But suddenly he managed the first verse and then the second and I was looking at the old tape machine that Seamus had going round and round and praying, ‘Please get through to the end’.
BOOM! He done it.
‘Brilliant,’ I thought.
The next song kicked in.
‘Let’s just keep him going as far as he can go,’ said Seamus.
Dad nailed every song that we played. There were a few places where he forgot the words, but he was having the time of his life. ‘What’s next?’ he shouted down the mic. The showman was back and I felt so happy I’d managed to finally record his voice.
‘Top-class professionals,’ he kept shouting over his shoulder, thinking there was a band behind him.
We did about fifteen songs non-stop in the first session and Dad was full of praise afterwards: ‘Brilliant musicians you’ve got there. What’s your name? Seamus. Brilliant musicians. You should come to St Stephen’s one night and I’ll get you a gig. Top-class musicians they have on there. They’d love you…’
A week or so later, Seamus sent me the edited recordings and they weren’t bad – there were a lot of little mistakes, but they were more or less there and I started to feel more positive about booking another session, especially as Dad’s eightieth birthday was approaching. I knew that time was running out with Dad and that things were changing rapidly, and I wanted to put on one last big finale for him and the family. I thought about how to recreate a night where Dad could sing to everyone. How about bringing back the Eddie Carter Show? ‘It’s a big risk,’ said Mum. ‘But we should try it.’ When I speak to the family and friends, however, they’re concerned: ‘Simon, remember your dad is ill. This could be really stressful for him. Why not arrange a nice meal for him on his birthday instead?’
Maybe they were right. I went back and forth debating whether or not we should do it, until finally deciding: it was now or never.
I booked the upstairs room at St Stephen’s and started thinking about the theme. Then I realized – if we were recording him singing, why not turn it into an album launch party? I wanted to give something back to the Alzheimer’s Society for the way they’d helped us the year before, and decided that we would use Dad’s birthday to fundraise too. I’d only called the helpline a few times but it had saved me and shown me that we weren’t alone, that we could support Dad. I couldn’t remember how many nights I’d spent trawling through their forums looking for advice on how to deal with Dad’s condition. In the darkest of days and nights, they were a lifeline. I thought it would be a nice idea if anyone who donated to the collection on the night received a copy of Dad’s CD.
The invitation went out: ‘The Teddy Mac 80th Birthday and Album Launch Party’. It was either going to be a huge success or a massive failure – that’s if Dad even decided to come on the night. He was still going through a phase of saying at the last minute that he didn’t want to go out, leaving Mum all dressed up with nowhere to go and often be physically threatening if she begged him to go. Even if they did make it out, he could ruin things by getting jealous and causing a scene, something that was mildly acceptable when they were younger, but now just frightening because of the extent of his vitriol. I hoped that, because they were still going to St Stephen’s most weeks, the fact that it was familiar would mean he was more likely to go and that he would feel safe on the night.
By the start of June, I’d collected more of Dad’s backing tracks and made a list of all his old favourites. I organized them according to which ones I knew he could sing all the way through and eventually narrowed it down to fifteen. Me, Mum and Dad went back to Seamus’s and Dad was on great form. We ran through the tracks in no time. Afterwards we all went for a drive around the Ribble Valley and I put on the music we’d just finished recording. Dad was singing along without a care in the world. I hadn’t seen him this happy in months. As we reached Whalley, ‘Quando, Quando, Quando’ came on. It was a song that Dad always performed, so we all knew the words and began to sing along. ‘Play it again!’ he said. We must have sung it four or five times non-stop. By the time we got near the top of the hill, Dad was singing away and Mum and I were in the front, laughing at his complete change in personality. I wanted to record it. We’d had such a bad few months and this was a rare moment of happiness worth catching. We had the windows down, the music was on full blast and we were now on to our sixth rendition of ‘Quando’.
I balanced the mobile on the front of the dashboard and pressed record.
‘Now!’ he said, telling us when to start.
