Latest news with #12LastSongs
Glasgow Times
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Glasgow Times
Glasgow psychic who gives readings with cards tribute to Barras
'I was 38 when I first worked here, and I'm 70 now so it has been a long time,' says Maureen, smiling. 'I'm really moved by people's stories and experiences, and here I get to meet people every day, from all walks of life, from all over the world.' Maureen inside the Barras, where she has worked for more than 30 years (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) Maureen has written her own 'love letter' to the Barras, a funny and moving poem which captures the hustle and bustle of the crowds, the patter of the stallholders and the sights and sounds of the historic venue. (Image: Newsquest) A keen writer, Maureen has been involved in several productions, including co-writing Mayfest's Govan Stories in the early 1990s. 'Plays and poetry have always been in my life,' she explains. 'I wrote one act plays when I was manager of Pollok community centre's drama group, and I took part in a show at Tramway last year, 12 Last Songs, featuring workers with unusual occupations, which was fantastic.' Maureen at the Barras Market (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) Maureen has an unusual occupation, she explains - she is known as Maura Psychic at the famous city market, where she gives readings using cards. 'I discovered I had a gift when I was quite young – 14, or 15, maybe, growing up in Govan,' she explains. 'After school, I was going to be a shorthand typist, but it sounded too boring. I knew from the first day it wasn't for me. 'Doing this is my passion and I think I bring comfort to people. People come to see me from all over – from the Scottish islands like Barra, Tiree, to Sicily.' She laughs. 'From Barra to the Barras….' (Image: Gordon Terris/Newsquest) Maureen, who is married to Danny, has a daughter, Jane, and a grand-daughter, Lucy-Jane, who is 12. She has written her Barras poem, she says, to pay tribute to the place and its people. The Barras started life on Moncur Street, founded by Maggie and James McIver. Before long, they were attracting 300 barrows each week, many run by women. (Image: Newsquest) The early street market was haphazard, with traders working from the back of lorries, spreading their wares on the pavement or hanging them from railings. As the market grew, the demand for stalls increased and more ground was acquired, with an additional market hall being constructed at Kent Street. Many of the traders were well known in the city - people like Dick Lee, known as 'Cockney Jock'; Prince Abadou selling snake oil, the cure of all ills; Kurt Cook selling 'nine and 18 carat gold jewellery, watches with a one year guarantee'; Calton man Freddie Benedetti offering household wares; and Gerry Ward the 'go-to-guy' for curtains and towels. READ NEXT: Glasgow museum's organist celebrates 55 years of playing READ NEXT: The Glasgow schools for 'homeless waifs' which helped feed city's poor READ NEXT: 'It was the end of blackouts and air raids and fear' as Glasgow marked VE Day In the 1980s, Sunday opening had a big impact on footfall at the Barras, but the market continued to flourish. 'This place is never dull, it is busy and multicultural and full of life,' says Maureen. 'It is in my heart and soul and the stall holders are like my family.' Maura's poem reads: 'The Barras are better/The voice call resounded off the walls of the Barras halls as the people scrambled to get in quick/Lot at stake, gaun for a rake/They go purse in hand, nab the glad rags and come oot grand. 'In 1965 you had to dive high tae catch a free fish pack fae the fish pack guy…/Freebies/You knew you'd won the race when it hit you in the face/Anchovies, fish market meat market/Claes, records, cassettes, settees, TVs/Buzzin bees. Whelks. Humbugs, churros, rocks, socks, tellies/Get doon the Barras fill yer bellies. 'Tina said it - Simply The Best - 100 years plus/a wonderful, beautiful, historical fuss.' Share your memories of the Barras by emailing or write to Ann Fotheringham, Glasgow Times, 125 Fullarton Drive, Glasgow G32 8FG.
The Guardian
19-02-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Perth festival's most powerful show was 12 hours long, had no actors, and will never happen again
Can you answer these questions? How are you? What did you have for breakfast? Do you have a good memory? Did you share your bed with anyone last night? Are you comfortable talking about money? What's the best age to be? Do you pray? Have you ever had a part of your body removed? Are you rich? Do your friends think you are rich? I am an arts journalist, so I have trained the muscle that helps you sit through even the most turgid and indulgent performances – but a 12-hour unscripted show seemed ridiculous, even to me. The description for 12 Last Songs reassures that you can come and go at any time, to which I thought: thank god. But then I ended up spending six hours watching it, and the other six desperately wishing I was there. 12 Last Songs has been performed eight times in eight cities around the world: Leeds being the first in 2021 and Perth being the latest this past Saturday. Thirty-two workers are chosen to perform a 'shift' on stage, while answering questions put to them by interviewers. There are 600 questions, all carefully designed to reveal something about them: their politics, their religion, their class. The creators say 12 Last Songs will only be performed 12 times in total; do whatever you can to convince them to bring it to you. In Perth we start with Derek, a Whadjuk Noongar man who performs one of his many jobs – delivering the welcome to country – and Dan, a hulking painter-decorator who will wallpaper parts of the theatre throughout the day. 'You'll be with us a long time,' his interviewer offers. 'Unfortunately, yes,' Dan says, drily. There is a dog groomer, an imam, a midwife, a taxi driver, a hairdresser, a sex worker. Mark gives out bread and pastries from his bakery; he recalls leaving behind mining to move to Copenhagen, where he would buy a warm loaf and put it down his jumper to cradle against his skin on cold days: 'The best thing ever.' Peter, a martial arts instructor, reveals he was born at home with the umbilical cord around his neck, and how his older sister refused to go to school until she could see he was alive, pink and breathing. (A quick update from Dan: 'I put some paper on the wall.') It is mysteriously compelling. Peter's young students straggle on stage like ducklings and settle into some meditation. With all their eyes shut, they're given new martial arts belts: they're graduating today, to the surprise of both us and them. When the kids open their eyes and gasp with unconstrained joy, a laugh bursts out of me because I realise I am crying; I am still not quite sure why. Later, when I tell this story to two people who were not there, we all laugh because even the retelling makes us cry. Maybe it is Peter's unspoken pride, the generosity of his gesture, their love for him, or the reward of getting to observe all of this. After two hours, I must drag myself away to see another show, but all I can think about is what I'm missing out on. The moment the curtains fall, I run back and arrive in time for question number 250. Two chefs are on stage cooking everyone dinner (pasta and bruschetta), a naked life model is having her portrait painted, and a florist is arranging hundreds of flowers for a wedding. Dan is still papering the walls. Hayden the lifeguard is up: he loves surfing, particularly barrelling a wave. What is it like? Hayden thinks it over. 'Honestly, the closest way to describe it is like coming,' he says, and the room erupts. Some people, like Hayden, are entertainingly open; some are guarded, even after volunteering to take part. Robert the heart surgeon answers three very big questions (are you in love; are you in a relationship; are you married) with three very short answers (yes, yes, no). Rebecca the florist tells a room of strangers, clearly and without shame, about her miscarriage and her postpartum depression, and how she came to realise 'that life is worth living and life is good.' The room applauds. In the corner, Dan begins papering the walls all over again. Art, even when it is created centuries and oceans away from us, can move us because 'our minds are built on common architecture – that whatever is present in me might also be present in you', as George Saunders once wrote. This is why 12 Last Songs is so touching; it is a humanist experiment that works hard to expose the best parts of us. The detachment I think most of us develop as adults can help us get through the bad and the boring – but it also makes us forget that common architecture, makes us less generous and less interested in each other. At 11pm, David the astrophysicist is explaining the big bang to about 100 people, who have chosen to spend their Saturday night like this. Dan is in the crowd, finally finished. At midnight, the final, 600th question is asked (which explains the title, so I won't spoil it). We listen to the answer, then wander off, elated, into the first minutes of a new day. 12 Last Songs was performed as part of Perth festival.
