Authors: Paul Potts
At the end of my degree, I was £1500 overdrawn and under pressure from my bank to repay it. I returned to the temping agency I'd worked for during the holidays and ending up doing a string of manual jobs. I worked in a dairy and then a food factory in Ashton Gate. I was then moved to a company called Bristol Bending Services, which made car parts for Honda and Rover. It was hard and dirty work; I was put on the lathes, and would be black with dirt by the end of the day. Mum and Dad were disappointed that I couldn't find a job more suited to my
qualifications, but were proud that I wasn't content just to mope around on benefit.
With no permanent jobs opening up, I decided to continue my studies. I was accepted onto the master's degree in applied theology at Marjons, for which I would be studying part-time, travelling down to Plymouth once a week. With work for the temping agency proving inconsistent, the main issue for me was financing the course.
Help came from an unexpected source. Around this time, I represented All Saints Church at a Deanery conference, which was led by the resident theologian canon of Bristol Cathedral. I had a chat with the canon afterwards, and learned that the cathedral was looking for a temporary verger up until Christmas. He very kindly said he would recommend me for it, and after a short interview I was accepted for the job.
The verger role was mainly a ceremonial one: leading the choir in and out of the cathedral. It was great for me, as it meant I was able to sing every day I was in work! The cathedral was a very special place to sing, with its ten-second echo (it has a very long, high vaulted nave, which means the sound takes a long time to travel to the back of the church). This meant that leading the choir in from the back of the church, we were only just hearing the start of the processional hymn when the organ was already halfway through the verse! We would play catch-up all through the hymn.
At the end of my tenure at the cathedral, I got a similar job at St. Mary Redcliffe Church, where I had spent much of my youth in the school religious services. There was more manual work required here, especially after windy days when I would have to
sweep the churchyard. It was a very satisfying experience working in these fine buildings. I have always sat in wonder at how hundreds of years ago, people were able to build such huge and beautiful buildings with their hands, using only wooden scaffolding and pulleys.
This job, too, was only temporary. It came to an end in the spring of 1994, and although I came close to a permanent position at Bath Abbey, it wasn't to be. I struggled to find work and started claiming unemployment benefitâsomething I hated doing. I continued to apply for lots of jobs, but many of the employers felt I was overqualified.
Although I passed my first year's exam with distinction, I was behind with my term-time work, and my essays weren't of such a high standard. I was also behind with my payments to the university, a situation that got even more difficult when the benefit office threatened to cut off my money if I used it to pay my college fees. This struck me as very strange: I was trying to improve myself and yet they were punishing me for it. I ended up with a county court judgment against my name, and then the college disallowed me from continuing my studies because I had failed to pay the fees. At the time, I was living with my parents and therefore not eligible for housing support, so the money I was receiving on benefit was for my personal use.
My academic career was over, but I did finally find work. In October 1994, I got a temporary six-week contract at the Tesco supermarket chain. It was retail, if not retail management, but that was okay by me. My degree wasn't such that I could simply walk into management, and I was fully prepared to get my hands dirty and work my way up the ladder. As it turned out, I was to
spend the next ten years working for Tesco. It was very physical work and I enjoyed interacting with the public. However, often I had to work nights, which was very difficult to adjust to.
As I settled into my new job, I began to take an interest in local politics. My younger brother, as well as Mum and Dad, had already become involved in the Liberal Democrat Party locally, and were helping with leaflet drops. I wanted to be more involved and started to write articles for
Focus
, the local Liberal Democrat newsletter. Since I was used to writing academic papers, my writing style had to change dramatically in order to be effective on a local newsletter. I was told I would need to write as though for a younger reading age, and use a tabloid style.
In 1995, I decided to stand as a candidate for the local elections, since I had become interested in politics and Mum, Dad, and Tony were already involved as well. I had no chance of winning, as the Liberal Democrats had done nothing in the area, Eastville Ward, for a long time. In the run-up to the elections and on election day itself, I helped out in the neighbouring ward to my own, in order to get someone elected there.
I'd had to do canvassing for a few weeks in my first-year holiday, but it wasn't something I'd originally enjoyed. Then I found my own way of doing it: rather than simply asking what party someone intended to vote for, I began by asking if there was anything the local party could do for them. This made canvassing less of a sales routine for me, and was a method I brought into my local area when it was time to start campaigning in my own ward.
In the first elections in 1995, I finished in fourth place, behind a local independent party. I bided my time, and my opportunity
came when the sitting councillor resigned her seat. I flung myself into the canvassing, and after a busy campaign I was elected in May 1996, leaping from fourth place to win.
Having both a full-time job with Tesco and being on the council meant that I was very busy. At first, Tesco management was unhappy, as it meant I would take paid time away from the store: company policy was that local community work was given as paid leave. They became more supportive when I interceded between them and a local pub over the return of shopping trolleys the pub had collected because they weren't being picked up in the area.
At twenty-five, I was the youngest person on Bristol City Council. I had a job, and the potential beginnings of a retail career. For the first time in a long while, I felt that my life was stable and that possibilities were ahead of me. But despite all of this, my dreams about wanting to sing would never quite go away.
I
'
LL NEVER FORGET
the first time I felt a real buzz from an audience's reaction to my singing.
The moment came during my time at university. Because there had been few singing opportunities in Plymouth, most of my performing was done back in Bristol. I took part in an All Saints Players' production of
Grease
, preceded by a first half of “Songs from the Shows,” and it was there that I got this incredible reaction.
The song I'd chosen to sing was “Love Changes Everything” from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical
Aspects of Love
. I had been listening to it on cassette, and on a whim I bought the sheet music. After two rehearsals with Chris Gammon, the producer for the show and the church's organist, I decided to perform it.
