Spotlight - "A Musical Yorkshire Lass" Pam Taylor
Photo - 1962 family picnic in Yorkshire
History recalls that it was snowing on 3rd December 1956, the day that I was born, at home in Yorkshire. The house was on a hill in Bradford. This goes some way to explain that I have always liked snow, hills and sliding down them. But you had to get used to such weather in Yorkshire. We wore hand-knitted jumpers that filled with icy water and you would return home from sledging in Peel Park dragging your sleeves along the ground. Then you would steam slowly in front of the comforting glow and smell of a coal fire whilst Mum made tea. Then my Dad would appear, smoking his pipe, after a hard day at the office.
My father was a director of a small wool firm in Bradford. Some of my happiest times were spent jumping through holes in the mill floor down on to piles of freshly scoured wool on the floor below. We returned home many a Saturday lunchtime covered in woolly fibres. My mother got used to it. She, a kindred spirit, understood our wild ways. “We” included my brothers, David and Philip. They were initially quite sad not to have another brother to add to their gang, but I showed them that I could keep up by becoming brave and intrepid.
My sense of adventure forced me to wander from an early age. Search parties were often sent out after me. Fortunately I was found. This inclination perhaps explains my love of travel. I have been to every continent, but have in no way exhausted my curiosity. Tourism begins in your own back yard. It’s great to explore, especially in London.
I went to a small private school called Rose Bank which was quite “international”. Round the corner lived my lovely Granddad, Emmanuel Lavendar who sang tenor and made me laugh. His house was in Southfield Square just off Lumb Lane, which was known as “Little India” due to the large numbers of Indians and Pakistanis who lived there. They had come to Bradford to find work in the woollen industry. There were already several mosques, temples, exotic shops, ladies in saris and men in kurtas, both wearing sandals, in spite of the cold!
I loved growing up in that atmosphere, and have usually found multi-cultural places feel like home. My mother’s half sister Evelyn lived with “Manny” as his companion and was very indulgent with me. She eked out her pension amazingly and took me on trips to the seaside, bought me my first guitar, fed me well and sang me songs by Gracie Fields!
Home for me will always be the rural industrial landscape of Yorkshire. I know the Dales intimately due to my parents’ combined talents of camping (my father was a King’s Scout) and home-making (my mother could set up a kitchen even in the middle of a field). Our “picnics” involved setting off early in the morning to a distant stream, carrying everything one might need to survive for several days; a tent, ground sheet, primus, blankets, food … We were once discovered by a farmer in his field whilst my mother was cooking chips (yes, she had brought the chip pan). He stayed to eat and became a life-long friend.
We often joined forces with other families and spent the days, eating, sunbathing, catching trout and playing cricket. All the adults smoked – at least it kept away the midges! On our way home, after visiting the pub, we had fish and chips! Yorkshire ones, with no skin, t he best.
When I was eight we moved to a much bigger house in Shipley and I changed school. Albert Road Junior School was quite a challenge after the rarified atmosphere of Rose Bank. Let’s say it was “mixed”; some lucky kids and some quite neglected. It’s hard to believe, but in Saltaire, there were houses that had not been modernized since they were built in the 1850s. Outside toilet, no bathroom, no heating. And some of the residents retained the lifestyle. There were some really sad cases. One little girl who always looked hungry actually died.
I don’t think Social Services stepped in the way they (usually) do now.
Anyway, the jolly side was MUSIC!!! At this school, I learned the recorder and to read music. When I was nine I was allowed piano lessons. Things got tight as the wool trade declined, so I was lucky.
I was very glad and quite relieved to move on to The Salt Grammar School. It was a great school with excellent dedicated teachers and lots of MUSIC! and DRAMA! This kept me sane (more or less) and gave me something to look forward to during the long days of study, the emotional turmoil of adolescence and the cold winter months.
At the age of thirteen I joined the Saltaire Youth Theatre run by the brilliant Barbara Crabtree. This gave us a lot of fun, new friends, new boys….. and took us to some amazing places around Yorkshire.
At the same age I got myself confirmed with my best friend Catherine Mills. My family was not really church-going, more pagan, but for me this new community and spiritual exploration held a lot of interest. Church also had lots of nice music, of course.
After school, I went to St Andrews University in Scotland. I decided to go north, knowing that later I would be going south. Leaving my parents was a huge wrench and always was, every single time I left.
But children need to make their own lives. I must get used to that daunting prospect, now that I have my own (not so) little ones.
St Andrews was a riot from start to finish. The choirs, the plays, the bonfires on the beach, swimming in the North Sea, the life-long friends, the food, the drink….oh yes, the degree. Got it! MA.
