Lord, have mercy upon us.

A weary bedraggled band of choristers trooped off the bus in Epping, some seven hours after their scheduled arrival, on an unusually hot, dry early evening in southern England.  Despite jet lag and the desperate need for a shower, this plucky group joined the rest of us who had found our way to our home-away-from-home in Epping and dashed down to the local church for a much-needed rehearsal.  The very next day we were scheduled to sing a complete mass at Westminster Cathedral, and we had never sung together as a group before.  Although not at our best, both vocally and mentally, our determination melded us as a group, and, by the end of the rehearsal, we at least had the "Agnus Dei" from the Palestrina mass pretty well under our belts.

Glory to God in the Highest

The Lady Chapel at Westminster Cathedral was our meeting place after a brief chance to wander the streets of London.   This welcoming room is a magnificent side chapel, with a gilded, majestic altarpiece and soaring ceilings, and is much more restful than the enormous cavern of the nave of the cathedral.   A few of the faithful were kneeling in silent prayer which we tried not to disturb.   After short rehearsals in an overheated library and in the choir stalls, we found ourselves singing the entire Palestrina mass to a massive throng of Saturday evening worshippers, as this gigantic cathedral was filled to almost standing room only.  Perhaps the numbers had swelled because of the recent horrific events in London, but it was exciting, if somewhat daunting, to sing for such a large congregation.

The most exhilarating part of the service was the organ fanfare just prior to and following the reading of the gospel lesson.  The young associate organist, a friendly and helpful guide to all of us prior to the service, possessed what can only be described as a God-given talent for making this sacred instrument come alive.  I felt my hair standing up at the back of my neck as he swept into wild crescendos that rippled up and down the keyboard. 

And our mouth shall show forth thy praise

Sunday brought us to the sleepy little town of Higham Ferrers to sing an Anglican mass.   Unlike what we had been led to expect, the church was filled with an enthusiastic congregation that actually sang.  We found out later that the choir, which numbers about forty, is the heart and soul of this parish, and many of them were in attendance.  It was most enjoyable to chat with them afterwards at morning coffee, held, memorably, in an ancient building, erected in the eleventh century.  And we thought St. James was pretty old!  The parents of our fearless leader, James Reed, generously provided a lovely lunch in the parish hall, which gave us all an opportunity to socialize as a group for the first time.

The evening brought us to Finedon, another country parish, but famous for its organ, first installed in 1717.  (Information gleaned from a CD of organ music recorded at the church and given to us by the vicar as a show of appreciation.  He quite candidly admitted that they hadn't been able to sell all the CDs, so they might as well give them away!)  Many of us now began to realize that the tour had literally been "organ"-ized by James and his colorful cohort Chester around the church organs they wanted to hear (and for James, to play).  Was the organ accompanying the choir, or the choir accompanying the organ? 

Yea the darkness is no darkness with thee

Evensong.  Up until this tour, I had only sung a handful of Evensong services in my entire life, and many in the choir had never sung any at all.  The service, however, has become a personal favorite of mine, since it is a simple mixture of prayer and song, with the single intent of thanking God for the blessings of the day.   What may seem simple in structure, however, is not necessarily easy to sing.  The service revolves around choral responses which were unfamiliar to many of us, and also includes choral chanting of the psalm.

While perhaps not quite measuring up to the professionalism of the Benedictine monks in the "Chant" CD, our choir worked very hard at learning the responses from two different choral settings, and also chanted, in four parts, many different psalms with varying recitation tunes.  Much credit for our vocal improvement in this area rightly belongs to Henry.  By having us mark the stresses in the psalms, a tedious but necessary task, we were able to unify our chanting much more quickly.  We also practiced the chant tune to the point of memorization, such that we were able to concentrate on the words.  In that way, the psalm had a much more meaningful flow to it and was not simply a mechanical recitation.

As the week progressed, we sang choral evensongs in Stratford, at the church of William Shakespeare, at Southwark Cathedral in London, at St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle, at the ancient parish church in the village of Thaxted, and, last but not least, in one of England's earliest great cathedrals, that of St. Alban.  More evensongs in that one week than I had sung in my entire life up until that point.

My soul hath longed for thy salvation

Thursday, July 21^st, perhaps distills, in one day, the essence of what was exhilarating, exhausting, and, yes, frightening, about our precious days in this "glorious realm".  Despite draining rehearsals every day, we had so much music to learn in such a short period, that we found ourselves on the bus that Thursday morning, trying to learn the service music for the Choral High Mass we were scheduled to sing as soon as we arrived in Carshalton.  Unfortunately, the trip involved taking our bus on what can only be described as the world's largest parking lot, the M-25 ring road around London.  If we ever thought that our own 95, or 695, or even Washington's 495 were pretty awful, they are almost like child's play when compared to the infamous traffic jams on the M-25.

