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HEAR MY PRAYER
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UK Cathedral Music Links
Image scans from original
record sleeve | | | | | |
| O for the wings, for the wings of a dove!
Far away,far away would I rove,
In the wilderness build me a nest,
And remain there for ever at rest. | | |
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The following text and photographs are extracted from David Lewer's book
A Spiritual Song. Published in 1961 | |
David was a member of the Choir of the Temple Church for over 50 years.
He was also the Choirs unofficial archivist for more than 65 years | |
Mendelssohn's famous anthem had recently been revived with Lough singing the solo ' O for the wings of a dove ' and had found great favour with the Benchers. The result of the recording was phenomenal, as all the world knows; the fame of the record remained, and after being on the H.M.V. list for thirty years, it was re-issued in 1957 as an ' extended-play ' record, together with ' I know that my Redeemer liveth.' The gramophone company were not especially interested in making the original recording and its extraordinary success was quite unexpected. They intended to issue it as a top price ' red label ' record but it was Mr Ball's insistence that it should be a 'plum' at a lower price which caused it to sell particularly well from the start. It was a popular choice for everyone with a gramophone, highbrow and lowbrow. There has never really been anything to equal it in general appeal ---- and that is saying much in these days of ' pop ' records. Up to 1960 the sales of this one record alone had reached close on 800,000, and it has only approached in popularity by records made by Bing Crosby . Hear my Prayer (March 1927) was soon followed by other records ' Hear ye, Israel '(Elijah) --- considered by some to be Lough's best --- ' I know that my Redeemer liveth ' (Messiah),' I waited for the Lord' (Hymn of Praise), and ' Oh come everyone that thirsteth ' (Elijah) ; the two last were duets sung with Ronald Mallett and this record remained on the list until quite recently . The gramophone company were soon thanking their lucky stars that they had undertaken the Temple Choir recordings, and they were delighted to record some songs as well. These included Master Lough , accompanied at the piano by Mr. G.Thalben-Ball , singing Schubert's Hark ! Hark ! the Lark and Who is Sylvia ?, the trios Coronach (Schubert) and Come away Death
(Brahms) sung by Lough Mallett and Horton, and the quartets Matthew, Mark, Drink to me only, and Bless you, bonny bee, sung by the boys , with A Capel Dixon and Frank Hastwell. But it was C.1329, Hear my Prayer that caught the publics fancy -- and brought out its purse. The publication of the record produced results which were felt almost at once at Temple. Crowds swarmed into the church and to the services, some to hear the renowned music at first hand , others to gaze at the young chorister who had won so many hearts through the medium of the celluloid disc. The Benchers were somewhat embarrassed at the unexpected publicity -- but naturally tended to be pleased and proud. Tickets of admission to all services had to be introduced , or the church would have been overwhelmed with its huge influx of visitors. ' Tickets ' remained in force until July 1929. It was an exceptional sight which could never happen in quite the same way again. There were some extraordinary results which Ernest Lough himself has recalled in his amusing anecdotes in The Templar no. 67: ' " Some folk like to die, but that's not me nor you." For some unexplained reason the advent of the record Hear my Prayer produced a whole host of rumours.not only in the Press but also in many homes all over the world, that the boy who was singing the solo had actually died when he came to the words "and remain there for ever at rest." This of course was an exaggeration , he had merely left by another door to join in a game of prisoners' base outside the practice-room. Most people would think I was pulling their legs if I told them that early in 1928 two dear ladies came up to me while I was playing football at Temple (I was in goal at the time) and asked where they could leave their contribution to the Lough Memorial Fund. It appears that they had heard the sad news of the passing of "the boy" and had come a long journey to pay their last respects and also their subscription. Although we tried hard to convince them that they were really talking to the fellow , they walked away in extremely high dungeon thinking, no doubt, that Temple choir-boys, like most other choir-boys, were utter rogues. Again, while listening to a radiogramophone playing in Selfridge's with the strains of Hear ye, Israel wafting around the record department, I heard a gentleman explain in detail to his companion what a dreadful shame it was that the strain incurred by "that boy" while he sang that actual music hadf caused a blood vessel to burst near his heart and he never lived to make another record. Once a policeman outside the Law Courts suggested to me that instead of looking at those drab buildings I should go over to the Temple, and see the spot where that young boy " was took off like" when he sang O for the wings of a dove.
