Organ Anecdotes For Book Wanted

[themythes]

No, but I've fallen asleep in more than I can count.

 

Anyone fallen asleep while actually giving the recital?

 

DRH

[Vox Humana]

Anyone fallen asleep while actually giving the recital?

 

DRH

More or less, yes. I did once give one with my mind wandering all over the place from beginning to end. Complete automatic pilot job. Absolutely shameful, of course, and a gross discourtesy to the audience. It was exceptionally well received though, including a rave review from the local pundit, so I didn't feel toooo guilty.

[AJJ]

Anyone fallen asleep while actually giving the recital?

 

DRH

 

Not quite but in the same way as the journey home from work where one suddenly realizes that one is one village further on than one thought I have played pieces where my concentration has gone and the place in the music temporarily lost. I am not sure whether this is due to nerves or just going ga ga! I also once played from loose sheets and discovered that two or three were in the wrong order - with quite interesting results for the 'flow' of the music.

 

AJJ

[churchmouse]

Anyone fallen asleep while actually giving the recital?

 

DRH

 

I've found myself feeling incredibly sleepy just BEFORE the concert or before having to play something very tricky in a service. I read somewhere that there is a syndrome called trench syndrome - troops in WWI suffered from it, falling asleep in the trenches only moments before the call came to go over the top.This was attributed to fear....

 

..... I also once played from loose sheets and discovered that two or three were in the wrong order - with quite interesting results for the 'flow' of the music.

 

AJJ

 

Ah - loose sheets! eeeeeeek. I once turned pages for an Australian organist when he played a set of variations from loose sheets . Can't remember what it was but I do recall there were at least 9 sets of them - maybe more. But the tricky thing was that, unbeknown to me, he had arranged to play them in a different order from the page numbering - so there was a cute little battle scene as we lunged for control of the pages ...

I think page tuners are a much maligned lot. How many organists like turning pages themselves??

Jenny

[MusingMuso]

Dear MM,

I may have missed this bit of information higher up the topic (if so, please forgive me) but can I ask where this recital is to be given and, more particularly, upon what sort of an organ? The Reubke would be more than a little registrational challenge on your Laycock and Bannister!

 

I have no problem with this programme; indeed, I love several of the items. If it were a meal, however, it would seem to have quite a few substantial savoury dishes and not much in the 'sweet' category. [i'm not whining, merely observing.]

 

Have fun!

P.

 

 

===============================

 

 

I've just got back after being stranded in Dumfries (of all places) for 18 hours. I deserve better!

 

The organ is Halifax pc: so plenty of variety.

 

It's interesting that you mention my small but perfectly formed organ, because the last time I performed the Reubke, it was on this very instrument! (It actually worked rather well)

 

Now I'm quite pleased by Paul's observation, because the Glazunov is the worry for me. It IS rather heavy musically, at least alongside things like the Reubke, but mercifully not too loud for the most part.

 

I shall have to put the thinking cap on and see if I can find something from the mysterious "East" in lighter vein. Perhaps something by Brixi, in classical style, or of course, the Franticek Tuma "Suite" transcription, which is always a delight and just about the same length as the Glazunov.

 

Of course, I could stretch a point and play the other big clock piece by Mozart (not the K608.....t'other one), which has Eastern European connections in the form of one Fr Primitivus Niamiche, who made the clock.

 

If I had the music, I would love to play the Leipziger Jig by Mozart, but is it available?

 

Mmmmmm.......I'll drop the Glazunov I think.

 

MM

[Vox Humana]

===============================

I shall have to put the thinking cap on and see if I can find something from the mysterious "East" in lighter vein. Perhaps something by Brixi, in classical style, or of course, the Franticek Tuma "Suite" transcription, which is always a delight and just about the same length as the Glazunov.

Brixi's Pastorella in C major.

 

Or Kuchař's Pastorella in D major.

 

Pure candy-floss, both of them, but very audience-friendly.

