most important thing in my life now, and nothing was going to change that.

  We both did what we could to spend as much time together as possible. I was still on Bristol City Council, and Julz would truly show her love by sitting through a five-hour full council meeting. She worked at an insurance call centre and was giving up her day off to spend time with me. She was bored rigid, but this certainly convinced me of her love!

  I had started working in Tesco’s home shopping department, which basically meant I did other people’s shopping for them. This had its advantages, despite its early start time at six in the morning: I finished work at one on Saturday afternoons, so I could be with Julz earlier in the day. Often there would be engineering works on the train line to
Wales, and since rail replacement buses wouldn’t accept bikes, it meant I would cycle the thirty-plus miles via the cycle track on the older of the two Severn bridges to get the train at Newport. On the way back, I would catch the 0349 train from Port Talbot to Bristol Parkway, and then cycle from the parkway to Tesco. It was exhausting, but worth it to see Julz.

  I was singing a little less now, and concentrating more on saving up to get married and finding somewhere to live. But I hadn’t stopped entirely, despite my father’s fears. I took the roles of Don Basilio and Don Ottavio on Bath Opera’s productions of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro and Don Giovanni. These were enjoyable performances in different parts of the area surrounding Bath and Wiltshire.

  I also had an audition for English National Opera’s Baylis Programme. Julz supported my going for the course, even though it meant delaying our honeymoon if I was selected. This was a workshop audition in front of a panel that included the renowned vocal expert Mary King. The singing went well, but these situations where I had to interact with others always made me anxious. In the end, I just missed out on a place; but I was first reserve, which was a good achievement in itself, as places on the course were highly sought after.

  Although I didn’t pass that audition, I was to have more success elsewhere. First, Bath Opera held auditions for its main production in 2003: Verdi’s Aida. I went for the main tenor role, Radames, and to my joy, despite there being plenty of competition for the part, I got it. Even better, an audition came up for a production in North London for a Puccini opera, Manon Lescaut. I had decided that, within reason, I would travel anywhere to do a Puccini role. Julz drove me to Southgate for the audition, and after a few days I heard that I had got that part, too. I was thrilled. Suddenly, the first half of 2003 was looking extremely exciting—two operas and a wedding!