Having listened to my cassette repeatedly, it took me no time at all to sing the song without the lyrics. This allowed me to really “perform,” and was perhaps the first time I fell in love with performing. I had always enjoyed singing high notes, and
the louder and longer the note was, the better! “Love Changes Everything” was perfect for that; it ends with a high B flat scored for eight beats. On the night of the performance I held it for twelve, and wanted to hold it longer.
I was taken aback by the reaction I got. The response of those listening was overwhelming, and it was the first time I had ever felt the sensation of an audience “buzzing.” It was an incredible moment. I loved that feeling. It gave me a shiver down the spineâsomething I wanted to feel again and again.
Back living in Bristol after university, I started singing in the chorus of Bristol Catholic Players. It was a challenge to find time for everything, what with my job and being a local councillor. I tried very hard to get principal parts in the productions but found myself held back by an unexpected reason: my teeth.
During my time at university, one of my middle teeth had to be removed and the crown on another tooth got damaged. While my singing was said to be sufficiently good, the company considered my teeth to be too much of an issue for me to be given a romantic lead. Of course, I could have had reconstructive dental surgery, like any sensible person might. But I wasn't just some ordinary person. When I encountered an obstacle, I always saw it as something to run away from. I knew that my teeth looked terrible; I would have been stupid not to notice it. But I saw no advantage to changing them.
I'd spent hours and hours in a dental chair before, and that was when it was free of charge at the Bristol Dental Hospital. Now it would involve large financial costs, and I didn't see any way of being able to afford it. I was also stubborn: the fact that
I had been told to my face at an audition that there was no way I would be given a part because of the condition of my teeth angered me. Why should I be dismissed just because of my teeth? It felt unfair.
Since I couldn't get a leading role because of my teeth, I was usually an understudy and sang solos in the concerts we gave in different parts of Bristol. I'd given up on ever getting a romantic lead, a defeatism that on one occasion almost caught me out. I had arrived at Newmann Hall for the performance of
Yeoman of the Guard
, for which I was understudy for one of the minor parts. Understudies are often in a difficult position, as they never get to rehearse the scenes they have to do in case the lead suddenly becomes ill or unavailable. Because I had been told I would never get a main role, I saw no route of progression at all, and didn't see the opportunity of actually doing this minor role as a stepping-stone. All of which meant that I hadn't learned the part. On that night, the person I was understudying didn't show up. I was told to put his costume on, and I was dreading it. With good reason: I sang unprepared, and my confidence was shattered as a result.
Even so, I enjoyed my time in Bristol Catholic Players. Rehearsals were held in the Catholic school by Newmann Hall and conducted by Adrian Anglin, who also played a mean (and I mean
mean!)
Dick Deadeye in the company's production of
HMS Pinafore
. I enjoyed Gilbert and Sullivan because the plays had humour as well as being musically challenging. I also have Bristol Catholic Players to thank for my love of walking, which started with their regular walks on public holidays. One memorable walk was in Gloucestershire on a Boxing Day. Climbing
over a stile, I saw a huge puddle and Adrian, the walk leader, offered his hand to assist me. I thought I'd manage by myself, so I politely refused the help. I learned how foolish this was. They say pride comes before a fall, and here this became very true. I misplaced my footing and landed with my face in the mud! It was a lesson learned: sometimes you have to accept help, not struggle by yourself.
“So come on, Paul, who are you going to come as?”
“I thought I might come as an opera singer . . .”
The Horn and Trumpet was a pub in the centre of Bristol next to the Hippodrome, and something of a favourite for the Tesco staff. A group of us played football on Sunday, and we'd go to the pub afterwards for a drink. Sunday night also happened to be karaoke night at the pub. I'd first done karaoke at a local fund-raising night for the Liberal Democrats. It was well received, and so I started singing at the karaoke nights at the Horn and Trumpet.
I would usually sing songs by artists like Elton John and Boy-zone. My favourites, though, were songs high in pitch. My top-three karaoke songs were three of the most difficult: Queen's “The Show Must Go On,” Foreigner's “I Want to Know What Love Is,” and Air Supply's “All Out of Love.” The Queen and Foreigner songs I loved simply because they were very high with top D's. “All Out of Love” I liked for a different reason: not only did it go quite high, but the last note I sang was a very long oneâover twenty seconds.
One particular Sunday, the hosts announced they would have a competition in the style of a popular TV programme called
Stars in Their Eyes
. On the show, each contestant not only sang in the style of their idol, but dressed up to look like them as well. I was keen to take part in the competition; the question was, who should I come as? As chance would have it, I had just bought a music book that contained a few opera arias. It came complete with an orchestral backing track, and one of the pieces seemed perfect, if a bit of a gamble.
“I'm going to come as Pavarotti,” I announced to my fellow footballers. “I thought I might have a go at singing âNessun Dorma.'”
“What? The one from the World Cup football?” My teammates were impressed, and they raised the stakes a little higher. “Wait until we tell everyone about this at Tesco tomorrow.”
Sure enough, word quickly got round Tesco about my “Pavarotti in the Pub” appearance.
“Don't worry, Paul, we'll be there.”
“I've got tomatoes I was going to get rid of. Maybe I'll bring those along.”
It was quite a step away from my usual risk-averse self. When I announced that I was going to sing, I hadn't even listened to the backing track from the book, never mind actually practised it. I spent the next few days listening to a performance by Pavarotti on the
Three Tenors
cassette tape I had, and then I started to practise. My Italian was terrible; I had sung some Latin in school choir, but I didn't have the first idea about Italian. Thankfully, because the CD had graphics, the words would come up onscreen in the pub just like any other karaoke track.