In 2013 I was in my last year studying theatre and performance at the University of Leeds. I was a fairly normal student, I think. I sometimes worked hard, often drank too much and thought I was really cool, even though I definitely wasn’t. There were lots of things I didn’t know, but one thing I was sure of: after university, I was going to go to drama school and then become an actor. You know, in movies and stuff.
During our final module of the term, I found myself standing outside Berkeley Court care home on a drizzly afternoon with three course mates and an underdeveloped idea. We planned to do sensory stimulation workshops with the residents in an attempt to inspire memory and social engagement.
I don’t think I had met someone living with dementia before. My grandma would later be diagnosed with vascular dementia in her mid-90s, but that was years away. I remember being nervous, aware that we were working with people who were vulnerable – and that I had no idea what I was doing. I had a CD player under my arm because we had decided to play music at the end of the session. If the average age of the residents was about 80, I thought they probably would have been listening to Frank Sinatra in their late 20s. We went with My Way because we all recognised it was a banger.
Some residents were almost nonverbal, some were clearly experiencing hallucinations or delusions, some were happy to see us and some were not. Sheepishly putting the song lyrics on each table “just in case” anyone fancied singing along, I remember thinking that we had probably got this very wrong. I shuffled to the back of the room apologetically and pressed play.
It was as if a spell had been cast. Nearly everyone in the room stood up and sang what seemed like every word. The song sheets remained untouched. I was so profoundly moved. Looking to either side of me, I saw I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes. Many of the residents were now communicating with far greater clarity than they had been seconds before. It felt, and looked, like magic.
Off I went to drama school, but I thought about that experience almost daily. So when we were given the opportunity to write a script for a theatre festival, I created a love story about music and dementia, spanning 50 years of a couple’s life. The play, In Other Words, featured the song Fly Me to the Moon (another banger).
It speaks to the universality of that story that, 10 years later, the show is running again in London thanks to the Music for Dementia campaign. Making work for, or about, people living with dementia – particularly focusing on the power of music to connect them to the world and their loved ones – has formed the most consistent part of my career over the past decade.
I am an actor and I still wouldn’t mind being in movies, but that moment at Berkeley Court fundamentally changed what motivates me and I feel extremely lucky to have discovered that.
When my grandma was diagnosed with dementia towards the end of her life I wasn’t intimidated or lost, and didn’t struggle to communicate with her in the way that other people in their 20s might have done. I felt more able to tune into what she needed and better equipped to see my grandma underneath the disease. I took genuine pleasure in the moments where she shone through, in whatever form that took.
I now know that music-based interventions reduce the need for antipsychotic medication in more than 60% of people living with dementia. It’s not always so simple, but sometimes it almost is. I don’t know what my Fly Me to the Moon would be. I’m not sure if a drum’n’bass classic would have the same impact on an emotional level, but I certainly think we should all strive to find our song and do our best to stay connected to the people we share it with.
I often meet people who want to share their story after seeing In Other Words. I’m consistently struck by the remarkable acts of compassion, resilience and optimism human beings are capable of, especially when caring for someone they love.
It has taught me to be better at accessing those qualities within myself, and I have also learned that it is possible to find moments of hope and beauty even in the bleakest of circumstances.
• In Other Words is at the Arcola theatre until 30 September to mark World Alzheimer’s Month. A digital version of the play can be watched via the Music for Dementia website.
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