Well – the church sanctuary was filled. Those pews were just right for an audience of more than 500, average age maybe 68. I’m used to older groups these days, but not to at least half of them being men. Lots of grey and nicely trimmed facial hair in evidence, both audience and performers. If you want a clue to the generation represented – every fourth musician was named Dave. And why had I bothered to change out of dungarees (okay, blue jeans) just because I was going to a concert? I'd say maybe 300 people were wearing them. Some on stage.
We had it all – Union Maid, Deportees, Hobo's Lullaby – and the old men in the audience knew all the words and sang along. We had a mandolin, an autoharp, banjo, harmonica, lots of mikes, cords, wires and speakers, and a stunning collection of guitars. When they started Where Have All the Flowers Gone I thought – well, that was a popular hit, they could have skipped it. And five seconds later, surprised myself by bursting into tears -- nothing like music to bring back old emotions.
And we ended – of course – in old-fashioned hootenanny style, with all the performers on the platform (one hesitates to call it the stage in a church) and the number that’s always sure-fire for group singing – This Land is Your Land, followed by We Shall Overcome, which evidently involves grasping the hands of those next to you and swaying back and forth ( I guess I’m behind the times.) That would, I thought, have been more effective if there’d been more than one black person in the place. But it meant everybody's heart was in the right place, so what the hey.