Somewhere in my distant past, I had a mother. Kathleen Kielty was born in Liverpool in 1926, the youngest of ten children. I entered the frame in 1961, the last of her six kids. She was 35 years old. You have this vision as a child, a very fixed idea of what your parents are and look like. To me, and more than likely to
all children, they looked like bona fide older people, even though they weren’t very old at all.
She loved music, all music. Because she was me mum, I had a tendency to forget that in spite of the six kids, she was just a young woman. Some of my earliest memories are me following her round the tiny flat we grew up in, while she sang her heart out doing housework and shit. She never, ever stopped singing. That sort of introduction is really important – because when something happens
all the time, as a child, you assume it’s an integral part of life, which it certainly is.
And, even though I have five elder brothers and sisters, each with their own individual tastes and favourites, it was me mum who bought the pop records. The ones that were in the charts. Whereas my elders would love Motown, soul, club music, me mum would encourage that; “Band Of Gold” “Hey Girl, Don’t Bother Me”, mum brought them all into our lives for our own entertainment.
That process of musical osmosis for me, begins right there. Everything I’ve picked up on in the ensuing years, came from me mother’s encouragement to like
it in the first place, and to be passionate about those things you love. She was clearly struck by music in more or less the same way I am to this very day. That love and emotional attachment never stops. I associate my mother with the
music in my life, she never goes away.
Once when I was a little boy I was sick, although right now I can’t recall what with. In times of any difficulty, me mum’s response was get you on her knee, cuddle you to the point of death and pour out all the love you need to make the situation better. While I’m sat on her knee, she sang Cole Porter’s “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye” to me and stroked my hair. Even now, when I need moments of comfort in my life, that’s where I take myself, back to my mother’s loving arms and her fingers running through my hair. It’s that inspirational moment that I never want to stop.
On December 31st 1999, I was in the kitchen and Paul Gambaccini was counting down the greatest songs of the 20th Century on the radio. At number 26, or summat, Ella Fitzgerald’s version of “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye”. At that very moment, that wonderful, secure space that I long for enveloped me and for 3 minutes and 40 odd seconds I was back in Kathleen’s arms – safe, warm and out of danger. I stood in the kitchen, reduced to atoms, so overwhelmed with emotion that even movement was beyond me. Unsure of what to do about the situation, I tried to call my sister, but I hung up, I wouldn’t have known what to say to her.
Kathleen died in 1975, she was just 49, I was just 13. I never really knew her, to be honest, although she is a constant figure in my life. When I find myself in times of trouble, our Kath’s voice and song guide me away from the jagged rocks and the treacherous waters below.
Thanks, for everything, Kath, I never forgot.
bernie@happening-things.com 