It's All Part Of Being A Pirate (Cornwall Day 8)

His text messages continued right on up through boarding, taxiing, and Airplane Mode. Finally then, they went silent as he, in a massive aluminum bucket, raced down the tarmac, lifted off and was away. 

It would be a 10 hour flight, and the only thing I knew for sure was that he would be listening to Fisherman's Friends. I was listening to Fisherman's Friends! Maybe we would be hearing the same song right now, probably Cornwall My Home (I have it on loop), or No-Hopers, or Being A Pirate. Being a Pirate has just one message: "you can't be a Pirate with all of your parts". (Don't ask me why this is so. You have to hear it for yourselves).

But I would be heading out to yet another concert that night, with Jean, and Audrey, and sweet Pennie. Such riches twice in a row! The Moushole Male Voice Choir would perform with the Tamar Male Voice Choir in the Church at Paul. Male Voice Choirs populate all of Cornwall, and often get together to perform. They practice, then perform, then go over the road to the King's Arms and make music of another sort. Don't ask me how they squeeze 100 men in there because I can't fathom. 

I'm not making this up, either. One of the Tamar men told me it outright, and said (with a wink), "Why don't you come along? Heehee." 

Hearing this, Audrey whispered that we had to catch a cab. But I might have been interested except for the '101 grown up people in one Pub' part. It might have proved deafening.

I didn't mind them being deafening inside the church, singing their hearts out - which they did, and brought the house down. Our hands stung from all the clapping we couldn't help but do. 

There was, sadly, one less man on that stage last night, someone we all miss and wish we could see again. Eric. Eric is the friend who told Pennie and I about what happened to him in WW2, when he and his mum walked down to Man's Head Rock for a picnic, and just then a German bomber flew directly over his head, dropping bombs on the St Ives Gas Works (now the Tate Museum). Eric and his mum were uninjured, but a nearby lady, who sat on the rocks knitting, perished.

Eric is the kindly man who kindly drove the SconeLady to and from the Mousehole Male Voice Choir rehearsals every Monday night. Eric is the friend who struggled against Leukemia, fighting a valiant battle but losing it in the end.

He is also the man who told us, "I am not worried, for I will be in Heaven where Jesus is waiting for me." He died last month. 

We, his friends, thought about him last night, especially when they sang his favorite, "And Can It Be". Talk about bringing down the house.

 

It was all wonderful, even the part where we went to the wrong church at first, and had to keep going until we found the right church. The baffled cab driver was completely nice about it, but I could see in his eyes (and I have learned this before) that he expected us to know where we were going.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady