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Press, 29 August 1977, Page 23

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THE CROWD PIERCER

These things often seem to run in families, and certainlv a look into this Christchurch woman’s ancestry shows that her, er, unusual voice is probably inherited. Singers gifted with unusual range and power have been known to crack glasses with the intensity of their pitch; she is not quite one of these, but when the mood to sing comes upon her, though glasses remain intact. she has a galvaniceffect on anyone in the room to a man they remember that they have a dog to walk, or a lawn to mow, or an urgent bus to catch. Her grandfather had a similar sort of voice, legend has it. During the First World War he was alluded to, if not openly mentioned, in despatches for his conduct at the matinee performance of the battle of the Somme, at which he cleared six trenches singlehanded, and obtained the surrender of 246 crack German grenadiers, by lying flat on a hill overlooking the enemy lines and singing “Mademoiselle from Ar mentieres’’ in full throat until the dazed Germans threw down their weapons and wandered into No Man's Land with

their hands over their ears and their little spiky hats jammed down as far as they could go. Her mother earned similar distinction in the Second World War when they were living in Dover, on the English Channel Coast. The military authorities could find no answer to the nightly bombardment from the giant Nazi guns on the French coast until one night the brave ladv wandered down to the foreshore and yelled across the Channel, “Shut up.” Captured documents showed later that the German coastal forces were so frightened that they retreated as fast and as far as they could — and overdid the retreat to such an extent that they inadvertently crossed Germany unwittingly, and inadvertently began the unplanned advance into Russia that led to the war on two fronts and certain victory for the Allies. She knows her family's vocal history, she know*, that her singing has the same effect as squeaky chalk on a dry blackboard; she has even commented herself that dogs howl and slink away dejected even when she sings to herself inside her

head. But. occasionally, when alone, she still unleashes the awesome contents of that mutated larynx. Though she could make a fortune as a marine foghorn or as an interrogator of spies, she is a teacher; and recently she and her children were tidying up their classroom as time to go home approached She forgot herself and began to sing the “Indian Love Song, that horrifying duet which revisionist historians point to as the reason for the demise of the Cherokee nation and which consists mainly of a tuneless “I am calling you, hoo-hoo-hoo. hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo”, followed by an even more tuneless “With a love that’s true, hoo-hoo-boo, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooo.” She had been singing it for only a few minutes — though long enough for most of her charges to decide that they must urgently visit the lavatory or get their coats — when a small child entered the room with a note. It was from the headmaster, whose office is a good forty vards down the corridor. The note read Thank you. Don't call us, we ll call you.”