A" SINGER'S END

Evening Post, Volume CXX, Issue 109, 4 November 1935, Page 7

A" SINGER'S END

FROM WEALTH TO POVERTY

Several months ago a woman patient in the Charing Cross General Hospital, London, suddenly began to sing, says the "News-Chronicle." Patients, nurses, and doctors paused, astonished, as the rich golden notes flooded the ward. Then the "houseman" walked to the patient's bed, lifted down her chart, and looked at it—"Amy Sherwin." He turned to the ward-sister and whispered: "Used to be a Covent Garden opera singer." And he looked down with pity at the old lace, with its clear white skin, its wide-set, bright blue eyes, and the mouth of a girl. It was her swan-song. For now Amy Sherwin is dead. She died forgotten, lonely, and penniless, in an Essex cottage. At one time the whole world knew her. She" earned from £3000 tq £5000 a year long before the war; before the days of Hollywood. She was feted, she packed opera houses, she was the friend of kings and counsellors . . . and now this!

Her early days were a struggle. Her parents were Tasmanian pioneers. Seven times before she was twelve their homestead was destroyed by fire or flood. Her early efforts to gain a name as a singer, were as desperate Then one day she gate-crashed into the manager's office at Covent Garden. And, as he yelled "Get out!" she sang. So he said, "Shut the door, while I make out your contract." After that she captured the world.

Mr. L. G. Sharpe, who used to be her concert agent, says: "Hers was a marvellous career. She used to live in Hampstead in a large house with a splendid music room. There she gave concerts. After she gave up singing she did a lot of teaching." In-fact, Mme. Amy Sherwin's school was famous. She was an inspired teacher, and her pupils' concerts at the Aeolian Hall drew all the agents as well as all the critics. If towards the end she was asked how she had come to be in the general ward of a large London hospital, she would smile bra-vcly and say: "I was never a good manager."

The fact is that, like many great artists, money meant little to her. She was generous to a fault. And so she died penniless. At the end she was left alone. Mr. Sharpe was almost her only visitor. The Musicians' Benevolent Fund kept her from sheer destitution.

A sad end to a groat career? Amy would never admit it. She had sung. She had helped others to sing. And her voice was still sweet and pure. When she died there was a smile on her lips.