Ukulele Heaven

Who would have thought that four strings on a very modestly sized instrument could bring so much fun and joy into my life?

My husband and I were driving, on our way to walk the dogs, when a song by Dire Straits came on the radio. We both started to sing along and tap out a beat, on knees and steering wheel. I said, “I can play this on my ukelele.”

My husband’s face was at once a study in slack-jawed amazement as he narrowly avoided running a red light. “What?!” he spluttered, “already? You’ve only been at it three months!”

‘Well, I mean, it’s only three chords,” I expand, “the rhythm bit, the strum along, is just three chords. Obviously, I can’t do the Mark Knopfler twiddly bit!”

“Aaah right,” hubby nodded as the clouds of WTFery parted and understanding replaced incredulity. “I hadn’t recognised this particular song in amongst all your other three chord strumming.”

And there is it: I am a joyful strummer, plinking and plonking my way through a surprising number of songs ranging from the aforementioned pop classic through to a bit of old school ragtime. You hum it, I’ll play it.

This musical awakening started in earnest back in December 2025. Prior to that my musical career hadn’t extended beyond playing the recorder at school and hymn practice. However, on a chilly winter day, just before Christmas - the group I swim with -held a beach party and a few of our swimmers turned up bearing not only cakes but guitars and ukeleles. We had a mini concert, singing and playing. I loved it and wanted a piece of the action so I quizzed my friend who was playing, to see if I could join in and learn. She suggested that I pop round to her house and have a go on her instrument – the baritone ukelele. Yes please! I was in (well, I would be at the end of January when my-soon-to-arrive Aussie family had departed following their month long holiday with us).

On January 23^rd, 2026, I made good on my promise to myself and rocked up at Deb’s house and, under her supervision, gingerly picked up the uke and bent the fingers of my left hand over the fret board and drew the thumb of my right hand across the strings, making a passable sound. Thrilled at my natural aptitude, I headed out to buy myself a uke the next day.

Deb has directed me to our local guitar shop, run by a pony-tailed ex-muso called Barry who didn’t blink when I announced that I was starting to learn the uke and please could I have one the same as Deb’s. Indeed, Barry knew exactly what I was referring to, fetching a lovely instrument from his workshop/backroom and telling me that he’d rig it up with a shoulder strap there and then. He also gifted me not one, but two plectrums “one standard, on Hawaiian,” (whatever you say Barry).

While he was drilling a hole (cue alarm on my face) through my uke strap, we were interrupted a few times by people coming into the shop. Barry, being a one-man band, stopped to attend to the - supplying one short-bodied guitar with mixed strings to a man who was looking to buy a surprise birthday present for a short-bodied teenager; finding some kind of “steel wrapped slicks” (or it may have been slacks. I didn’t really see what they were or understand the technical jargon in that transaction) and, finally, rooting out a museum worthy amplifier (or part of one), the ZX600 or something like that, which elicited much enthusiastic chat between Barry (a great exponent of said piece of kit) and the punter who, I sensed, really wanted something else but left the shop carrying the artifact and wearing a smile.

Having taken care of business, Barry presented me with my newly strapped uke, a carry case, my plectrums and a neat little digital tuner thingy.

Awesome.

I paid up and got on the bus home feeling that I could well be on the verge of my own Bob Dylan era.

Deb had given me a chord chart and explained how to use it (which finger corresponds to which string and on which fret) and, along with a couple of song sheets with lyrics and chords written above them, I was ready to begin. Who would have thought that four strings on a very modestly sized instrument could bring so much fun and joy into my life?

Since January I have practiced almost daily. I’ve bought myself a couple of tutorial books, signed up to a guitar/ukelele playing app and been gifted some music books with titles like ’50 first songs for the baritone ukelele’ and ‘Baritone Ukelele Party.’ Rock and roll.

I’ve been down many an internet rabbit hole, sitting on my bed in the afternoon sun, trying to figure out how to play the melody of a particular song. I got very obsessed with the tune from the 1960s children’s programme ‘Tales of the riverbank’ (turns out it’s a classical piece – Giuliani’s andante in C major (op.43, No.6) Who knew?). I haven’t cracked the twiddly bits on that either, but I can play the basic tune and that makes me happy.

I spend 30 mins working through one of the music exercises in the tutorial books and trying to resurrect my memory of reading music, and then the rest of the time just strumming chords that I’ve learned to various songs. I tend to sing along in my head because trying to get the fingers of my left hand onto the correct strings and frets and remember these, whilst learning a strumming pattern with my right hand is as much as my post-stroke brain can take right now. But it gets better each time and, surprisingly, it’s not frustrating. It feels very gentle and calm and I’m happy just to repeat movements over and over until they stick. Maybe it’s a form of mindfulness.

I’m also loving practicing with our swim-music group. It has been really good for me, learning to receive help from others and recognising that it doesn’t matter if I’m not that proficient. It is just great! There are a few accomplished musicians in the group who encourage and support the rest of us. We joke with, cajole, praise and assist one another through a variety of songs, laughing at our timing (or lack of it) and our pitch (or lack of it).

We had an Easter beach party, and our playing went down a storm with the rest of the swimmers who sang along with gusto. It was freezing cold that day. My fingers hardened into a claw so I could hardly move my left hand and when I came to swim afterwards, it was perishing. But I was seriously having the best time with friends, laughing, learning, simply being and doing something creative.

So, if you’re teetering on the edge of decision, worrying about whether you’ll be good enough, fear not! It’s never too late to try something new. You will surprise yourself.

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