Singing at Speke Hall, Liverpool

 

‘Ding, dong merrily on high’, we carolled as an aeroplane droned overheard.

Singing, as we usually do, in Holy Trinity Church, in the busy town of Southport, we are used to the sirens of fire engines and police cars, as well as the striking of the church clock. But this was a new one on us, and a noise interference that was particularly incongruous.

Leave the country from John Lennon Airport and you will probably see below you  a lovely black and white Tudor house and grounds, a remnant of a more gracious past in the midst of industrial estates and rather unlovely housing estates. This is Speke Hall, now owned by the National Trust, and this is where a group from the Southport Bach Choir sang last Sunday.

It’s a well the fire wasn’t lit, since this is where we stood to sing!

The house was restored during the Victorian period and the Trust have maintained it in that interesting hybrid state: Tudor with a Victorian gloss. Oak panelling, antlers hung on the walls, an arrangement of shield and spears over the fireplace, tea-table set in a curtained alcove, aspidistras; you can imagine a Victorian gentleman making himself and his family very comfortable in this house. But there are other less comfortable reminders of the past, for it was a stronghold of Catholicism at a time of persecution. The house has both a priest’s hole and a special observation hole built into the chimney in one of the bedrooms so that the occupant could look out for anyone approaching the house.

The drawing room. Photographed by Dy Swindlehurst

On this occasion, however, decked out with traditional swags, the Hall looked festive and welcoming: a lovely environment for carol-singing.

It did pose a problem, though – apart from the aeroplane noise, which in fact is less likely to interfere with pitching the note than the clashing minor thirds (?) of a siren. There is no electric lighting installed in the Hall, and of course it would be entirely out of place. Candles would have been wonderfully atmospheric, but clearly fire risk rules them out. So the compromise was strategically placed standard lamps, which added pools of light and didn’t look too badly out of place.

But it was not easy to read the music – and I guess candles would have been even worse. Fortunately we were singing carols that we knew pretty well, so we relied on our memories for the most part, and on our conductor, Ian Crawford, who had the unusual experience of finding the choir’s eyes on him rather than buried in the books. This meant he was able to direct us in matters of expression, tempo and dynamics as the mood took him – and the group responded. I know there are many choirs that habitually sing without music, but it wouldn’t be feasible with the sort of programmes we put on. Nevertheless, the experience of singing without being reliant on the copy is a refreshing and rather exhilarating change. No matter how mischievous Ian’s conducting was (and he clearly enjoyed teasing both audience and choir!) we placed our ‘dings’ and our ‘dongs’ obediently and unanimously.

And the aeroplanes seemed no more than anachronistic intruders, fleetingly passing over this festive scene.

Photograph by Dy Swindlehurst.