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In Perfect Diapason
(A musical and architectural adventure)
by Martin Carson
Part 6
ON
OUR way to Gloucester this morning we find it necessary to
visit a vineyard. Though this activity is of little
real interest to Hough and Carson, the vineyard is called
"Three Choirs" and so we are willing to make the sacrifice
for the sake of choral music. This clean and pleasing
place produces sixteen different labels, and so politeness
dictates that we sample most of them and make judicious
comment. We also feel obliged to take home a few in
order to support this worthy venture.
We were warned, over our Cheltenham dinner, that Gloucester
was not the
most attractive of places, "apart from its cathedral, of
course"; but,
as is ever the case, we find, within minutes of arrival,
another interesting
place and a helpful soul to interpret it for us. Not far
from our car
park is a church with a truncated spire. Spires are
commonplace in our
land but unusual ones are more of a rarity than one might
expect.
On our way to Glossop we saw a really odd one that appears
to be leaning,
twisted and grooved. The last of these three it most
certainly is not,
but the herringbone pattern of the tiles gives this
impression.
However it has pronounced tilt and is most definitely
askew.
Andrew Johnson has a story about this. He has a story about
almost
everything and they usually involve, dragons, virgins, stone
circles,
hollow trees, etc.. The guide book has a more prosaic
explanation
which, it must be said is exceedingly boring. One should
never repeat
it in a pub as a more likely alternative to Andrew's tale.
Being looked
at askance will be the best you could expect. I like the
people of
Chesterfield as they have left their weird spire to grow
crazier and
crazier over the years.
The redundant church of St. Whateverherrnamewasbergha in
Gloucester has
had a most turbulent history and, in this case, the story of
the piece
bitten out of the spire has tremendous red-herring potential
so I shall
stay with it. We wander into the decaying pile to find a
young lady
scrubbing the font, not at the west end of the nave where
one might
expect to find it, but in the chapel to the east of the
south nave aisle
(are you all with me?). Is she harmless or a predator, I
wonder? Now I
know our American friends always assume the best of anyone
they find
scrubbing fonts which is why they know more about our
English history
than we do; but we Brits are more cautious. I avoid eye
contact on the
first three passes but she is well-trained and pretends not
to notice us.
Just when we feel it is safe to enter the chancel she
strikes. Escape
is impossible for to run the full length of the nave would
be rude and
that is worse than being caught. We steel ourselves for the
lecture.
I suspect we are the first bearded anoraks she has seen all
week and
she is not going to let us go.
As it turns out, she is very well-informed and her manner is
most
enticing. I am just beginning to drop my guard when she
mentions
Colonel Massey. Believe me I am not going to captivate you
with
half an hour of fascinating English history but, to follow
my drift
for the rest of the paragraph, you need to know that Massey
was
looking after the City of Gloucester on the 10th August in
1643.
Massey was a Roundhead and this was during our attempt at a
civil war.
Roundheads were very sensible and proper and virtuous and
boring.
(As a child I never could understand why alternative cranial
dimensions
led to such aggravation. I was much happier in the biology
class.)
In the words of an anonymous teacher at Hemyock Primary
School
(Please do not ask me. I do not know.): "Research by Dr.
David Daube
of the University of Oxford suggests that nursery rhyme
Humpty-Dumpty
is based on a popular doggerel original in 1643 - during the
time of
the Civil War in England. While the King was garrisoned at
Oxford at
the beginning of the war, a certain Dr. Chillingworth was
enrolled by
the King's Council of War as expert in sophisticated
warfare.
On August 10th, 1643, King Charles arrived outside
Gloucester,
where the Roundhead garrison was commanded by a young
Colonel Massey.
Dr. Chillingworth suggested three ways of taking the town.
The first
was to mine under the walls, but this was baulked by rain
which
flooded the tunnels. The second was to cut off the drinking
water
and the stream which drove the flour mills but Massey
ingeniously
pumped water from the Severn, then set up treadmills which
were worked
by all the citizens of the town. Chillingworth's third
suggestion
involved the creation of a siege-engine similar to those
used
by the Romans. This was a huge machine on wheels which would
roll down,
bridging the Severn and forming a covered way over the walls
of the City.
The Romans sometimes called this type of machine a Tortoise
and the
troops on both sides in the Gloucester siege christened it Humpty-Dumpty.
Unfortunately, the citizens found out in advance about the
siege-engine
and widened the river so that when the machine went into
action
it could not span the increased width and collapsed into the
river
from where "all the King's horses and all the King's men.
were
unable to rescue it. Despondently on September 5th, the
King and
his troops marched away unaware that Colonel Massey had only
three
barrels of powder left for defence of the City.