I also spent a lot of my time singing with the Renaissance Group, a choir led by Douglas Gifford. We toured all over Europe - Great days.
After the four-year party by the North Sea, I got a job at the BBC as a Radio Studio Manager. I was delighted and lucky to get this great job.
But first I spent a year in the country which has become my second home, Italy!!! I went to a school run by Ursuline nuns, in Cortina in the Dolomites, which also happened to be (rather conveniently) a ski resort, with lots of skiing and ski instructors. I taught every morning and skied every afternoon. I wrote pantomimes and songs for the girls. I even had a topical radio show once a week at Radio Cortina!
I loved the nuns, the girls and the mountains. At the end of that glorious year, I didn’t want to leave. But I did.
Get your training at the BBC they said. You can always go back. But I stayed and have been in London ever since 3rd November 1980.
My time at the BBC has been amazing. I work only part-time now, but when I was working full-time in the heady days of the 1980s, I had a ball. I was at Broadcasting House from 1982 to 1992 and met “everyone” (as they say) from Terry Wogan to King Hussein of Jordan, from Paul McCartney to Margaret Thatcher, who drank whisky with her lunch before being interviewed on Woman’s Hour!
We enjoyed the BBC Club at the Langham over the road and you were actively encouraged to go and drink at lunchtime to further your career. I’m not good at staying awake in the afternoon even without alcohol, so I had to skip the drinks. This is why I didn’t become DG.
The drinks trolley often used to rattle into the studios, especially if we had some famous (or alcoholic!) guest. I could be convinced on occasions to partake and the transmission would stay on air - just!
By the way, a studio manager is the person who controls the sound desk and is responsible for making sure everything sounds good.
Since I had children, I have been working freelance at the World Service which is based in Bush House. When I started we broadcast in 43 foreign languages. Now it’s about 30. Nothing to do with me! Blame it on our short-sighted government(s). They’re all as bad as each other. Accurate, unbiased news is one of our greatest exports and most effective diplomatic tools. Why reduce our measly budget?
I moved to my house round the corner from St Andrews Church on 27th September 1991. Two days later I attended the service and have been a member of the congregation ever since. The priest at the time was that great thespian and wit David Paget. He certainly kept us entertained and was an inspiring spiritual leader. His sense of Christian forgiveness can be exemplified by the occasion he chose to ignore someone throwing a dustbin through the vicarage window during Christmas Lunch!
It is at St Andrews that I met my theatrical “parents” Dorit and Alan Haines. The day my mother died, Dorit swept through my front door and announced: “Let the understudy step in!” She has always been a wonderful friend and introduced Emmy, Nina and I to Swanbank Music where we’ve had great fun taking part in musicals for several years.
I love our community of friends and family at St Andrews and with all its ups and downs we really have stuck together. And now, with wonderful Father Martin, Father Marcel and Peter, we reach out into areas we might never have imagined. Rock on!
Now about Italy. I first went there when I was nine. As a family, we have always been drawn to the country and feel very much at home. There is so much beauty everywhere, even in the remote villages, and the people have an infectious warmth and a passion for life, food and each other! The driving is terrible and the politics is corrupt and self-serving, but that’s just carrying on in the tradition of chariot racing and the Roman Senate. Nothing’s perfect, not even Italy.
It is widely rumoured that we are Italian on my mother’s side. I really must get round to some genealogy one day. It would be fun, I’m sure.
The Italian attitude to life, although often selfish, is easy to understand because it is honest enough to recognize that we can never totally depend on collective powers such as governments or religious institutions, many of which are corrupt and oppressive. We have to take responsibility for our own actions and our own survival. In Britain our welfare system is out of control, giving people the false belief that we have unending resources. As a result we have a rapidly expanding population. I believe we should really try to keep our families small now as part of a collective attempt to save this amazing world.
Life is beautiful. God is great. We have the power to live well.
Photo - 2004 family dinner
I have been blessed with love, friendship and romance in my life. In the words of Old Blue Eyes (Frank Sinatra) “Loves been good to me”.
(It’s not over yet, my heart’s still beating and spring is coming).
Whitney Houston sings of “The Greatest love of all”. Which love is that? God’s love? Our love for ourselves? I have always imagined it to mean that which grows physically within us, children. The miracle of life is a sign that God entrusts us with something special and worthy of our best care. I am humbled by all that Emmy and Nina are, way beyond my care or genetic input. They are a mystery for me to ponder which I shall do joyfully in my stumbling, fumbling way until the end of my days.