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Barchester Cathedral Tales ... |
Many thanks to those who have contributed so far, more will be added in due course...
Dear Colleagues,
I would be most grateful to have just an hour's worth of Passion after the AGM this coming Sunday. The instinct for self-preservation in the family runs fairly strong in the genetic make-up, and I would sleep so much the better for having seen the whites of everyone's eyes Bach-wise before the detailed work on the Holy Trinity programme begins in earnest. I hope you will feel able to accomodate my request and make an old man very happy!
The Organist and Master of the Choristers
The old organ at Barchester Cathedral had two consoles, one on the screen, and one in the nave. One Christmas Eve (about 1985) evensong was drawing to a close with Of the Father's heart begotten. The last verse began, and we all expected the Assistant Organist to produce a nicely reharmonised version.
At first, all was well, but then the pedal part began to stray across the boundary between tasteful variation and downright vulgarity; then from vulgar to bizarre, to unbearable. The then Organist and Master of the Choristers guessed the cause of the problem - someone was on the nave console. He stormed out, and found the daughter of one of the Canons (who was old enough to know better) happily marching up and down the pedal board, to the delight of her friends.
Legend has it that the Organist and Master of the Choristers, armed with his hymnbook, dispensed some summary justice!
Sometime ago, Barchester Cathedral unveiled a proud, ten-foot high statue of St. Darth on a five-foot plinth. One night, St. Darth was joined on his plinth by three lay vicars, and into his outstretched hand was placed a Star Wars-esque lightsabre. Where before St. Darth had simply blessed the people of Barchester, now he could say "the force be with you" (and of course the lay vicars replied "and also with you").
The organist at Barchester had a legacy left to the organ fund and decided to spend it on two new pedal stops. The congregation were soon treated to displays of his new sixteen foot septic and his mighty thirty-two foot contra - septic.
When I was a chorister at Barchester Cathedral, several of us used to go through a small door off the crypt which opened into a square area with a direct view of the sky above. There we used to indulge our pre-pubescent experimentations with smoking. We were never caught and whenever I go back to Barchester, I always go to have a look. Unfortunately, the access is now blocked-off!
In 1995, when I was at the BCMAD (Barchester College of Music and Drama) as a post-graduate, I sang at Barchester Cathedral. The choir consisted of boys from the choir school and men mostly BCMAD students.
The service to which I refer happened to be men's voices - Sheppard's 1st as I recall, but what I recall in more detail was that the service was attended by a vast quantity of the land's bishops. At least 30 of these erudite and pious men were in Barchester for a bishop's conference that year and dutifully made their way to the cathedral for weekday Evensong.
Seating the bishops among the congregation and thereby having their view of the choir and altar flat obscured by the screen did not seem meet and right. Consequently, these eminent figures were seated in the songmen's stalls within the choir, while the songmen themselves were seated in the boy's stalls at a lower vantage. In this way, the clergy might have the full aural benefit of a number of the BCMADs opera school students attempting to emit ethereal sounds in an acoustic renowned for its reminiscence to a cardboard box.
One to a part on each side was not deemed sufficient to meet the vocal demands of the canticles, and so the basses were joined by the cathedral sub-organist, himself a competent singer and now, incidentally, director of music at one of UKs grandest ecclesiastical institutions.
Knowing that the bishops would have an unparalleled view of the choir during evensong from their position in the men's stalls, with the more sharp-sighted of them able to follow the music from over the heads of the songmen, an opporuntity arose.
Between rehearsal and the service a visit was paid to the pub, directly across from the Cathedral. One purchase later and back in the vestry it was possble to attach a large, yellow, luminous, variety Jiffi condom to the pages of the sub-organist's Magnificat with the help of a substantial stapler.
As the first lesson ended and the choir arose for the Magnificat, the victim did not even have the benefit of a playover from the organ as he opened his copy in prepreparation, displaying the condom, unravelled in all its glistening glory, to those to his left, right and above.
Realising the danger, he attempted to remove it swiftly with force and succeeded in part in bring away some of the yellow rubber in his hand. The remainder however, stayed firmly attached to the staple holding it there and so whipped back onto the copy with a distinct snap every time an attempt was made to remove it altogether. The choir continued with the canticles with utmost professionalism though one voice took no further part.
After Evensong, several bishops joined the lay-clerks in the pub. One came over to the lay-clerks to thank us for our vocal contribution to the evening's worship but admitted he was more impressed by the singer who appeared donning marigold gloves in order to do the washing up as soon as the service had finished!