Amazing.......from despair to the joy of life

Amazing…... from despair to the joy of living

There he was tap dancing in a pair of work boots with steel toes and metal under the heels. First it started by a seductive rhythmic tapping sound on the tiled floor of the bar. The sound picks up pace with a haunting beat. He then jumped up on a stool and performed a few taps as though he was beating on a drum. In a quick move he transferred to his feet tapping to the bar counter dancing with amazing skill amongst the beer glasses. He stopped at the far end. The crowd cried out for more. He came back dancing across the bar counter, jumped off the end, bowed and thanked everybody. It was an extraordinary sight. A delight to watch as an expression of skill, the joy of living and the beauty of human life. The clapping was thunderous

I then heard a large man from the crowd say.

“Well done Amal, a great performance. Now let’s get down to winning the darts match. He followed up his remark by making an announcement.

“Tonight being Thursday we have our local darts throwing competition against Cricklewood, the adjacent village. This is the semi- finals with the final being in two weeks time. The line up is 5 members on each team with five games in five rounds. The team that wins the most number of rounds out of five is the winner. All players must throw their darts according to a predetermined order. Just one more thing. I have invited Amal for the first time to join the home team as Ben could not make it tonight. I think he has demonstrated how pleased he was to be chosen. Thank you, let the best team win.”

Why was I there witnessing this remarkable scene? I am an independent TV and short film contractor that makes his living by selling interesting stories; mainly to the BBC. I was on my way from London, my home town, to the lake district in search of an interesting story about English poets that seem inspired by this part of the country. I had been driving a few hours and noticed dusk was creeping across the hedge rows. Soon the end of twilight would enclose the countryside in darkness. I decided to find a village pub somewhere near Buxton. This was a mining and agricultural country. Ten minutes later I was facing a Queen Victoria pub with rooms for rent. Its name seems extremely appropriate as it was a large wooden building with various beams handsomely visible through its plastered finish. The painted sign of Her Majesty moved with distinction in the late evening breeze.

As I left the car to book a room I sensed the smell of agricultural land and heard small animal movements creeping into the night. When I booked the room the landlady told me I could find a hot dinner in the pub. I entered the pub a few minutes before the tap dancing began. I have to admit it was a totally unexpected experience to see this form of dancing in an old English village pub. I had a distinct feeling I might have found an interesting story. I just stood there with my mouth open, bowled over by the scene.

Before the darts match began I had the time to order fish and chips and found a place at the back of the room next to a large man drinking a pint of beer. As I sat down waiting for the food I turned to him and asked if the tap dancer was a local resident. The man turned his face towards me. His facial skin was marked by tiny specks of coal dust. He had a kind open face with light blue eyes and a large well defined nose. He looked at me for a few seconds with that cautious air that locals always seem to examine strangers with. His voice had a deep tone in sympathy with his size.

“One could say… that. He has been around for some time. He works and lives at Tom Bishop’s farm.” With that he turned back to his beer and I had the feeling that was the end of any conversation.

I sat there eating my dinner and watching with excitement the darts match. At intervals when the match paused I looked around at my evening’s companions. They were mostly men. Strong men used to hard labor and long working hours. Men of the mines and the fields. The pub represented for them that place in their universe where they could relax and enjoy themselves, helped on by drink and atmosphere. I noticed the landlord had created a warm cozy atmosphere in what would have been a rather uninviting large room.

I sensed excitement building, drinks were being quickly reordered. It was the last round and the competition was tight. The home team had 40 to finish, the away team 16 to finish. It was the away team's turn to throw. Total silent, you could hear a pin drop. No, they missed. Now it's the home team’s turn. It was Amal in front of the target. The noise was explosive, first throw a double 20. I hear the landlord’s deep voice announcing one free beer for all.

Finally after all the celebrations, hugging and back slapping I had a moment to talk to Amal. I immediately told him I was an independent report looking for interesting stories. I thought he might have one. He told me he was too excited to talk about his life at this time but if I can come to the farm tomorrow morning he would find time to talk to me.