[MusingMuso]

Anyone fallen asleep while actually giving the recital?

 

DRH

 

 

===============================

 

 

The dreaded sleep.......

 

I've told this story before, but it's worth repeating for Jenny's sake.

 

As a crazed youth, my great passion and hobby was motor-sport, and car-rallies in particular. Yes I know I could have been doing more wholesome things, but I was young, fast and eager to live life on the knife-edge, when I wasn't doing slower, gentler things, such as pot-holing and dangling from ropes.

 

To put it mildly, my navigator and myself had a bad night whilst taking part in one of the old road-rallies: fast and furious events run on public-roads, and now completely banned after the Chief Constable of Durham discovered that the speeds could be as high as 120mph back in the late 1970's!!!!!

 

That particular night was the one when I started to grow grey hairs. First of all, we survived an almighty near-death experience when the lights fused-out at 80mph on the infamous Buttertubs Pass, and I had to REMEMBER where the road went to avoid plunging over a 1,000ft drop.

 

Then we did a wall-of-death around a grass-bank, thanks to the local bovine population leaving large calling-cards on the road on the way to milking. This damaged the front end and right-front wing.

 

Then I spun the car at high-speed; damaging the other side of the car and the rear-end.

 

Then we splashed into a river and came to an abrupt, watery halt. This forced us to build, (rather imaginatively), a small underwater Roman Road in total darkness, and then drive out on the starter-motor in first-gear.

 

You get the idea.......a "challenging" night, to say the least.

 

When the rally ended, we had to take hammers to the car to make it road-legal, with lots of sticky-back plastic tape, a few tags of weld and a lot of physical effort. Just time for breakfast with HRH Prince Michael of Kent (no relevance at all.....just name-dropping) and then an 80 mile blast across the fields to civilisation and home. A couple of punctures and two eggs in the radiator later, (to plug a water-leak); time was getting precious. I eventually slewed to a halt outside church, in a small cloud of CO2, steam and hydro-carbon particulates, at exactly 10.28am; dressed in very fetching blue-overalls, over which I threw a surplice, hastened PAST the choir in procession and hurled open the organ-console.

 

Leaving small black oil-slicks on the keys, and trying to wipe my dirty face clean with the pristine surplice, no could have guessed that the maniac playing the organ was lucky to be alive.

 

After the second hymn, with the blower-heater playfully roasting my feet, life seemed to get a little cosier as I sat in my little musical wooden-womb. Sweet thoughts and happiness as the dear old vicar ascended the pulpit, and then......nothing......zilch.....blankness.

 

Like an alarm clock, I recall the words ringing in my ears, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

 

Pistons 4 and 3, and we were playing over "Holy, holy, holy, 3 full-backs and a goalie" in fine-style, only to be rudely interrupted by the vicar saying, "Thank-you Mr Organist, I don't think we're quite ready for that yet."

 

It was Trinity Sunday, and he was merely making reference to "the Father, Son and Holy Ghost." He had barely got into his stride when I brought it to a sudden-death play-off.

 

I seem to recall a very quick Toccata ober das well-known chorale, "Three blind mice," a sprint to the vestry-door and the prospect of home, a bed and some ill-earned rest.

 

Ah! The joys of a mis-spent youth!

 

 

MM

[churchmouse]

===============================

 

Ah! The joys of a mis-spent youth!

 

 

MM

Thanks Muso!

I was hoping someone would heave this discussion back into the anecdotal realms. You're marvellous for telling stories against yourself - I think some are a little nervous of allowing themselves to appear human. Surely every organist - and I mean, EVERY organist - has had a bad day as you described in another very recent posting? Personally, I warm to performers who readily admit they can make a sllab-pu (this is a crude expression from downunder) just like the rest of us. Perhaps it's how they recover that makes them true stars...

