Dorothy Coates

Dorothy Coates was a neighbour who lived in the block of flats where I grew up in Southport. The building had a large garden which she took on as her own and she devoted every Sunday to work with the plants. Looking at photographs of my childhood, I can see how the bare lawn where I took some of my earliest steps grew into a mature garden by the time I reached my teens.

She was a small lady but forthright nonetheless and I remember hearing of an angry exchange with another resident whom she caught taking flowers from the border. The other lady was insisting that her late husband would be spinning in his grave if he knew she only had artificial flowers in her flat, to which Miss Coates replied that it would be good exercise for him.

Dorothy Coates

Dorothy Coates brings lavender buds
To sew into sachets with ribbons and bows
Written directions, birthday girl wishes
She'll not stay for tea, she has gardens to grow

When the faithful go by in their Sunday best
Bearing souls for an hour of devotion
She's tending her church by a chapel-grey fountain
A choir of foxgloves peals with emotion

Evergreen lady, kneeling, discerning the flower
That is worthy from a tangle of weeds
Embracing the earth with a prayer and a promise
A tulip, an internal logic, a creed

The watering can bows its head with a drizzle --
The drought never ends -- over seedlings in rows
A cycle of life at the altar of nature
A dandelion weeder, a dibber, a hoe

And she strides from the turn of a century onward
The seasons replace her in a stop-motion show
Miss Dorothy Coates is a memory suspended
In the amber of autumn's afternoon glow

November 2022

Henry Tudor, Lost at Sea

As mentioned in a previous post, I'm in a songwriting group called the DIAMC. We take it in turns to set a monthly prompt and then we get together online to share our work. There are no rules governing how closely the brief is to be followed, and it's always interesting to hear how different members have interpreted the task.

This month's theme was Displacement - to take a fictional or historical event and move it to another location. I decided to displace Henry VIII - completely, so I could write an alternative history of the six wives he never had.

We are the Drunks in a Midnight Choir

Last year, during one of the lockdowns I signed up for a block of online songwriting classes through Bird of A Wire, run by Findlay Napier and Boo Hewerdine. 

The tutors set us tasks to complete for homework each week over the 8-week course, sometimes individually and other times paired with another member of the group. It was an intense but really rewarding time and we all emerged as better songwriters by the end of the block. 

Most of us kept in touch afterwards and we're still writing together regularly after 19 months. It's an amazingly supportive and friendly group. Being graduates of Bird on a Wire, we naturally call ourselves the Drunks in a Midnight Choir or DIAMC.

A few of us have album projects on the go (more about mine soon) and doubt we would be doing any of this without the encouragement from the other members. It has been life changing.

Fin and Boo are running some weekend songwriting workshops in 2023 and I highly recommend them to anyone who wants to write better songs.

But most of all, whatever your pursuit, I'd urge you to find your tribe, connect with like minded people and support each other.  Magic can happen.

Juniper Green

All rights reserved

© 2020 Maria Quinn
Written, arranged and performed by Maria Quinn
with Ewan MacIntyre

Produced by Chris Main

Magic Casements

I'd like to share something very special that's been happening to me recently.

My story revolves around a little volume of piano pieces called Magic Casements which I've had in my possession since I was 10 years old.  They were composed by Constance Harper (1903-77) and given to me by her sister Lilian (1901-83), who asked me to take good care of them.  The sisters were neighbours of ours in Southport when I was growing up.

The Harper family had occupied a large house at Plymouth Grove in Manchester which had previously been owned by the author Elizabeth Gaskell.  In the early seventies, Constance and Lilian sold the property to the University of Manchester so they could retire to Southport.  It is now owned by Manchester Historic Buildings Trust and has been restored and opened to the public in memory of Elizabeth Gaskell.

A few weeks ago I visited the house for the first time.  I received a very warm welcome from the volunteers there who were very interested in my connection to the Harpers and I promised to send them some of my recollections.  You can read the full story here -

http://elizabethgaskellhouse.co.uk/at-home-with-the-harpers/

I'm very happy to say that I will be visiting the house again on October 20th to perform Magic Casements by Constance Harper and a few songs of my own.  I'm excited and overwhelmed to have been given this opportunity to bring Constance's music back to life in the Harpers' family home.

Humans and Foxes

We get foxes round our neighbourhood. We had a skulk of youngsters visit our garden every evening this summer and we'd sit at the kitchen window in the twilight watching them dodge in and out of the hedges at the back and play their curious game with my son's football. A few times they stole shoes from outside the door and dropped them around the surrounding gardens until we learned to bring them in at the end of the day. As the cubs matured, they became less bold and by autumn they'd stopped coming round to play, preferring to roam the streets alone.

I started this piece by saying that we get foxes round our way, but the more I think about it, we don't get foxes at all.

Humans and Foxes

I was walking home midnight last
Thinking about the day
When a shape creeps along the path
And doesn’t know what to say
I see how he turns his head
And the way that he holds his tail
And I’m wondering how he’s feeling
Cos he doesn’t give much away.

I look into his curious face
I ask him to give me a clue
I don’t get what it means to be me
I say, what does it mean to be you?
He says he’s just looking for food
I say why don’t I bring you a feast
You can share with your vulpine kin,
Take my burdens and leave me some peace?

Well that’s what I thought we agreed
But when I go back he’s away
So I sit by the side of the road,
Finish the chocolate soufflé.
Well maybe he didn’t believe
When I said I’d bring something to eat
There are things that get lost in translation
When humans and foxes meet
Humans and foxes meet
Humans and foxes meet
Humans and foxes.

October 2016