Why, you may wonder, am I telling you all this? When I was
but a
little tiny boy, I sang Humpty Dumpty with my mother,
assuming this
character to be a large egg with various appendages. Yes I
know that
I was perhaps a little gullible at the time, but I am sure
you remember
the scenario. If you believe in Santa you get the tricycle
as well
as the stocking full of tangerines. If you believe in the
tooth fairy,
you can earn 100% increase in pocket money on numerous
painful
occasions during early childhood. Believing that H. Dumpty
was
an egg was a reasonably safe bet, despite the fact that
nobody ever
explained the absence of a yolk. (We are nearly there -
please be patient.)
The words of my childhood, apparently embellished by Lewis
Carroll's
illustrator were as follows:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king's soldiers and all the king's men
Could not put Humpty together again.
By the time I had reached my mid-twenties, it was clear to
me that
saying farewell to teeth was no longer an assured means of
earning
extra income. In fact our local dentist expected to be paid
for
his services. At the same time Abbey Records released an LP
entitled
"All the King's Men". It had a striking cover of a somewhat
over-dressed
and remarkably clean little drummer boy standing on the
brink of a
castle moat, strongly resembling that of Bodiam. (Locals
tend to say
Bodge 'm.) The record features the boys of Trinity School,
Croydon
singing this short opera by Richard Rodney Bennett about
Colonel Massey's
stand against the King. Colonel Massey was played by Ashley
Stafford who
became a counter-tenor, sang at St Paul's for many years
(and may still
do so) and taught Clint van der Linde the art. Those of you
who like
Britten's "Golden Vanity" might well like R.R.
Bennett's opera. They have much in common. The
record number is XMS 703 -
and it is
no use snorting, you who are committed to CDs only, it is
not available
in this relatively new format. Perhaps Andrew J., who has
just
acquired a copy, might be persuaded to encourage its
reissue, if enough
interest is shown.
Since hearing the opera, I now see Humpty as a great testudo
and childhood
comfort has evaporated.
Humpty Dumpty lay in a beck,
With all his sinews around his neck
All the King's doctors and all the King's wrights
Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty to rights!
. . . and, by the way, it was one of the King's cannon balls
which removed
the top of the spire.
I learn another lesson in Gloucester. There is an enormous
secondhand-bookshop, almost a department store, with shelves stretching
as far
as the eye can see. Martin and I do not need any mutual
encouragement
at the sight of such places. We merely walk into them as
though it
is the most natural thing to do. This, however is a very
special
type of shop. Its unique status dawns on me by about shelf
three-hundred-and-seventy-two. There is not one book that I
want.
In fact, judging by the stock of unopened, yet ancient,
library books
they have acquired, nobody else wants them either. All
aspiring writers
should spend a week in such a shop!
So, at last, we reach the cathedral. It is hosting a
concert tonight
by members of the adjacent King's School and so the place
resonates with
the voices of young musicians preparing to play and sing and
of little
artists removing a large display of their art and design
before term ends.
The building is having great difficulty preserving its
dignity and beauty
for there are seats, trestles and podia all over the place.
Camera happy
Hough looks despairingly at the clutter. The outside
architecture is
similarly masked by the scaffolder's art. However, it is a
tribute to
both the Cathedral's architects and the musicians of King's
Gloucester
that its stunning beauty shines through this. As we explore
the intricacies
of vault and glass, the choir let rip with: "I was glad when
they said
unto me - we will go into the house of the Lord." The
school choir
successfully overcomes the organist's attempt to drown it;
and we too are
most glad to be in the house as the 'vivats' ring forth.
The dread deja vu
from which I suffer on entering the cloisters is quickly
dispersed by
Martin's reminding me that this is a scene from Hogwarts.
Now, I am sorry;
if you do not know what a Hogwart is then I have nothing but
contempt for you. A poor English author has worked hard to
explain all this to the world.
Ignore her at your peril. While we are pottering about in
the lavatorium
(see 'monastery') large numbers of children clatter about
our heels and fill
the Chapter House. "Zadok the Priest (and Nathan the
Prophet) ring forth
from the cathedral, owls in abundance perch on the crocketed
ogees and the
cash registers ring a joyful, zestful peal. Gloucester
Cathedral will
survive (especially if they make a sequel).
Can I leave the nave without mentioning the lady who
introduced us to
the crypt? Intoxicated by the glory of the place, she
whirls us on a
tour of the crypt. She almost dances with delight at our
interest,
and we know that this is a well-beloved cathedral, in safe
hands,
whatever enchantment may befall from celluloid wizardry.
Can I leave the quire without mentioning evensong? In the
words of T. S.
Elliot (without permission) " ..it was (you may say)
satisfactory..
Was T. S. once a teacher, too, I wonder.
The last stage of our journey will involve no music and no
architectural
glories. However, the two Martins have shared a week filled
with finely
sculpted stone and the music to make it resonate. We will
talk of these
things, mile after mile.
I, Martin Carson, your reporter, can now take this public
opportunity to
thank Martin Hough, music lover, aesthete, literary critic,
gourmet and
venerated companion, for his part in making this a most
memorable week.
I hope a similar journey will be made, in quires and places
new, when
the singers return to their stalls.
--
Martin Carson
Norfolk UK |