 

C'mon playmates - more tales of your most embarrassing moments. You show me yours and I'll show you - etc etc etc . Promise I won't larf....

chirps

Jenny

[MusingMuso]

C'mon playmates - more tales of your most embarrassing moments. You show me yours and I'll show you - etc etc etc . Promise I won't larf....

chirps

Jenny

 

==========================

 

 

Here's another one Jenny, which has more than a hint of the numbers 666 about it.

 

When at school, I spent my days in abject misery: barely able to contain my delight when, upon attaining the dizzy old-age of 15, I fled the school forever, never to return. (I still hate schools!)

 

The headmaster was a particularly sadistic and odious character, but a pillar of society and lay-reader when he wasn't swishing a cane and terrorising small-boys.

 

Like the film "The Great Escape," the boys of the school had variously and unsuccessfully plotted the demise of the headmaster, the destruction of the school or some sort of mass-escape undetected. We had left gas-taps turned on in the Chemistry Lab, put Phenolphaline in the headmaster's cup of tea, swapped the labels on the gas-jars in the hope that he would end-up with trench-gas syndrome....you get the idea.....we were nothing but failed assassins and arsonists.

 

The scars of boyhood had largely healed by the time I was 22, but one Sunday, I recoiled in horror upon entering church to play the organ, and my former headmaster stood there as the officiant at Evensong.

 

People often refer to "closure" as being part of the emotional process of rehabilitation, and somehow, I hadn't experienced this since my school-days came to an end. Thus, even at this young-adult stage, I still reacted with the feeling that I should exact some kind of revenge.

 

Now the headmaster had a magnificent singing-voice, and never passed over an opportunity to demonstrate this to the world. Every hymn, every psalm and even the responses, became solo items with background choral accompaniment. In other words, he was a loud-mouth!

 

I don't know what came over me, but as the responses approached, the old tendencies suddenly re-emerged, and with narrowed eyes, I gently pushed in the Choir Dulciana and drew instead, the V rks Harmonics (15,17,19,b21 and 22). I pressed bottom "G" for the response note, following which there was a moment of hesitation and a sudden look of real panic on the face of the headmaster.

 

To my utter delight, he pitched it wrong, tried to correct himself, and ended up singing "O lord open thou our lips" to a wonderful arpeggio of the Dominant 7th; the choir responding with the TONIC.

 

Thus, I became the only person ever to make him look like a fool rather than a tyrant, but to be absolutely honest, I would have preferred the real life version of T S Eliot, because when I played one of the soldiers in the play "Murder in the cathedral," I found within myself a top-level acting quality, when I imagined that the unfortunate Thomas o'Becket was the headmaster; the poor lad playing the part of Becket gurgling in agony "steady on smiler," as I plunged the wooden sword into him. ("Smiler" was my nickname at school).

 

MM

[Guest Nigel ALLCOAT]

A few years ago I was in the town of Slagelse in Denmark on a very hot day to give a concert. The rather large P.G. Andersen at the West End made the Tower Room behind it quite private - an ideal place for a rest. Unbeknown to me the whole of the Church Council had decided to view some problems at the top of the tower as I arrived to take a rest in this private warm space. I closed a door to one side of the room as the wind was blowing through and off I went into slumber. I was woken by muffled banging sometime later. On opening the door, I freed those who had engaged me for the concert. Apparently they had for some minutes been trying to rouse somebody to let them out. They were so grateful to their visitor!! To this day they still must think that the draught closed the door and locked them in.

 

Best wishes,

Nigel

[churchmouse]

..... On opening the door, I freed those who had engaged me for the concert. Apparently they had for some minutes been trying to rouse somebody to let them out. They were so grateful to their visitor!! To this day they still must think that the draught closed the door and locked them in.

 

Best wishes,

Nigel

now, that's a great idea - how to build audience numbers ..... Thanks Nigel! Keep 'em coming!

[churchmouse]

==========================

..........