A letter received more recently from Switzerland asked if it were true that Master E. had died of consumption at the age of seven. Another letter from Australia related the story that whilst playing some form of roof game in the precincts of the Temple "that boy" fell and cracked his skull. (Remembering that particular activity I am, even now, surprised that nobody suffered injury during that mad between-services game; the nearest thing I can remember was when Vinson -- the Doug Ritchie of those days -- slipped on a narrow strip of roof and hung by his hands over a 40 foot drop until we hauled him up). One disturbing side of this "passing away" business was the number of telephone calls and sometimes telegrams that arrived at the home of "the boy" . Fortunately Master E. was at home on most occasions and could give ample proof of his continued existence. There was too the odd occasion when Master E.met someone who was certain the boy had passed away, and there followed some quite interesting comments about how good or bad the boy singer had been. The only real accident I can recall was a broken arm gathered whilst playing prisoners' base on a wet December evening , and having to sing before Royalty on the following Christmas night with the arm in a sling and a voice that was beginning to show signs of wanting to join the arm.'
' These incidents and the flood of thankful letters which flowed in from all over the world remain a standing proof of the undeniable potency of good music and a good choir,' comments Alfred Dewar.' Nor should one forget a word of gratitude to the scientists and technicians of His Master's Voice who made it possible for the words of Hear my Prayer to circumscribe the globe'
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| | The Temple Church Choristers
seen with George Thalben-Ball in King's Bench Walk. 1928 | | |
| J.Williams, E. Lough, Urquhart, E.Vinson, W.Spencer, Catermole, Hicks,
Stratton, Leibe, Horton, Lea, R.Mallett, K. Martin, Mr. Ball, O'Brian, Worth,
Bartlett, Salisbury, A.G. Reed, Hemming. | | |
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DAVID LEWER - BOY CHORISTER OF THE TEMPLE CHURCH 1931 - 1933
| I now come to the years of my own time as a Temple chorister. At a distance of a quarter of a century, one's own boyhood seems to have belonged to another person; indeed I cannot help thinking that we become different people as we grow up, linked with our former selves only by memory which, incidentally, is not always completely reliable | | | |
| Many boys, probably the majority, who have been accepted for the Temple have sung previously in their local church choir and to some extent ' know the ropes.' Having, however, so far had a nonconformist childhood, the Temple world and the Church of England service were entirely new experiences for me. Just twelve, I was already at the City of London School and, though inexperienced, had a reasonably good voice, but had failed to gain a place in the Chapel Royal choir on account of my age. I was more fortunate in my trial at the Temple, Mr. Ball preferring to take boys at ten or even up to twelve if they showed promise, in the belief that, below that age, a boy is rarely sufficiently developed mentally to be of much use in a small choir of a dozen treble voices. I clearly remember my voice trial in the old white-washed practice-room; the kindly manner in which Mr. Ball heard my school song and helped me by his accompaniment of it; the request to hear me sing such words as ' Praise ' to a simple cadence which he played in various keys, high and low; to say ' r-r-rats '; to read a short passage from a fairy-tale; to sing notes immediately after he played them, at random, in succession up and down the piano; and to sing ' the middle of these three ' in progressively more difficult combinations of notes, and other similar ear-tests. This was a typical Temple voice trial, and I was successful. There was already a large number of probationers and for a while I came only to the weekday practices after school. This was during Lent 1931 and my first never-to-be-forgotten memory of Temple music was of that wonderful first chorus in the St. Matthew Passion, ' Come ye daughters, share my weeping.' Neither shall I forget my first glimpse of the old church; it was from the doorway below the organ-loft, and all one could see straight in front were the towering dark oak pews—the back row of the cantoris choirstalls. But looking up, suddenly there were the soaring vaults, so much higher then to a boy's eyes, the spandrels decorated with heraldic devices and spirals of colour, whose disappearance in the post-war restoration we have long since learned not to regret, as being the removal of a questionable example of Victorian exuberance. But it is almost impossible to be detached in the appreciation of a building which one grew to love in boyhood. The Temple Church in 1960 is in many ways much finer than it was twenty years ago, but it is hard to avoid a tender feeling for the past—for the Temple as it then was and can never be again. | | | |
