Lloyd Davis’s “surprise” on Saturday last was to go to a massive gated complex for ‘seniors’, meet their Ukelele Group and play with them and for them.  But we didn’t know that before we got there; just that Lloyd had to bring his uke and I was asked to bring my guitar.  Put like that it sounds a bit stark and unfriendly.  It was anything but.

We were well over an hour late.  Our train from New York to Washington was delayed; we got stuck in an awful traffic jam.  We were crammed into a small car with instruments, cameras, a big tripod bag and rucksacks.  I hate being late nearly as much as a Japanese person hates being late.  We were unpardonably late.  So we turned off the freeway, up the hill and saw the buildings; large apartment blocks with high-level enclosed walkways between them, surrounded by car parks and linked by access roads.  “Go up the hill, straight through the four-way stop, right at the T; you’ll see a pond and a gazebo on the right.  The Village Center is right in front” said the laconic guard before looking into the car and making remarks along the lines of “I never knew you could get a whole family in one o’ them things”.

At first, I was shocked at the place - the scale of it and the closed-off nature of a gated community on the outskirts of Washington DC - not something I’m familiar with from the UK.  It made me think of being on a cruise; but on a vast brick and concrete liner firmly rooted to the Maryland earth.  We followed the instructions, watching the little blue blob of the GPS on the iPhone ping away.  In the distance we saw a small red-clad figure, waving.  The red was a Hawaiian shirt.  “Ahh . . .” said Lloyd like the noise of a penny dropping into treacle.  I started to feel nervous.

We groaningly extracted ourselves from the car; not easily or quickly.  The lady in the red Hawaiian shirt was one of our hosts.  “I hope they’re all still there; we eat early round here.” she said, ushering us through the reception area and up a wide staircase.  I didn’t know how Lloyd was coping with his ‘surprise’ - Michelle was filming him and I was a bit ahead of that and trying to deal with my own reactions to the place.  That’ll be a piece of video worth watching!

We went into the Music Room and found about 15 people with ukes and a lady sitting behind a piano at the front of the room.  All of them were wearing bright Hawaiian shirts; cheerful friendly faces.  We apologised for being so late.  They’d obviously been waiting, apparently with the patience of the wise; and though I felt bad and awkward about being late; they kindly made it clear that that said more about me than about them.

Lloyd was an instant hit, as you’d expect.  He got out his uke, stood at the front of the room, chatted and tuned, a bit of banter - he didn’t look nervous.  I found a space at the back of the room, next to a guy with a lovely-looking baritone uke (which was even better when he played it).  Just along from me were two other blokes.  I thought “That’s ok, I can hide at the back!”.  I unpacked and tuned my travel guitar - a normal sized guitar fretboard with acoustic strings and action, but a reduced-size soundbox; pretty and soft-voiced, delicate.  It should fit ok with the ukes. 

They suggested that Lloyd play for them but he said “Why don’t we find something we can all play; what do you suggest?”.  So they handed round song sheets and we had a go at “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”.

Away we went; I could hear the baritone uke playing under the rest of the ukes, could hear the guys to my right singing the harmonies - one of them with a pure tenor.  I found a space to sing and, maybe, play a bit; finding chords and bass notes and singing the harmonies with Lloyd and my friends at the back.  The lady at the piano kept us to time with a basic approach, adding in supportive runs and little flourishes that spoke of a talent reined back.  I remember thinking “Wow, I’d like to hear her play what she usually plays . . .”. 

This somewhat bald and factual account leaves out the feeling in the room.  Which was extraordinary.  A mix of players and abilities; some of whom have only recently started playing and others who have played for a long time.  It turns out that the lady at the piano is an accomplished former professional who had her own girl band decades ago.  Her husband was a band-leader and saxophonist.  It didn’t matter that some of us weren’t particularly good (and I include myself in this statement).  It’s not the kind of music know how to play, and I don’t think I’ve ever sat in with 15 ukes before!  Stick me in a pub session with the fiddles and the Irish tunes and I’m yer man.  But 30s songs and ragtime, well, that’s a different matter.  And, d’you know it didn’t matter a bit.  Because we were all there having a go; for the music and for the hell of it.