 

The scars of boyhood had largely healed by the time I was 22, but one Sunday, I recoiled in horror upon entering church to play the organ, and my former headmaster stood there as the officiant at Evensong.

 

I don't know what came over me, but as the responses approached, the old tendencies suddenly re-emerged, and with narrowed eyes, I gently pushed in the Choir Dulciana and drew instead, the V rks Harmonics (15,17,19,b21 and 22). I pressed bottom "G" for the response note, following which there was a moment of hesitation and a sudden look of real panic on the face of the headmaster.

 

 

MM

and so is born a whole new chapter: "The Revenge!" Everyone own up: how many have ever so slightly raised response notes a tone. Or Two. Or, for the real meanies, three?

Jenny

 

There appears to be some sort of bid for the longest Organist-Playing-Till-She-Comes music at weddings in many of the tales that are coming to me. the bride's prerogative to be late has stretched far too far in many cases. The longest so far is around 3 hours. Any more bids?

I can only lay claim to probably the shortest, when playing for a Japanese wedding (only people present: interpreter, retired bishop, organist, photographer and couple). The couple belted up the aisle early, the Bishop spoke a few words of welcome, and the beaming bridegroom chirruped in reply "I willlllll". Moment to cherish.

J

[ajt]

and so is born a whole new chapter: "The Revenge!" Everyone own up: how many have ever so slightly raised response notes a tone. Or Two. Or, for the real meanies, three?

Jenny

 

I've put 'em down in the hope that the cantor will do his usual trick of going up a 3rd (ish)...

 

Revenge... I was due to play for a friends' wedding a couple of years ago, on a lovely 3m Hill... They'd insisted they wanted a CD to go out to. Until the night before, when the announced they wanted Widor V (which I can't really play - I just busk the first and last pages). I was booked in for practice the morning of the wedding, so thought that would be fine for an "artistic impression" of the piece.

 

Anyway, I turn up at the church, to be met by the caterer (reception in church), "'scuse me, mate, 'ow many are comin' to this like, and what time, and when do me ingredients arrive". I spent the whole ****ing morning sorting out the reception. Bloody marvellous. Finally I get, literally, 5 minutes on the organ, before the choir turn up. As I'm rattling through the Widor, the vicar comes up and says "Can you play it a bit quieter at the end of the service, please, as the congregation won't be able to talk over it..." Talk over it? Talk over it! Talk over it, my xxxx. Came to the service, and, having been holding back all the great reeds for the final passage in rehearsal, I thought bollocks to taste, and just pulled out everything. The couple loved it.

 

Or, at a former church with a toaster, when a particular git of a visiting clergyman complained that the organ was far too loud the last time he came (because the speaker installation faces the clergy stall directly, and doesn't speak very well down the church, you have to keep the revs up), we used the Gt Dulciana alone for the first 2 hymns. On announcing the 3rd hymn we got "As this is one of my favourites, I wonder if the organist would mind letting rip with this one?". Response: Trompette en Chamade and Pedal Trombone only. (Chamade on a Toaster = the worst noise imaginable. Think of a hundred babies screaming)

[churchmouse]

"As this is one of my favourites, I wonder if the organist would mind letting rip with this one?". Response: Trompette en Chamade and Pedal Trombone only. (Chamade on a Toaster = the worst noise imaginable. Think of a hundred babies screaming)

oh yesssssssss!

I recall one delicious time the whimpish little officiant (I'd like to add odious, insincere and a few other labels but am feeling kind this morning) announced his favourite hymn "Let Us Talents and Tongues" (we won't go there) which my husband was to play on the grand piano. The lurgyman added something similar to Adrian's chap "And please let's have a beefed up, rollicking version." I saw the gleam in Martin's eye and thought (like Cleese in the Fawlty Towers episode with the Irish builders) "Oh God, don't smile" and did up my seat belt. Rollicked? You bet. The rest of the congreation was into the start of verse two by the time the choir and those of us at the back had finished. Cured the curate though.

