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My first love musically has always been jazz. My brother played pretty good jazz guitar himself, and he introduced me to the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and all the other greats — Sarah Vaughan, Mel Tormé, Duke Ellington, Basie — when I was about 11 or 12.
All my family had a natural ear and gift for music — not just my mum, dad, and brother, but my aunts, uncles, and cousins, too. We would all meet round at my grandmother’s house in Clapton and sing. We were part of the vast Jewish community there, but not ultra-Orthodox like the community that is still there. Everyone moved out, as we did.
I don’t speak in terms of being “proud” of things, but certain events do stand out for me: my first song getting to No. 3 when I was 14; my first No. 1 — “You don’t know”; the year I spent playing Nancy in Oliver! in the West End; all the jazz; making my own albums, and making albums with Humph. . .
Humphrey Lyttelton and I did 17 years of concerts together. It was wonderful. It started with a tribute to Duke Ellington at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in 1984, and, although we didn’t intend to go on so long together, it lasted until 2001. He was great fun on and off stage. It was a privilege working with him.
It’s hard to know what I’d say to aspiring young singers. At 14, you think you’re grown up. As much as I’d want to say, “Don’t do it” (the pop world is pretty rough — one wants to protect youngsters), I suppose I’d just say, “Be careful. Make sure you have mature people around you.”
My dad and mum worked in a tailoring factory: they weren’t experienced in business. They were equally anxious for and supportive of their little kid; but I had a manager and agents. The head of the pop-singing school where I went saw my potential, and after a few weeks waived his fees because he could see it was going to be difficult. He became my first manager, though he died just as my first single, “Don’t treat me like a child”, came out.
God’s dealings with us are like bespoke tailoring. He knows exactly where to meet us. I left showbiz at the end of 2002 in order to concentrate on my gospel outreach evenings. I’d been crying out to God to let me leave for some time, and he finally gave me the green light. I suppose it was just his timing. I’d thought I was ready, and when I came out, I was raring to go: “OK, here I am. I’m ready.” That’s when he started his refining work on me. . . So it took a bit longer to get those going. I’m very thankful now for that time.
It’s a difficult thing to know with Jewish people where the religion ends and tradition and culture begins: it’s all of a piece with us. Our family would keep Passover, the High Holy Days, and so forth; and I belonged to the Jewish youth club. I personally always did believe in God — sometimes a God with a big stick.
Over the years in the late ’60s and ’70s, my belief spread out into various -isms, because that was what was going on in the world generally. But when I got to 40, I didn’t believe in anything any more. God was getting rid of false beliefs in me to make room for him.
One day I went to visit my musical director, Bob, who was a Christian. He had no idea of the crisis I was going through, but some of the things he said provoked me to jealousy. I was envious of his and his wife’s faith. I started to think about Jesus — and that was new for me, because Jews don’t believe in Jesus.
I lay on my bed one night and asked him: “Jesus, if you are really the Messiah, show me.” After that, everywhere I went, I bumped into things connected with Jesus. I read a book called Betrayed! by Stan Telchin, which quoted the messianic prophecies from the Old Testament. I didn’t know there were any — I was gobsmacked. It was all very specific stuff: Isaiah 53, Psalm 22, Micah 5, Daniel 9, Jeremiah 31.
I read the New Testament for the first time with a certain amount of trepidation. What would I find there? Anti-Semitism? After all, they must get it from their book. . . But I read Matthew and it seemed like a continuation of the Old Testament, and, in the middle of Mark, I went out to buy a Jewish Bible to check that the prophecies were really there; and by the time I got to the end of John I knew it was true. On 26 August 1987, at 10.30 p.m., I went round to Bob’s house and prayed to receive Jesus as my Lord and Saviour. It will be 21 years ago this month.
This is what I want to share with people in my gospel outreach evenings. I do sing in them, but they aren’t concerts. We mostly do them in churches or halls, and Chrissy accompanies me with her guitar and we lead people in worship — if they want to join in. Then I sing “Walking back to happiness” and give my whole testimony with four or five tracks from my gospel albums. And then I give them the gospel — the why of it — why Jesus came to die. And then I challenge the audience.
It’s very old-fashioned: the full gospel message: sin, heaven, hell — nothing wishy-washy. But it’s also about God’s love — very much so.
My friends and family have kind of got used to it. My mum became a believer about six months after I did, and now she’s gone to be with the Lord. I get curiosity from some, and criticism from others. Some think it’s anti-Semitic, but I take the opportunity to explain: Jesus was a Jew and still is. The apostles and the first thousands of Christians were Jews. It was only later that things got distorted.
I don’t read anything except the Bible, really. The Lord gave me from the beginning a love for his word. Even as a kid, I loved the Old Testament stories. He’s given me a hunger and love for the Bible, and it’s never gone. But I love the great old preachers too: Spurgeon, Wesley. . . Oswald Chambers: he’s really heavy-duty. I read him every day, and often think: “Now, what are you going to tell me off about today?”
My husband and I like to take a day trip to the coast or to the country. I love really simple things. I like being in the garden, and watching birds. I’m not a serious twitcher, but I’m a member of the RSPB, and any time I watch or hear birds I get a feeling of peace.
Yes, I get angry — but not like I used to be. Our salvation in Jesus is instantaneous, but our sanctification is lifelong. I keep short accounts with God, though. False prophets make me angry — there’s so much of it now within the Church. I know it’s part of the end times, and we were told it was going to happen. We’re living in difficult times.
That’s a funny word — happy. I’m happy when I’m rejoicing in the Lord, when I’m peaceful, when I’m singing, and worshipping the Lord in songs. It’s lovely to sing to the Lord. There nothing better than the great old hymns sung in the Spirit.
I belong to a little house-group: two Jewish and six Gentile believers. We break bread, sing, look into the word of God together, and have wonderful fellowship. We don’t have a leader — just a group of Spirit-filled people meeting in a home. I think that’s how the Church probably was meant to be.
My spiritual place is my little room I use each day for my quiet time. I knew when we moved into that house that the Lord had set it aside for me. It’s seen a lot of prayer, tears, praise, thanks, reading.
For holidays we tend to go to the sea — abroad or in this country — wherever. If you live in London, you tend to forget how beautiful this country is.
The plaudits of men are great, smashing, but I don’t know if that’s how I want to be remembered. I think I’d rather have it said that I was faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I mostly pray for the salvation of my family and my husband’s family, and neighbours and friends and their families.
Locked in a church with someone? Can’t you guess? Jesus! (Well — I’m always honest.)
Helen Shapiro was talking to Terence Handley MacMath. She can be contacted at mannamusic@freeuk.com, or by phoning 020 8851 9049.
www.mannamusic.co.uk
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