Category Archives: Life

I have sung the Hallelujah Chorus!

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Most of it, anyway. It was the grand finale to Sunday’s carol service, and a pretty good service it was too. An excellent, well rehearsed and conducted choir; mostly trad carols played on the organ; an equally well rehearsed trio of piano, bass and drums for the rest. Everything sung at a decent speed and not too many verses. The proceedings kicked off with “the 12 Days of Christmas”, arr. John Rutter, sung by the choir and finished – as I say – with a bit of Handel. The choir sung it properly and drowned out the crude vocal fumblings from the congregation, but it’s still pretty satisfying to be growling out “And he shall reign forever and e-e-ver” at the right pace and with all the right ups and downs. (Singing in the choir in your youth does pay off, children.) With the umpteenth repetition of “King of Kings and Lord of Lords” from the sopranos, each one an octave higher than before, your ears begin to ache and small glass objects start to vibrate alarmingly, so it’s as well it ended when it did.
Another treat was having Canon David Winter of Thought for the Day fame as the preacher. He sat in the very front row, immediately behind the choir conductor, who was on a little podium. He isn’t tall – think Ronnie Corbett with a beard, grey jacket and clerical collar – and so seemed to spend most of the carols with his nose pressed into the conductor’s armpit. But he praught well.
And so, as Christmas looms, I start to think of all the seasonal favourites I haven’t sung, or heard sung, and at this stage probably won’t for another year. Depending on how many I can find on YouTube, I thought I’d share some with you.
The Sans Day Carol is similar in content to “the Holly and the Ivy”, but finds a better balance of theological and botanical accuracy, and has a better tune anyway. “The Holly and the Ivy” teases us with its chorus – “the rising of the sun and the running of the deer …” and makes me want to shout, “WHAT ABOUT THEM??”

The Shepherd’s Pipe Carol: like the above, an annual favourite of my school carol service at which yours truly was a cherubic treble. This isn’t saying much, as in a boys’ school where the maximum age is 13 everyone is either a cherubic treble or has recently acquired a voice like a concrete mixer and isn’t singing anything.

Its carols like this that I like the most – taking an event of cosmic importance and bringing it down to a personal level. “Going through the hills on a night all starry, I heard this shepherd boy playing his pipes, see, and …” (lyrics paraphrased).

Actually it has just occurred to me from the last verse that this could be a cunning ruse by King Herod, having failed with the Wise Men:

“May I come with you, shepherd boy piping merrily,
Come with you to Bethlehem?
Pay my homage too at the new King’s cradle,
Is it far to Bethlehem?”

So I’ll move quickly on.

And now some old traditionals, though not necessarily done traditionally.

Joys Seven. Aren’t the little kids cute? This one wins the Tim Rice Award for Forced Rhymes:

“The next good joy that Mary had,
It was the joy of two;
To see her own Son Jesus Christ,
Making the lame to go(o) …”

Gaudete. Last year I linked to Steeleye Span so this year you get Angel Voices. Watch for the little blond kid who bobs his head with the music.

And of course Mike Oldfield’s version of “In dulci jubilo“. This was playing in Tesco the other day. I started whistling along to it, then realised someone else in the same aisle was doing likewise. Another few bars and we would have been in a TV ad, with everyday shoppers suddenly breaking into dance, so I forced myself to stop.

And finally, it is of course Rutting Season, i.e. the time you’re most likely to hear something by John Rutter (d’you see what I did there?).

The Candelight Carol comes back to the theme of bringing Christmas home.

“Shepherds and wisemen will kneel and adore him,
Seraphim round him their vigil will keep;
Nations proclaim him their Lord and their Saviour,
but Mary will hold him and sing him to sleep.”

And the Angel’s Carol. This is Christmas, encapsulated. No more need be said. Merry Christmas, everyone.

“Have you hear the sounds of the angel voices
ringing out so sweetly, ringing out so clear?
Have you seen the star shining out so brightly
as a sign from God that Christ the Lord is here?
Have you heard the news that they bring from heaven
to the humble shepherds who have waited long?
Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Hear the angels sing their joyful song.

He is come in peace in the winter’s stillness,
like a snowfall in the gentle night.
He is come in joy, like the sun at morning,
filling all the world with radiance and with light.
He is come in love as the child of Mary.
In a simple stable we have seen his birth.
Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Hear the angels singing ‘Peace on earth’.