It was such a happy moment that behind my sunglasses my eyes were streaming with tears. Out of all this darkness, there was finally this brief feeling of light and normality. I glanced over at Mum and I could tell she felt exactly the same way.
‘Brilliant!’ he said when we finished. ‘We should have recorded that!’
The next song came on – ‘Beyond the Sea’. We were on such a roll with Dad that I took a detour into Sunnybower Drive so that we had more time to drive around singing. We got back home and Dad was exhausted but in a great mood. In fact, he was ten times happier. That evening we went to St Stephen’s and he was like a new man – the frown had gone and the aggression had subsided. It was as if there had been a pressure-cooker release, the music bringing back the relaxed and happy Ted, the life and soul of the party, the kind guy who’d help everyone, the Ted liked by everyone. I uploaded the video to Facebook and went to bed. It was a quiet night and we all slept well, and by the time I’d woken up, I noticed the video had received over forty ‘likes’ (for me, this was a lot). ‘This is joyful,’ someone had written.
That afternoon Dad and I drove down to Tesco to pick up some milk and bread for Mum. It was a red-hot day, so again we had the windows down. I brought some of Dad’s old CDs with me, thinking we could sing along to them on the way. I also brought a bit of Blu Tack to stop the mobile from falling as I was filming – I knew these moments would be precious one day and I wanted to bank as many as I could.
I put the CD in, pressed play and then pulled out of the drive. I could see the change in Dad immediately. The first song was ‘Let There Be Love’ and we drove along singing at the tops of our voices.
We were driving down Cornelian Street singing ‘On the Street Where You Live’ and there’s the line: ‘there’s no where else on earth that I would rather be’. As soon as I sang those words, I stopped singing–right at that moment in time there really wasn’t anywhere on earth that I would rather be. I was singing with my dad and he was happy. I’d forgotten all about the Alzheimer’s, the aggression, the threats and the upset. For that small moment in time, everything in the world was OK; singing like this brought Dad real joy. It soon became clear that others felt the same way, because the videos started getting more ‘likes’ online. So I created a Facebook page and added a link under each video to a JustGiving page where people could donate money to the Alzheimer’s Society. If I’m honest it was great to give something back, but the bigger thrill was seeing Dad happy again and being able to show off his voice. I always felt that he missed opportunities and this could be his one last chance to make it big.
Chapter 18
I set myself a goal of raising £1,000. That seemed like a decent amount to aim for but in no way did I think we could achieve it. I still wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Dad was ill and perhaps putting him online for the world to see wasn’t the best thing for him. I questioned whether he would want this if he’d known it was happening while he was ill. Then I came to the conclusion that his greatest wish had always been to share his music. I uploaded the video and went to the gym. By the time I came out, the page had received thirty ‘likes’ and two friends had donated. We had about £50 in the space of an hour. More importantly, people had begun to share the videos with their friends – Dad’s music was reaching people.
Throughout the next month, every five days I would upload another video of me and Dad singing. By the end of June we had 15
0 ‘likes’ to the page. And after I posted ‘Volare’, the ‘likes’ on the page suddenly jumped to more than 500. By then I knew that I was doing the right thing. We’d raised £500 by this point, and it wasn’t just friends giving money but people I didn’t even know. Private messages started coming in from people around the world…
‘I’m really proud of what you’re doing and it’s keeping my spirit a little higher. I’m currently sat with my grandma in hospital as she’s been suffering with dementia badly. We play your dad’s songs to her. I just want to thank you for being with us at this hard time…’
‘My son has autism and never liked music until he saw the videos of your dad singing. You have unlocked a part of him that was hidden for the last seven years…’
‘While out shopping I stood next to a lady who was humming “Volare” and we both stood there laughing, talking about your dad. You are bringing happiness to so many people.’
‘I had really bad depression the day I saw you and your dad and your video made me instantly happy…’
‘I just wanted to say, that even in those moments with uncertainty and no real clarity, your dad is forever proud of you and the son that you have become.’