[MusingMuso]

There appears to be some sort of bid for the longest Organist-Playing-Till-She-Comes music at weddings

 

==========================

 

 

Ah yes! Weddings! Now there's thing.

 

I think I must qualify as the only part-time organist at a wedding, where I fulfilled other functions also.

 

This is 'ow it 'appened.

 

I got an urgent telephone-call from a distressed clergyman, in which he told me the awful truth that a Chilean refugee who had refused, (on Christian grounds), to follow military orders, was to be deported back. This was in the days of Pinochet, and the outcome would almost certainly have been his death, torture or imprisonment.

 

"Could I act as best man if he and his English girlfriend got married the next morning?"

 

Well of course I could, even if it was then 11pm.

 

So it was that I turned up at 9.45am to an empty church. At 9.50am, the Rector arrived, then at 9.55am, the happy couple arrived. The happy couple had a baby, which they thrust in my direction.

 

"Could I play the wedding marches and a hymn or two?"

 

Well of course!

 

With baby in my left-arm, I found a few hymn-books, a couple of "Orders of Matrimony" and the key to the organ. I went to the organ and gently placed the baby on a few hassocks, but baby was not happy: letting out loud screaming noises. I picked the baby up and held her once more in my left-arm, her parents now at the West Door. With right-hand and pedals, and a baby balanced precariously in my left-arm, I played through the Lohengrin March and then the first hymn; my left-arm now getting very tired.

 

Then I got off the organ, with the baby, transferred the infant to my right-arm, and joined the happy couple as acting best-man. There was a bit of moment when the time came to give the bride away, because the ring was in one of my pockets, but I couldn't recall which. I therefore handed the baby to the Rector, found the ring and we swapped it for the baby.

 

Then it was back to organ, with baby in left arm once more, another hymn, a quick signing with the baby now in my right-arm, and then back to the organ for the Mendelssohn.

 

I then went to the reception, which consisted of a bottle of cheap bubbly, a few sandwiches and cakes supplied by the Rector's wife (the only member of the congregation), a quick speech from me, (with the baby in my right arm), and finally the departure, as we threw a few grains of Uncle Ben's best at the happy-couple, handed the baby over, and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

The nice ending to the story, is the fact that the Chilean refugee and his new wife stayed with the Rector, and he took great delight in waving the marriage-certificate at the police when they called to deport the refugee. All was resolved happily.

 

MM

[churchmouse]

:-)))

I want to know what you played for signing the register?

Jenny

[David Coram]

==========================

 

I think I must qualify as the only part-time organist at a wedding, where I fulfilled other functions also.

 

No you don't. My boss runs a large white Rolls and an even larger white Daimler to the church, takes off his cap and plays, then rushes back out again afterwards hoping that nobody's run a key down them in the meantime. Several times I've spent the exchanging of vows inside (not at Romsey, which is always well behaved, except one time I wasn't there and one note of the 32' hung on until the wind died down) trying to work out which tracker is top C# on the Swell so I can stop it cyphering.

[Richard Fairhurst]

Not really an anecdote, but this has just appeared on b3ta.com and made me laugh:

 

http://b3ta.com/board/7173495

[ajt]

My new church has a picture frame in the vestry. Said picture frame comprises 6 photo slots, which contain photos of former choir members who have "passed away". All except 1 slot. Which is empty.

 

I'm toying with getting photos of the current choir members done, then trying each one in there, maybe a week at a time, to see how they look. Might make them worried

 

Or, maybe as a prize for the worst noise at choir practice? "That noise was worthy of the dead board" etc.

[MusingMuso]

Donald was not a mand to meddle with, because he had very firm views concerning liturgy and churchmanship; to the extent that he probably burned candles in the home and used incense as air-freshener.

