A work of art

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

In spite of repeated requests from my nearest and dearest, I had been singing again as I made the coffee. Music has always been part of my life, even though, in spite of writing a number of songs, I can only enjoy it, not make it. It was probably some odd combination of notes that triggered the memory… and many of the notes that issue from my throat are undoubtedly odd. I found myself singing ‘Men of Harlech’, a song I have probably not sung for over fifty years, yet somehow, I could remember the words; lyrics I had learned before I had any concept of what they really meant.

Even given my extreme youth, my grandfather had explained, in terms I could understand, about the historical siege of Harlech in the fifteenth century. As I thought back to that moment, I started remembering in more and more detail. I…

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