After breakfast the next day, on instructions from the landlady, I found Tom Bishop’s farm. In the farmyard a man, I assumed to be Tom Bishop, was in the process of pulling out his tractor. When he saw me he stopped and climbed down. He was a powerful looking man supporting a heavy black beard with his hair sweep back in a ponytail. As he extended a hand I could feel the strength in his forearm.

Without any introduction he said. “I know who you are. Gossip travels fast. You have come to see Amal. I will call him but I insist on being present at the beginning of any conversation with him as I have been appointed by my dear cousin as his guardian angel. We treat him like a son. I need to be assured that any conservation with him is above board.”

My immediate reply was that I would welcome that.

The three of us sat in the kitchen over a cup of morning coffee.

“I introduced myself as Thomas Mann and independent TV and short film producer of interesting human stories. These stories are in the form of short films I principally sell to the BBC. After seeing Amal tap dancing last night and the darts’ competition with everybody enjoying themselves in a charming old English pub, I think a larger audience would be interested in seeing a short film of this extraordinary scene. With all your agreements I would like to come back with my photographer for the final village darts competition in two weeks time to interview and film Amal tap dancing like he did last night. I would also like to film the competition, the pub and your farm. If I am successful in selling this short film I propose any revenue generated from the sales will be split as follows. 25% to Amal and his family. 5% each for the pub and farm.

I looked at the farmer who I could see was turning over my proposal in his mind before replying.

“How will we know if you sell the film and what will be the actual revenue? “

“We will appoint yours and my lawyers as trustees for the film and all revenues. They will be responsible for dividing up the money as I described.”

“It sounds fair.” He looked over at Amal. “I think we can both agree.” Amal nodded his head. We then spent a few minutes discussing farming and the weather. I told them my parents had a farm South of London. When Tom left his final words where he would see me in two weeks. “I will leave you to talk to Amal.” As he reached the kitchen door he turned to Amal and said. “Don’t be too long as we have a lot of work to do.” The door closed.

I was left facing Amal. He was a young man of an agile, slight build. He had dark short hair with a deep coloured brown skin. His facial features were well formed with dark eyes that gave an impression his suffering in the past were still present. He had an engaging smile.

My first question was. “Amal in respect for your heavy workload today, please give me a short description of who you are.”

Amal spoke.

“I was born in a refugee camp the famous three camp they call the Lost boys of Sudan. My parents, as young married, went to one of these camps as protection against the atrocities in Sudan. They are still there. My mother had five children while in the camp. Two died and my brother and sister are still living there with very little hope of returning to the family's homeland. Camp life slowly poisons any hope of living in what the western world you would call a normal existence. The camps are poorly equipped, diseased ridden mostly due to poor water and inadequate sanitation conditions. Often the camps are control by gangs. Over the last few years overcrowded has been a major problem. We spend most of the day looking for food and clean water. The children play with sticks, stones, dust and dirt. They are very seldom any toys. As for schooling there are several valiant attempts with questionable success.

At ten years old I realized if I was ever to leave this place I would need to …...how do you say…. ingratiate myself with the British Red Cross organization that administers medical needs to the camps. I had noticed they were always completely overwhelmed by the workload and the number of people requiring their attention. It took me twelve years. In the beginning I was always there at the crack of dawn to help them with their errands. After a few years they started considering me one of their team. I practically live in their part of the camp. They taught me English, gave me books to read, allowed me to listen to the BBC with them. In the later years they trained me to do simple medical interventions. One morning I was bandaging up a woman’s damaged leg when I heard that Meg was asking me to see her. After finishing the job in hand I found her in the medical store room. She was a senior medical officer that had been in the camp for several months. She was known for wearing brogue shoes, and being very strict and proper. The camp liked her as they all knew how fairly they would be treated when they stood in her presence. She had an imposing height with dark large eyes which made her look like a wise old owl.

“Ah! There you are Amal. I have been appointed as the group’s spokesperson. In five days a group of us are leaving for a well earned rest in England. If you agree we will take you with us and I personally will make sure you get a permanent resident’s visa. In addition Emma’s uncle has agreed to give you board and lodgings for you helping him on his farm. I believe there is some talk of a small salary. As Emma is coming with us you will have plenty of time to discuss the matter. At this point my emotions flowed through my body with such force I could not speak. I just broke out dancing in front of Meg wheeling and dancing like a Dervish. When I stopped and kiss her on the cheek there were ties in my eyes.”