As a consequence, we arrived at Carshalton with only moments before the service was to begin, therefore having to forego any rehearsal In situ prior to the actual service.  Life was further complicated by the fact that there were no "loos" in the church itself, so everyone had to make a mad dash to the bathrooms at a very hospitable and understanding pub next door.  The tiny choir loft was situated right next to the gorgeous organ, sweetly painted sky blue, with golden stars sprinkled all over it.  Getting up to the choir loft demanded a certain amount of faith, however, as it involved climbing a slippery, narrow, steep circular staircase that looked like a leftover prop from one of the Harry Potter films.  We then had to squeeze ourselves into the tiny pews fitted in around the organ.  I could only imagine that I would have no hearing by now, had I been a choir member at this church for any number of years, as the organ had a glorious sound, but one that was right into our eardrums. 

There were very few in attendance at All Saints in Carshalton that morning, but, as it happened, that didn't matter, as one of the parishioners squeezed my hand and told me how beautiful we all sounded and that we had made her week.  All three of the priests at the church were celebrating the mass, looking resplendent in apple green silk vestments, embroidered with tiny pink roses.  I learned later that the vestments were brand new, having been donated by a loyal parishioner in memory of her husband who had attended the church for more than fifty years.  The priests were very funny and friendly and were happy to pose for endless photographs in front of the lovely gilded altarpiece at the front of the church.  We are all very grateful to our loyal entourage of "groupies", husbands and wives of the choir members that unselfishly attended service after service, and who were always willing to take myriads of pictures from all sorts of varied cameras, every one of which worked differently.  Bravo to them.

O Lord, make haste to help us.

Shortly after our arrival at Windsor Castle early in the afternoon on the 21^st, we were told by the Queen's chaplain about four more bombing incidents in London which occurred while we were singing in Carshalton.  This news took my breath away, and I began to cry, while holding hands with my friend Linda, a fellow chorister from my previous church in Richmond.  The two of us, only the day before, had traveled all over London, using the "tube" in a carefree way like seasoned Londoners.  How could this horror be happening again?  As we later found out, the bombing attempts were thankfully abortive, but, at the time, we could only imagine the worst.

I shall be endlessly grateful to human ingenuity and the invention of the cell phone, not to mention Margie who let me borrow hers to call my English family.  By being able to contact my husband and his family in nearby Weybridge, we were able to learn that our loved ones were safe, and that the bombs had failed to go off.  Thus, it was with grateful hearts and true thanksgivings that we were privileged to sing that evening's Evensong in the Queen's own chapel, a gem of high English gothic architecture.  Talk about feeling privileged; I mean, even Charles and Camilla weren't allowed to wed in that chapel.   The word chapel fails to describe the grandeur of the building, which was really a Gothic cathedral in miniature, complete with soaring arches and intricate and ornate webbing on the ceiling.

By that Thursday evening, our group of talented and dedicated choristers had real confidence in our music, and the hours of rehearsal had paid off.  We sang the Magnifcat, the Nunc Dimittis, our lovely anthem "Thou Wilt Keep Him in Perfect Peace" and chanted our responses and our psalm as if we had been together for years.   To be singing in such a splendid setting, the very same one where the Knights of the Order of the Garter are seated with the Queen, will remain a unique and signature experience in my lifetime.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace

After singing in Thaxted on Friday evening, the final stop on our English musical and spiritual journey was at St. Alban's Cathedral.  I felt a certain sense of relief but more, a real sense of loss when the tour ended.  We had worked so hard and had come so far musically, it seemed unfair to have it end just as we had forged such strong bonds, not only in our singing, but in our sense of purpose and shared camaraderie. 

But, if the tour had to end, St. Alban's was an appropriate setting.  For one thing, it was reassuring to see this cathedral had a strong and vibrant spiritual life, and an active and growing congregation.  Our guide, who is also a parishioner, mentioned that the cathedral has many different services each week in a variety of Christian denominations  After all, he said, when St Alban was alive, there was only one Christian church, so why not be inclusive?  I was struck by that, and thought there was a lesson to be learned there.  I couldn't help thinking St. Alban would have approved of the spiritual direction of the cathedral that bears his name.

In the weekend we were there, we managed to witness a beautiful wedding, complete with an African dance troupe, rehearse up in the tower choir room, sing three different services, and have Sunday "drinkie-poos" with the clergy in the parish hall.  Not a bad way to end our tour, as we headed back to our home base in Epping for a farewell dinner at what had become "our pub", the Duke of Wellington.  Whatever one might say about British cuisine, it's difficult, in my book, to have a finer time in life than sitting with a pint at your own neighborhood pub, dining on fish and chips or steak and ale pie, with friends new and old.

My personal thanks to James Reed, Henry and Linda Chen, Barbara Nay, and any and all others who spent countless hours putting this tour together.  God bless you all.

Jane Izod