A very subdued choir rehearsal
I was going to write something light about sneezes today (which will keep), but tonight's events have put such frivolities into perspective.
One of our basses died today. From what I understand, it was very quick and he won't have felt anything (apparently it was old age, but he'd always seemed young to me, perhaps in his early 60s), yet the news still left us all in shock. I'd been on the point of asking why everyone was so quiet when I heard the rector (whose presence at a rehearsal was in itself unusual) ask two of the sopranos whether they'd heard the news. There was a lot of standing around before things got going - the director of music had had a word with us last week about showing up on time to start the rehearsal at 7:30 prompt, which attitude would obviously have been inappropriate in the circumstances - and even then, most impressively, we started with a prayer.
Bill had been with the choir around forty years, and although I wasn't there for so much as one of those, he was one of those I remembered from the first for the immediate warmth of his personality. Earlier this year he'd taken to recounting, with evident delight, an incident from what must have been my first eucharist at St John's: he being rather shorter than my 6'3", our hands did not meet at the same height when sharing the peace. As recently as Sunday I managed to better that - at the very same moment of the service, I extended my hand underneath the music stands to the sopranos in the front row of the stalls, only to find the part between my thumb and index finger (whatever it's called) striking one of the brass posts holding up the music stands in question. Bill promptly dissolved into giggles.
We usually go downstairs for drinks after the rehearsal, and tonight was no exception, only we also had a birthday to celebrate. By the time we'd got downstairs and set everything up, the incongruity of it all was starting to lift, a feeling which was greatly alleviated when we stood to drink a toast to Bill's memory moments after singing "Happy birthday". The rest of the evening passed by in relative good cheer.
Which is not to say we've come to terms with his loss, of course - it'll be particularly difficult for the older members of the choir, who'd known him for years - but our memories of Bill are such that his funeral, likely to be at the end of next week, will see us celebrate his life even as we mourn his passing.
Resquiescat in pace.
One of our basses died today. From what I understand, it was very quick and he won't have felt anything (apparently it was old age, but he'd always seemed young to me, perhaps in his early 60s), yet the news still left us all in shock. I'd been on the point of asking why everyone was so quiet when I heard the rector (whose presence at a rehearsal was in itself unusual) ask two of the sopranos whether they'd heard the news. There was a lot of standing around before things got going - the director of music had had a word with us last week about showing up on time to start the rehearsal at 7:30 prompt, which attitude would obviously have been inappropriate in the circumstances - and even then, most impressively, we started with a prayer.
Bill had been with the choir around forty years, and although I wasn't there for so much as one of those, he was one of those I remembered from the first for the immediate warmth of his personality. Earlier this year he'd taken to recounting, with evident delight, an incident from what must have been my first eucharist at St John's: he being rather shorter than my 6'3", our hands did not meet at the same height when sharing the peace. As recently as Sunday I managed to better that - at the very same moment of the service, I extended my hand underneath the music stands to the sopranos in the front row of the stalls, only to find the part between my thumb and index finger (whatever it's called) striking one of the brass posts holding up the music stands in question. Bill promptly dissolved into giggles.
We usually go downstairs for drinks after the rehearsal, and tonight was no exception, only we also had a birthday to celebrate. By the time we'd got downstairs and set everything up, the incongruity of it all was starting to lift, a feeling which was greatly alleviated when we stood to drink a toast to Bill's memory moments after singing "Happy birthday". The rest of the evening passed by in relative good cheer.
Which is not to say we've come to terms with his loss, of course - it'll be particularly difficult for the older members of the choir, who'd known him for years - but our memories of Bill are such that his funeral, likely to be at the end of next week, will see us celebrate his life even as we mourn his passing.
Resquiescat in pace.
posted by Anthony at
23:02
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