 

When the new bishop paid a visit to Christ Church, he was aghast at the churchmanship, which left him floundering and looking strangely out of place during the mass. When the Parish Priest suddenly expired, it was the bishop who had the gift of the living, and upon whom responsibility fell in finding a replacement. As if to test the water, the bishop went along to "Christ Church" to officiate at "Low Mass," with the curate prompting his every move. In his sermon, the bishop proclaimed that it would be in the interests of religious detante if a less high churchman were appointed to replace the deceased.

 

Immediately, a murmuring of dissaproval could be heard in church; not least from Donald, who sat at the organ making loud "tutting" noises.

 

The bishop finally got his way, as bishops tend to do, and the new man was inducted.

 

The new priest was a man who steered a middle course in life: perfectly happy to adopt the moderate ground which balanced his left-wing politics with his right-wing theocratic tendencies. This was completely at odds with Donald, who as organist and choirmaster, knew who was in charge, and God help any chorister who didn't genuflect at just the right moment.

 

The new man brought with him a sense of social conscience, and in place of Marian hymns, he began to introduce sturdier stuff from the likes of Wesley.

 

Already alarmed by this decadence, Donald started down the slippery-slope of cyncism and hostility: things eventually reaching a head on St.George's Day, when the "Queen of Heaven" was firmly relegated to the status of "loyal subject." Already, the statutues of saints had been disappearing at an alarming rate, and the incense had reduced to a mere whiff, rather than the sort of smoke once associated with the equally gothic arches of St.Pancras station.

 

Donald gaped at the hymn-list handed to him, and he knew that he must do something drastic; if only to make his point and to make a stand for "proper" churchmanship. His hackles rose even further, when the new parish priest suggested that the only procession that Sunday, would be the junior-forces, comprising of Boy Scouts, Sea Cadets, Air Cadets, Army Cadets, the WI, and the old war veterans who liked to wear their medals. They would all process behind the Union Jack, and the choir would be pre-seated in the choirstalls. Finally, Donald almost broke down when the parish priest announced that the opening processional hymn would be "Onward Christian soldiers!"

 

No-one suspected a thing, and Donald did his duty; or so it seemed.

 

He prepared and printed the hymn-sheets, he trained the choir to sing the setting, but for some obscure reason, he had made no refernce to the opening hymn and did not get the choir to try it through.

 

On the Sunday Morning, Donald was there playing the organ as usual, the choir were in their stalls, and the junior might of the unarmed-forces assembled at the west-door for the ceremonial procession behind the Union Jack.

 

A moment of silence, after which was heard a bugle-call. Donald thundered in with the introduction to the first hymn, and then, as the procession began, a whole church-full of people sang from the hymn-sheets, "Onward Christian soldiers, going on before. With the cross of Jesus, nailed behind the door!"

 

At the end of the hymn, Donald finally made his point, by throwing off his cotter, slamming the organ shut, storming out, and like an increasingly distant 21 gun salute, slamming every heavy wooden door on the way out; never to be seen again.

 

 

MM

 

My new church has a picture frame in the vestry. Said picture frame comprises 6 photo slots, which contain photos of former choir members who have "passed away". All except 1 slot. Which is empty.

 

I'm toying with getting photos of the current choir members done, then trying each one in there, maybe a week at a time, to see how they look. Might make them worried

 

Or, maybe as a prize for the worst noise at choir practice? "That noise was worthy of the dead board" etc.

 

 

======================

 

 

Couldn't you just put a picture of the "Grim Reaper" in there?

 

 

MM

[ajt]

Donald was not a mand to meddle

 

 

Couldn't you just put a picture of the "Grim Reaper" in there?

 

 

MM

 

 

That works...

[DaveHarries]

I still remember when, whilst I was in Clifton College Preparatory School. The pupils were in various house groups. On one occasion, I decided to play Clarke's "Trumpet Tune" during the North Town house concert and for this I used the organ in the school hall.

 

During the house tutor's introduction to my piece he said: "...David is our only organist in North Town house and so he is going to delight us by playing the Trumpet Tune by Jeremiah Clarke on the organ located in the balcony here in the hall".

