My dad didn’t have a voice. He lost it in some childhood accident. He squeaked and rasped his way through life, sounding at times like a loud whisper.
I am convinced that it was this loss of voice that made him a lifelong lover of the voice. And that when Sunday morning came and peace was in the house he got out his Mario Lanza and Caruso records and played them happily.
One of his all-time favourites was Arthur Tracy, commonly called “The Street Singer”. Pictures of him always showed him out entertaining street lollers as he sang and played his accordion, booming and public.
Public displays of goodness must be encouraged beyond lockdown
Throughout my childhood we had street singers aplenty in the slums of Notting Hill. Slums and the street entertainer seemed to go together. The one-man-band would come round and have pennies and halfpennies raining down upon him as he played mouth organ, drum and a kazoo, as well as a guitar.
The streets seemed precious and life-enhancing in the post-war years of my childhood. You can probably see why I’ve never wanted to turn my back on the streets. And why the most successful thing I have ever done in life was start a magazine whose byline was “Coming up from the Streets”.
Of course we have lost the streets and when they return they may never be the same again. Repossessing the streets, which is what we tried to do with The Big Issue, may go through a transformation once we are free of the current pestilence.