The next month or so, each time I’d go up to Blackburn I’d take Dad out for a drive and we’d record a few songs. I remember the day he and I recorded ‘Quando’ vividly. I’d taken him out for another drive around the Ribble Valley. It was a warm day, so the windows were down and we were both singing at the tops of our lungs. When we arrived in Clitheroe, Dad wanted to keep driving around the town centre so people could hear him so we must have done about three or four laps down the main street. I remember we saw a group of lads outside a pub and the fourth time we passed them, they were all cheering. Dad was waving away and singing. I hadn’t seen him like this in years; he was back to his fun, confident self. As I pulled into Sainsbury’s car park, ‘Quando’ started again. We parked up and I was about to turn the CD off when Dad shouted, ‘Finish it!’ and I thought, ‘Fuck it, let’s go with it…’ and the rest is history. Afterwards we drove back home to Sunnybower and, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like I’d connected with him.
‘Next time you’re up I’ll get out all my backing tracks and we can do a show down at St Stephen’s,’ said Dad.
Later that afternoon I took out some of his backing tracks to go through the songs he was going to sing at his birthday. I didn’t want to put him in a situation where he’d be onstage and forget the lyrics. ‘Dad, do you want to just run through these songs together?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? You’ve been singing all day…’
‘No, I’m a professional. I don’t sing for anyone without getting paid.’
‘But Dad, it’s me. I just want to run through a couple of songs.’
‘I DON’T SING FOR ANYONE WHO DOESN’T PAY ME. I AM A PROFESSIONAL,’ he snarled back.
Then, for the next forty minutes, Dad went on a rant about how he was a professional, we were nothing and how he couldn’t stand us. Here I was trying to make sure everything went OK for HIS party and all I was getting was insults and aggression. I snapped.
‘OK, DAD, FORGET IT.’ And I stormed into the front room, slamming the door behind me.
I’d completely done the wrong thing. I should have kept my cool because the next thing I knew, he was trying to throw me out of the house. I took the car keys and went for a drive, parking up in a lay-by. There I picked up the phone and immediately began ranting to my friend Nick: ‘Why am I giving this man SO MUCH of my time and energy when all I get back is insults?’
‘Si, you’re doing an amazing thing. He can’t help it.’ Nick always calmed me down.
I rang home before I started the drive back to see how things were. Dad answered. ‘Simon? Thank God it’s you! Where are you? There’s been a TWAT staying with us. He comes here thinking he knows how to sing, telling me what to do, poncing around. He’s gone now but the next time I see him I’m going to banjo him.’
I was absolutely terrified. I could tell Dad had gone to a different place. When I got home he was raging about Mum. ‘I know what she’s been up to. She’s been having it away with that TWAT that’s been staying here. I know it…’
‘Dad, Mum would never do that. She loves you.’
‘Oh yes she would! You don’t know what she’s like.’
He really was kicking off. I told Mum to go and sit in the car. ‘If she comes back in this house I’ll throw her through that window. She keeps inviting this TWAT into the house. I’m a professional. I don’t need TWATS like that coming in here telling me what to do. I have THOUSANDS of fans all queuing up for me down in the Midlands. Just ask any one of my brothers and sisters and they’ll all tell you.’
By this time I was close to breaking point. I’d made him a cup of tea but he was still in this blind rage. ‘Dad, I need to tell you something…’
‘What?’
‘Come and sit next to me. It’s important.’
‘I’m not sitting down. Just make sure that woman is OUT OF MY SIGHT.’
‘Dad, please. I need to tell you something.’
Dad sat down on the armrest of the sofa.
‘Dad, look me in the eyes. You know I wouldn’t lie to you, would I?’
‘No, I know you’d never lie to me. You’re alright.’
‘Well, you know that guy that was here before and he started shouting?’
‘If he comes in here any more I’ll fucking chin him!’
