Back of the Winter Choir with Karine Polwart and Celtic Connections

A Holy Place

An intentional reconnect, learning to feel the depth
of the soul’s richness through communal practice—
an extraordinary outpouring of joyous connection.

To be touched by simple pleasures,
a surprise gift of shining cells and embedded insight,
able to access pure spirit, I am a privilege of animation—
foolish and broken, soul-pierced with love’s invitation.

Unlocking emotions, touching beyond the surface,
my emotional breath, belly and numinous heart,
I experience a vulnerable and holy place beyond performance.

This year, I celebrated Imbolc in a highly unique way. 

The festival known as Bride’s Day here in Scotland marks the midway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox and is often quoted as the first day of Spring.

It is true, the graceful snowdrop delights us with its presence and if we take time to notice, each few minutes of additional daylight sees our working day complete itself before dark during this month of February, light-bringer and harbinger of promise.

But Spring proper is still elusive. Instead, we recognise Imbolc as a sign that “the back of the winter is broken.”

These words are indelibly inked in my heart and soul, for I spent Imbolc 2025 as part of the Back of the Winter Choir—a 300-strong community singing project organised by one of Scotland’s most talented singer-songwriters, Karine Polwart.

There we were, facing a sell-out audience of thousands in the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, hearts and voices full. Personally, I was battling a wee bit of unexpected vertigo in the choir stalls, as our Choir Master, Stephen Deazley, orchestrated us to stand and sit for each of the songs of the second set.

Our performance was the culmination of the finest workshop I’ve had the privilege to attend.

It was also part of the biggest event that Celtic Connections (Europe’s biggest Winter festival) has organised.

Karine Polwart’s work is magical and spellbinding, with a voice to match. Notable for her collaborative projects and community participation, lyrically Karine’s viewpoint has been fixed outward over the twenty-five years of her career, inspired by current affairs and her early career in women’s crisis support as well as the folklore and landscape of her homeland with much else in between.

The Back of the Winter concert would celebrate this quarter-century milestone and remarkably, she invited 300 of us to share the stage with her. 

When I signed up for the workshop in 2024, I wasn’t confident they’d let me on the stage. When the follow-up questionnaire prompted me to insert my level of experience, I felt like the biggest imposter.

I’m not tuneless, but I’m no singer, and I envisioned at least one moment when I’d be found out and turned away during the process.

What actually happened is that I was warmly welcomed into this community of voices without question. On our first day, I was stood between choir leader, Charlotte, and community choir member, Mary (picture below)  and neither pointed at me and laughed me out of the auditorium—I was in!

Heart and soul deeply touched, I embraced the process and set about learning nine songs by ear. Our skillful choir master, Stephen, managed us with a big dollop of humour and humanity. I have never experienced such kindness and encouragement from strangers as that offered to us all, without exception, during rehearsals.

To be Karine Polwart and receive 300 voices mirroring back the joy, melancholy, hopefulness and love she pours into her songs must be quite something.

To be so obviously moved and yet tenacious enough to lead us for three full-on days speaks to the quality of the human being she is.

I often call the work I do in the world ‘soul-work’, but my own creative endeavours have never touched my soul as deeply as this project. Sure, the quality of the folk leading the project is unquestionable—including Steven Polwart, on guitar and supporting us musically throughout—and the bringing together of folk in community is always heart-warming, but for me, the key to unlocking this particular magic was the singing itself.

Each morning, as I practiced through getting ready for the day, I’d catch my breath, tears stopping my voice from completing the line.

I couldn’t even complete a sentence talking about the project without resolving into tears.

Inexplicably, these songs with lyrics not my own were unlocking my soul’s voice.

I can’t explain it. I can’t quantify the reasons why I felt the way I did, but it lasted all the way to the concert and beyond.

I succumbed to a vicious gastro bug this last couple of weeks and the last thing I’ve been thinking about is singing.

As my wee ravaged body brings me back into the world again and the monotone grey skies pour forth icy rain stirred by whirling winds, I’m encouraged to recall again the magic of this Imbolc experience and the celebration of the Back of the Winter.

My 2025 Word for the Year is REACH.

It carries with it all sorts of meanings to help guide me through the days, weeks and months ahead. My first visceral manifestation has been reaching this place of the soul’s voice and I’m excited to see how that helps guide me forward.

In a world where the news is mostly unbearable, the gift of localised, creative projects cannot be underestimated. That I paid for the privilege is something I am grateful to my own community for, as their support continues to provide me with a meagre living.

All too often, folk like me are excluded from projects and events like this because the costs are so high.

The experience was worth much more than my £85 ticket price—so much more, and none of it easily measurable.

• How can we make sure that creative projects like this continue to be funded in a fair and accessible way?
• How can I continue to support projects like this moving forward and at the same time make my own endeavours affordable and accessible whilst still allowing me to meet my needs beyond paying the bills?
• How might I concretise the values embraced by this project in my own business?

These are just the beginnings of thoughts I’ve been having since Imbolc. They are small and tender, yet— like the energies of Imbolc, where we have to be careful not to tread too clumsily and crush that which raises itself from the dark depths below.

Thanks to choir member Debbie Pipe for taking and sharing such great photos of such a special event!