I sat there for a moment totally absorbed by his story.

“Why does high emotional excitement make you want to dance?“

He laughed. “This love of dancing goes back to my younger days when we formed a group that used to dance on empty oil barrels. To make interesting sounds we covered the sole of our shoes with metal objects. It began as a sign amongst us that we were bored. We would dance, which was often. Today the boredom has turned into happiness.”

“I can understand you don’t miss life in the camp but your parents, sister, brothers and friends?”

“No, my father, after some forty years of living there is now one of the camp's directors. He has no time for his family. My mother is bedridden, my sister married and moved to another camp, my brother has joined one of the gangs and lives with them. These camps don’t create the environment for long term friendships. I have learnt over the last two years man relationship with animals can turnout to be far more satisfying.”

“I must let you go to work. We will see each other in two weeks.”

As I pay my bill and spoke with the landlord and told him about our discussions up at the farm. He was delighted, a little publicity always helps. He looked forward to seeing me in two weeks.

Two weeks later my photographer and I drove into the village a day before to prepare for the final. We were both amazed at all the publicity displayed. It set the scene for a great evening at the pub. We unloaded our equipment, found the keys to our rooms and within minutes were in the pub to find out what was going on. The landlord was all smiles and was rubbing his hands with pleasure.

“Good to see you. Everything will be ready by this evening. Pick the place for your camera. You will notice in the far corner a drum has been set up.”

Once we all had a beer and drank to cheer for the coming competition, we left for the farm.

Tom and Amal were pleased to see us and showed us around the farm. On the tour we had several occasions to take some interesting photos, including Tom and Amal working together. As the evening closed we sat in the kitchen accompanied by Tom’s wife and listened to more detailed accounts of living all or most of your life in a refugee camp. We left convinced Amal’s story of how he came to be working on this farm must be told.

The next day at 6 o’clock in the evening all was ready. The pub opened its doors. By seven thirty a continual stream of beer was flowing from the beer taps. The noise and laughter had moved up a few decibels. At seven forty five there was a roll of drum.

“Ladies and gentlemen….I hope you are ….(roars of laughter). Tonight we have the final of our local darts competition with the village of Great Cubley. Two teams. Five members. Five rounds of five sessions. Players will throw in predetermined order. The highest number of rounds won will be declared the win. The competition will start on the stroke of eight. Prior to the start I have asked Amal to perform his tap dancing act. It encourages us to win like the Haka war dance.” As he finished there was another roll of the drum.

The crowded room was clothed in a breathtaking silence. All one could hear was the taping feet from Amal accompanied by a slow soft beat from the drum. The drum beat increased; the feet kept time. Amal jump up on the stool. I noticed somebody had lent or given him a pair of tap dancing shoes. By this time the drum beat that was at full tempo suddenly stopped. The sound continued at the same fast rhythm from Amal’s feet. Now he was up on the bar counter his tapping feet moving between the glass with amazing skill. As he turned at the end of the counter the crowd started banging on anything near at hand to keep in time with his feet. He came back down the bar counter and jumped off. The clapping was deafening. I thought it did not quite have that raw quality of shear joy and expression of life as the previous time I saw him but it was sensational performed with the haunting sound of drum and feet. The clock over the bar struck eight. Arms and dart arrows ready. I noticed Amal was a member of the team. Like the semi-finals the competition went into the last round with 2 rounds all, the winner to be decided by this fifth round. The home team must have felt inspired by the crowd as they won four straight sessions in this last round. I am not sure as the night closed on the festivities if anybody was capable, at that time, of remembering what a joyful event is was. The cheers for the bus that finally left for the competing village was surrounded by a well watered and excited crowd.

I sold the film to the BBC for a handsome sum with a decent royalty percentage on any future and international sales. On the night of the transaction while in a deep sleep I heard the soft taping of somebody dancing.

David Nutt April 2024