Shirley (39 page)

The fans remain. Hundreds, thousands, millions of fans throughout the world. They worship her, they cry, ‘I love you, Shirley,’ as they rush to the stage with their gifts of flowers, teddy bears, champagne and chocolates. This degree of adulation makes Shirley uneasy. ‘I feel like I am some goddess, and they are giving up an offering to me.’

Why do they do it? To try and understand one should stand in the foyer of the Royal Festival Hall and watch the audience stream in for a Shirley Bassey Concert. Pretty normal couples, mostly over forty, some young girls and boys, some old people all here to watch a seemingly ageless and indestructible star light up the stage with her presence and their lives with her voice.

Perhaps some of them have been watching Shirley Bassey for thirty years or more and feel they are now part of her family. They clap, they shout, they cheer, they give her standing ovations. At the end of the concert they carry their gifts to the stage to lay at her feet.

Shirley protects her special magic. The fans must not come too close. The magic works better from a distance. Yet, ever complex and contradictory, she sometimes welcomes this kind of love, this torrent of devotion that swells from her audiences, that could consume her but raises her up like a goddess. Shirley Bassey, the diva, sings of love, and from her huge following, love comes back to her. ‘It keeps me going,’ she says. ‘It’s my life.’