The Albert Hall
DRESSED SMARTLY IN a black suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie, Joe Collum was standing in the doorway. ‘Your carriage awaits you, Julia,’ he announced with a big smile.
‘Ah, would you get away out of that, Joe, and stop your trick-acting,’ I chided.
Joe laughed.
This quiet-mannered, dark-haired man has been a member of our extended family for so long he’s like another son to me.
‘Do you need any help with anything?’ he asked.
‘Sure what would I need help with, and me only taking a handbag. After all, isn’t it to the ball you’re taking me?’ I said.
He laughed again and led me to the hotel lift; we were heading for the car waiting outside.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the spacious people-carrier as Joe drove confidently along the side streets, I marvelled at how he could find his way around this big city of London with the bright lights of cars coming at us from all directions … and he a native of my own quiet little corner of Ireland.
We arrive at our destination, the Royal Albert Hall, and it’s like a busy airport with people racing around inside and out.
‘It’s a full house tonight, Julia,’ Joe announced.
‘Daniel will be delighted.’
‘Oh, he will surely.’
Growing up on the tiny, little-known island of Owey off County Donegal on the Northwest coast of Ireland, this was never in my dreams.
Taking my seat among the colourful audience, I see men and women from all walks of life, their faces alight with excitement in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment. They’re all turned out in their Sunday best. Suddenly my mind is racing with so many memories.
All dolled up in my new blue dress and matching jacket, with shiny black shoes and a handbag that came all the way from Tenerife, I can’t help but think how my life today is so far removed from my teenage and early adult years when I earned a wage doing hard labour picking potatoes in the fields of Scotland and gutting fish in ports far from home. Earlier this evening, as I was preparing for tonight’s concert in a comfortable room of a really lovely London hotel, my thoughts wandered back to the times I slept in a cowshed at the end of a day’s slave labour, the smell of the animals filling the air. A shiver runs down my spine as I recall the horrible ‘visitors’ we experienced in our sleeping quarters one night.
What a difference tonight’s room was with its big, comfy bed, central heating, luxurious red carpet, modern wallpaper and lovely English landscapes, and all kinds of mod cons that left me baffled as to what their uses were. It was another world.
It’s all so different today. So many blessings to be grateful for. Though tonight I’m reminded of a tragic event from which I will never recover. I recall the loneliness and fear that engulfed me. My life was dark and desolate back then. Had it not been for my strong religious faith, I don’t know how I would have got through that very difficult time.
I look round at the sea of happy faces. All of the people seem to be transfixed by the star of the show as he takes centre stage. With every step and chorus, the applause grows louder.
The people around me occasionally nod and wave in my direction, and it’s a lovely feeling. I don’t know any of them – they are neither neighbours nor friends – yet they are a part of the new ‘family’ that has come into my life over the years. I’ve appeared on television, experienced the applause and warmth of audiences in venues at home and abroad, mingled with the stars of the entertainment business and been introduced to all kinds of dignitaries, including Prince Charles.
In my 87 years, I’ve lived two lives that have been so different it’s hard to believe they’ve both been mine.