Robert Burns broke my voice. It happened at a talent show in the village hall of Mauchline, right in the heart of Burns Country. I’d won the school competition with a rendition of My Heart’s In The Highlands so was fairly confident of doing well even though up against a telepathic sheepdog and the local plumber who played the spoons. Big competition. I can’t remember the first prize but think it involved a month’s supply of steak pies and a two night stay at Butlin’s in Ayr. (Second prize was a three night stay!).
The place was packed with the great and the not so good and I was nervous. Mr Stewart, the church minister and the man with the coldest hands in Scotland sat in the front row, staring up at me with a face that teetered on the edge of indifference and contempt. Accompanying me on the piano was Mrs Gibb who was my teacher at Mauchline Primary School and she smiled as I walked onto the stage. I sensed the audience expected something pretty spectacular and I was going to give it to them whether they liked it or not. I could hear my pals at the back shouting out words of encouragement, ‘Go on Ronnie… give it laldie!’ ‘Nae bother wee Barbour!’ I waited until the shouting and heckling stopped before I nodded to Mrs Gibb to launch me into my song.
Off to a bad start
I sensed straight away that something wasn’t quite right. Though I had sung this song many times with my other teacher, Mr Anderson, this felt strange. Being a true professional I carried on. Approaching the first proper high note of the first chorus I realised I was in the wrong key. The audience also sensed that something was awry and moved uncomfortably in their folding chairs. I could feel them willing me on, hoping that it was just nerves restricting my vocal cords, but it wasn’t.
Thrusting myself into the second chorus I strained to reach my musical Everest. Suddenly my voice dropped and I went from singing something close to soprano but ended up nearer a bass singer. Mrs Gibb immediately stopped playing and ran across the stage to hug me and offer condolences. The audience too went quiet. The kind of stillness when people have witnessed a very bad accident but couldn’t take their eyes off me just in case it got worse. A moment that only lasted seconds seemed to go on for an eternity. Physically I felt nothing different but I knew that my days singing My Heart’s In The Highlands were over.
Saved by a sheepdog
Eventually the audience began applauding, more out of sympathy than appreciation. Luckily enough and true to form, the telepathic sheepdog started barking from behind the curtains and my exit from the stage was thankfully shielded from the increasing embarrassment. Afterwards, my friends consoled me with assurances that the first half of the song was “brilliant” and that I shouldn’t give up but should rather pick a song that was a bit ‘lower’. So whilst I celebrate the Bard and everything he has done for Scotland, I do so with mixed emotions. I know he didn’t write the music only the words but every year when Burns Night returns, my brain revisits that moment in Mauchline Village Hall when puberty struck and Robert Burns broke my voice.
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