‘Dad, that guy was me.’ By this point my lips were trembling and my eyes had started to water.
‘No, it wasn’t, Sime – you’d never speak to me like that. I know you.’
‘Dad, it was. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. I just got angry because I wanted everything to be OK.’
‘Sime – no. I know what she’s up to. Her and him are having it away. She always takes his side. I’m a fucking professional. I don’t need twats like that around me.’
‘Dad, I’m sorry. It was me…’
By this stage I was practically begging him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He stormed out the room and put on his music. I made him another cup of tea and went outside to Mum.
‘I think he may have calmed down a bit but just be careful. Keep out of his way for a while and I’ll take him for a drive.’
You could tell Mum had been crying and I felt terrible that there she was having to sit outside in the car. ‘Just go straight upstairs and I’ll take him out.’ We walked in the front door. He was stood there.
‘GET HER OUT OF MY SIGHT. I’M WARNING YOU, SHE’LL BE GOING THROUGH THAT FRONT WINDOW.’
Mum rushed upstairs and Dad went back to putting on his music.
‘Dad, do you want another cup of tea?’
‘Oh, cheers, Sime. You having one?’
We must have been on our fifth cup during the last two hours. After he’d calmed down a bit I took him out for a drive. As soon as we sat in the car he started again. ‘You see the trouble is, Sime, all she cares about is herself…’
‘Dad, Mum loves you. You know that.’
I tried to calm him down but he just became more and more aggressive. It was a constant rage at my mum and I couldn’t take it any more. Why couldn’t he just shut up?! I pulled the car off the road because I was crying so much.
‘Oi! What’s up? Why you crying, Sime?’
At this point I was in a full-on cry: tears, snot, the works.
‘Sime, come on, what’s a matter?’
‘Because you keep having a go at Mum and all she does is try to help you! She’s always looking out for you and she loves you and all you’ve done for the last two hours is attack her.’
‘I would never attack your mother. She’s the best woman on earth. I love her, I’d never hurt her.’
‘But Dad, you are. You keep saying you’ll throw her through the window!’
‘I’ve never said that. If anyone touches her I’d banjo
them. Has someone upset you? Sime, if someone’s upset you, then let me know and I’ll sort them out.’
There was no way of discussing it.
‘Dad, can you just promise me that when we get back you won’t have a go at Mum?’
‘What you talking about? I never have a go at Linda, I love her.’
‘OK, well, let’s just forget it then…’
Then we drove back to Sunnybower. Mum had made the tea. Everything was normal. I felt like I’d been beaten up. It was so bloody traumatic and Dad had no idea of all the upset he’d caused that day.
Around this time, some of the videos that I had shared on the page had over 200 views; it was amazing that people from around the world were enjoying Dad’s voice. An old friend from university – Rob, and his wife Roya and family – were visiting from Australia. One Sunday I made the trip up to visit them. I’d posted a video on the page that morning and, while I was on the train, messages began to stream in. I was so engrossed in replying to people and hearing their stories that I completely missed my stop, adding an extra hour to the journey. Something was happening and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the messages that were appearing on the page. People were asking for advice, sharing their own stories – it’s something I’d never experienced before.
Meanwhile, I was still planning Dad’s birthday, and after getting the tracks from Seamus, I took them down to my good friend Nick’s to edit. He was a piano player and had produced his own music.
We must have consumed gallons of tea and, as we went through the vocals, Nick was impressed. ‘Your dad has an amazing voice – to think that he’s holding these notes at his age,’ he said. Finally, the cuts were ready to send to Seamus so he could print copies. I’d already created the artwork for Dad’s party using #Songaminute as the album title (the hashtag I’d used on all the videos) and calling Dad ‘Teddy Mac’. I’d also found an old image of Dad from his Butlin’s days. It was completely creased and covered in green felt tip from me scrawling all over it when I was a kid, but it would do just fine with a bit of editing.
The Songaminute Man Page 19