I can’t, sitting here writing this later the same evening, remember the other tunes we played - seems odd I know but I was listening and concentrating so hard - trying to find the space to play and not mess up.  I leant on the baritone guy - and tried to follow him.  He played with a delicate and beautiful tone - chording the harmonies under the melody.  Later, I talked to him and found out that he’s played the guitar and the uke since he was a teenager. 

Lloyd did his stuff next - and he played and sang with an openness and joy that captivated the room.  His first song “Who’s sorry now?” brought a gasp from a lady at the back of the room - she was still; listening and remembering; an important song for her and she cried a little bit, I think.  He sang the old songs that they knew.  He played in a way that helped to understand how to play better and how to live in the music.  I can quite understand, as you read this, that you might think I’m exaggerating or that it sounds a bit corny.  But the emotion in the room was palpable and deep and the communication was at a level difficult to describe; it was touching.  Happy and sad at the same time, the music bridging the present and the past simultaneously, and the songs linking us together irrespective of age or ability.  I’ll never forget it.

We had to stop for a bit after that.  There was a bit of chat.  Heather asked some questions and Michelle filmed.  We found out a bit about the group; why they’d formed, how often they meet.  They perform. They’re on Youtube. 

I was asked to sing.  Now, being brought up in an Irish family, everyone has a song or two, a party piece.  These circumstances, I find difficult - with my family I sing; with people I don’t know it’s harder.  I thought of 3 or 4 songs I could do and then settled on the Night Visiting Song.  And to those of you who know me; no, I didn’t forget any of the words nor did I get the verses in the wrong order (a fluke, obviously).  I was pretty nervous but it seemed to go ok. 

Lloyd finished off with a number and then, as is a tradition with this group, they all joined in with “Happy Trails”. 

Afterwards, we had an early dinner with three of the ladies in an enormous dining room filled with circular tables.  They talked about their lives, both past and present - one of them worked for NASA and she said she didn’t want the video on a DVD - she’d prefer a flash drive.  They talked to us about the place and the community in and around it.  About their own independence and the levels of care they can design for themselves (from largely independent living through to fulltime nursing care).  And yes, the seniors are well-to-do people; I don’t see how they could afford to live in this place otherwise.  The people I spoke to seemed mostly to be former professional people, now retired and in control of their lives. 

The young people serving and clearing tables go to local high schools; they get paid for the work and once they’ve worked there for a while, they can qualify for college scholarships funded by the seniors.  I watched the movement of people around the dining room, young and old, and the way they smiled and talked to each other.  Between the people serving and their elders there appeared to be a feeling of mutual respect.  It felt authentic.

As we left the dining table, I offered my arm to the lady whose idea it was to start the Ukelele Group.  She has a buggy to get around in she had parked nearby.  I’d talked to her  across the table over dinner.  A determined and intelligent person.  Funnily enough, I don’t think any of us asked her what she used to do.  I think because she is so much in the present - it didn’t occur to us.  As she took my arm, I sensed the strength in her - not physical strength; but strength of will and clarity and determination. 

At the top of the stairs, we passed a large banner, red and cheerful with “Blizzard 2010” and “Thank You” on it.  All over the banner were little messages written by the residents to the staff.  The Washington area recently had about 5 ft of snow.  Overnight.  The staff came in, through snowdrifts and ice.  One of the servers walked several miles to get there because he wanted to make sure the elderly people he cared for were ok.  Many staff stayed overnight.  Everybody mucked in.  The messages on the banner were about that. 

Oh, and the early dinner.  It turns out that there are rules that apply to High School students and the hours and times they are allowed to work.  By starting dinner at 4pm and running till 7pm, it means that students can work and finish at the right time.  And, as one of our hosts said “Lots of us like to eat early once we get a bit older.”