Rob, Pennant 826

St. George’s is an old church that is now a theatre. It is in the middle of Great Yarmouth with a few shops on one side and a park on the other. It seems distant from the rest of Great Yarmouth, indeed proudly set apart, as if reflecting the wonders that happen within it. For wonders do happen. The Great Yarmouth branch of Fabba, the theatre group for people with learning difficulties meets here. For some reason it’s not as well supported as its Lowestoft counterpart – almost all the people who troop dutifully through the doors on show nights are friends or family – and the seats are nearly always half-empty. Yet, St. George’s has such a wonderful stage, raised up and traditional with curtains, just like in proper theatres. W., a very anxious man approaching 40, has performed here several times. He always says to me, ‘Do I look alright, Rob? I don’t look 40, do I rob?’ I always reassure him that he doesn’t. W lives in a Great Yarmouth care home and has very little autonomy. One night, I hadn’t been involved in Fabba Yarmouth for very long. He took to the stage and began singing, ‘The wind beneath my wings.’ The effect was transformative – all the nervousness and anxiety left him and his voice filled the stage with such heart that people were whooping, stamping and clapping, standing on their feet and yelling for more. In that moment, W was really alive. He came off the stage and typically asked, ‘Was I in tune, Rob?’ Fabba trundles on, and there is always a place in their productions for W, whether it’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or Ghost Busters. W performs ‘the wind beneath my wings.’ And quite rightly. Fabba is underfunded and St. George’s is half-empty although that’s not the point. The first time, W sang that song, I witnessed something truly life-affirming and extraordinary. Beauty can bloom in the most prosaic of places.