Alan Smith R.I.P.

Yesterday I went to a funeral. Not an unusual thing to do when you get to my age. But the deceased was a very unusual man. More unusual than we knew.

As a certified old codger, I am a member of a U3A choir called Vintage Voices. Alan played the piano for us for many years. His talent had been spotted whilst at school in Northampton, and he had received lessons, qualifying to Grade 8. Moving to Sheffield he soon discovered the financial value of playing the piano in clubs, but as a devout Baptist, he also played the organ in chapels around the city. On one occasion a newly-appointed minister gave him his list of hymns for the forthcoming service. Alan very quickly showed him who was in charge. "These won't do at all," he said. "They always like to end with a good rousing hymn here at Cemetery Road Baptists!"

With typical generosity he had contributed to the cost of upgrading Cemetery Road Baptist Church's organ, and had accommodated the Cornish organ repairer in his own home during the process. The upgrade included the addition of a Trombone stop, which added considerably to the power of the instrument!

Although he preferred to play the organ behind a curtain, he would often pull it aside to berate the
congregation if he felt their singing lacked enthusiasm. "What do you think you are here for? Look at the words! You're supposed to be praising God!"

Alan accompanied Vintage Voices at rehearsals and performances for many years, but his deafness gradually became more noticeable, and the effects of Alzheimer's more apparent. One by one the chapels and churches let him know that it was time for him to retire. When we at Vintage Voices decided to let him go, he did not take it well. We were all he had left, he told us angrily.

He had no family in Sheffield to look after him, and he eventually went to stay in the Seven Hills nursing home in Nether Edge. In May, Vintage Voices went there to sing for the patients. Alan appeared to sleep through the first part of our performance, but he happily accepted our invitation to accompany us on the home's keyboard.

We attended his funeral as a choir. We sang two songs that Alan had loved to play: Show Me The Way To Go Home, and Just A Song At Twilight. As we looked at the photographs in the order of service, there was one that puzzled us. It appeared to show two ladies, one seated at an upright piano, the other standing.

The puzzle was soon resolved. Alan had been part of a Hinge and Bracket tribute act. He's the one seated!

R.I.P. Alan.