He will bring new light to a world in darkness,
like a bright star shining in the skies above.
He will bring new hope to the waiting nations
When he comes to reign in purity and love.
Let the earth rejoice at the Saviour’s coming.
Let the heavens answer with the joyful morn:
Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Hear the angels singing, ‘Christ is born’.”

A tale so free from every doubt

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I’d like to be able to report that I now know the plot of The Gondoliers, which is the last big Gilbert & Sullivan I have yet to see. But I can’t. The Kennington & District United Church Choirs Gilbert & Sullivan society has become a victim of its own success. Its performances are unticketed, free and, in the case of last Friday’s, full up. Memo to selves – get there sooner next time.

The gist of the plot I know simply from one song. A young prince, in his infancy, was wed to a young princess. Later the same prince was abducted by the Grand Inquisitor – the latest in a line of G&S officials with far too much power and self-importance and far too little ability – to save the kingdom from falling into the hands of fundamentalist Wesleyan Methodism. The child was fostered with a highly respectable gondolier who raised the boy side by side with his own son. However-

Owing, I’m much disposed to fear,
To his terrible taste for tippling,
That highly respectable gondolier
Could never declare with a mind sincere
Which of the two was his offspring dear
And which the Royal stripling.

The highly respectable gondolier then goes and dies with the identity of the child still unresolved. The Inquisitor goes on to explain to the now grown-up princess:

The children followed his old career
(This statement can’t be parried)
Of a highly respectable gondolier.
Well, one of the two who will soon be here
— But which of the two is not quite clear —
Is the Royal Prince you married!

I only blog this non-achievement now because the chance to play with W.S. Gilbert’s lyrics is always too good to resist. Somewhere in the story Giuseppe and Marco, the two gondolieri (but that’s a vagary, it’s quite honorary) are taught how to deport themselves as befits a (possible) member of the royalty:

I am a courtier grave and serious
Who is about to kiss your hand,
Try to combine a pose imperious
With a demeanour nobly bland …

And somewhere we meet that renowned warrior the Duke of Plaza-Toro:

In enterprise of martial kind
When there was any fighting
He led his regiment from behind,
He found it less exciting.
But when away his regiment ran
His place was at the fore-oh,
That celebrated cultivated underrated nobleman
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!

So there you have it, and there I must leave it until finally I get to see the show. One day I’ll know how it all works out. Or just look it up on Wikipedia, but where’s the fun in that?

Another year, another Children’s Authors Christmas Party

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Well, in chronological order, I first met up with my agent for the first time in the 13 years he’s represented me, which was nice. And I’m glad to say we get on well. Discussed various possible projects. Intriguing. All good.

Then on to Berkeley Square for the do. Chatted to various names and faces, authors and illuminati of Random House: some not what I’d expected at all, some exactly as I expected because I met them last year and even the year before. The waiters bearing trays of nibbles retain their extraordinary ability to walk through a room packed to the gills with people and still not quite come near enough to offer food to anyone. Fortunately the wine waiters haven’t mastered this art, though I told myself I was only feeling light headed because it was very hot and I had given blood 24 hours earlier.

Retrieving my bag from the cloakroom wasn’t as straightforward as you might expect, as the numbered ticket had come loose and was sticking to a woman’s handbag. Cloakroom lady took some convincing it wasn’t mine. I identified my own bag visually, and to prove my ownership I told the lady that if she looked in it, the first thing she would find was a blue jumper.

She opened the bag. She pulled out the jumper.

“It’s black,” she said sceptically. The cloakroom was quite dim.

“No, it’s definitely blue in the right light,” I assured her. She remained sceptical as though I had made a not quite lucky guess. I can only assume the cloakroom was full of bags stuffed with jumpers removed by their owners in advance because they knew how hot the party gets (actually, that could be true). I performed a further feat of clairvoyance by naming the book I was about to pull out of the bag before I had actually looked at the cover. She remained sceptical, possibly suspecting braille, but in the end she let me take it.

I could have pointed out that it was probably the only bag present emblazoned with “Networkshop 36, 8-10 April 2008, The University of Strathclyde” but I was too taken with my own cleverness and I really wasn’t thinking very clearly by this point.

The only name I will drop is John Dickinson, who writes very worth reading grown-up kids’ fantasy. He sought my views on our mutual publisher’s intended new science fiction line but got away before I could complain that his father was responsible for giving me nightmares when I was 10. He might get that a lot.