 

That was OK but then immediately afterwards he muttered, in a voice just loud enough for me to hear him: "The organ is a bit of a squeezebox, but never mind.....". That remark caused so much amusement to me that I kept chuckling to myself whilst playing but fortunately I only made one error whilst playing.

 

The specification for the organ is at http://npor.emma.cam.ac.uk/cgi-bin/Rsearch...ec_index=E00643

 

Dave

[bombarde32]

There was the time, about three years ago when I was engaged to play at a funeral at a church bordering one of the local council tower blocks. Kick off was due at 11:00am.

 

By 11:05 there was no sign of the family, who were coming under their own steam. A funeral bearer was duly dispached to the tower block address to ascertain the familys' wearabouts. The next thing that happened was a large fire engine speeding, with blues and twos past the church and turning off in the direction of the tower block.

 

We all stood and looked at each other, Wallace and Gromit style. Eventually the funeral bearer returned and informed us that the family had 'got stuck in the bastard lift, mate'.

 

Apparently, the lift was suitable for a maximum of six occupants, and, indeed there were six occupants within, but one of the six (the mother) was 34 stone; the poor lift had decided that enough was enough and ceased operation for the day, getting stuck on the fourteenth floor.

 

Eventually the fire brigade got them out and the funeral service got cracking, an hour and a half late!

 

I couldn't ask for any more money............

[MusingMuso]

Now at risk of repeating an earlier post, and with due apologies to Frank Fowler who was the source of the original story, Jenny will absolutely love this.

 

 

When Sir William McKie was organist of Westminster Abbey, he was invited to play a recital at St.John-the-Divine, New York. Thus, he travelled across the pond and found his way to the cathedral, to be greeted by one of the cathedral organists.

 

There followed a guided tour of the vast interior space, and the organist proudly stated that the cathedral was the largest gothic cathedral in the world, with the biggest enclosed space. Furthermore, the great east-window was the size of a whole tennis-court, the reredos was gold-plated and the pulpit one of the grandest anywhere in the world.

 

By the time they caught the lift up to the organ-console, Sir William was growing tired of his host.

 

Seating himself at the rather lagre (but not enormous) Aeolian-Skinner organ, Sir William tried this sound and that sound, various solo registers and found himself impressed by the quality of the instrument. Eventually, his eye caught a stop named "State Trumpet," and he asked what it was.

 

The young organist at his side told Sir William that it was, naturally (!), the loudest organ-stop in the whole wide world on 50" of wind, and situated at the west-end of the cathedral about a quarter-of-a-mile away.

 

The young organist switched on the distant blower-motor, and Sir William drew the stop and played a few chords. Several fractions of a secon later, and the fanfare came down the cathedral like an express-train, as Sir William McKie exclaimed, "Good heavens!"

 

The young organist, obviously immensely proud of this state-of-the-art American party-horn, made the fatal mistake of saying, "Yep Sir Bill, I bet you aint got anything like that at Westminster Abbey."

 

Sir William got off the console, fixed his glower upon the young organist and replied, "Young man, we do indeed NOT have a State Trumpet as you call it, and for one very simple reason. In the event that one is required, I pick up the telephone at the side of the console, ring her majesty, and bloody-well ask to have one sent around!"

 

 

MM

[churchmouse]

Now at risk of repeating an earlier post, and with due apologies to Frank Fowler who was the source of the original story, Jenny will absolutely love this.

When Sir William McKie was organist of Westminster Abbey, he was invited to play a recital at St.John-the-Divine, New York. Thus, he travelled across the pond and found his way to the cathedral, to be greeted by one of the cathedral organists.

.............

 

MM

 

You're so right MM!!!! can hear it all! Super stuff lads! Keep 'em rolling...

Will have to figure out a way to keep logging in while we're on the road for next 5 weeks.

 

chirps

Jenny