| When a month or two later I was invited to attend on Sundays, I sat at the inner end of the row of probationers, some six or eight of them, in the central pew between the decani and cantoris choir-stalls. The head probationer's seat was next to the aisle, and we were expected to keep our eyes on the head boy and his opposite corner-boy and listen carefully to everything that was sung and said, so that we would sooner or later be ready to go ' up ' when there was eventually a place in the First Twelve. On Sunday mornings we arrived for 10 o'clock practice in church, conducted by the head boy from the organ-loft until the choirmaster arrived, visually five or ten minutes later, to put the finishing touches to the music for morning service. Very often a boy who was to sing a solo or verse remained behind to practise it while Mr. Ball announced ' Fresh air ! ' for the others. This often took the form of a quick run round the Gardens for ten minutes, as in Hopkins' day. Only the senior boys could enter by the main gate—the ' seniors' gate ', the younger boys having to proceed to the end of Crown Office Row and use the small ' juniors' gate ' in the corner. The senior boy would keep his eye on the Library clock, and the cry of ' Places !' would bring us all back to the practice-room in twos and threes through Fig Tree Court and the Cloisters, or leaping the steps in the passage underneath the Hall, to don cassock and surplice. We were allowed to use the alley at the east end of the church and enter by the Master's vestry, passing on the way the small Benchers' doors on either side of the altar—Inner and Middle respectively. The prospect from within the cool church of youth and age passing the open doors on a warm summer's day, was a scene imprinted on the memories of many of the congregation of those times. | | | |
| We proceeded to queue for the small mirror and brush box in the passage at the foot of the spiral staircase, where hair was tidied and the wide Eton collars and straight black ties (no ' sissy ' bows for us !) were carefully adjusted. By this time the gentlemen had arrived—no longer dressed in top hat and frock coat as was the rule when Mr. Ball first took up his appointment. The Reader, Mr. Clayton, who I am sure knew the Responses backwards (and incidentally could quote chapter and verse of the Bible, and hymn numbers from memory with uncanny accuracy) would nevertheless come in from the Master's vestry and stand by the piano to practise his pieces; this was a weekly ritual. He was a big man with close-cropped hair and a cut-away tail coat, somehow reminding me of a great seagull. Final instructions to the choir followed from Mr. Ball who, with a glance at his pocket-watch, would hastily snatch up his music and rapidly climb the spiral stairs two at a time in order to land in the organ seat and play the opening chords just before the latch of the vestry door clicked open and the procession entered on the stroke of 11, the robed first twelve leading, followed by the black-suited probationers, the gentlemen and finally the clergy. The Reader took up his accustomed position on the Inner Temple (south) side, next the choir, the Master by the Communion table, and the first notes of the Introit would herald the beginning of Morning Prayer. | | | |
| The Benchers' commodious stalls were usually well-filled in the morning, in my day with such notable figures, as Sir Francis Taylor, Lord Hewart, Sir Alfred Tobin, Lord Caldecot, Masters Beebee, Sandlands, Schuster, Konstam, and other familiar faces *. Their ladies sat behind, and as we threaded our way past the pillars—there was no central-aisle then—to take our places in the choir we would perhaps note the consternation of a latecoming couple, unfamiliar with the medieval traditions of the Temple ' peculiar ', who were being separated by the vergers, ' the gentleman this way, please ' and the lady the other, not to be reunited until after the service. As soon as the Introit had begun, the bars at the end of the aisles were slid across, and latecomers must then remain in the Round | |
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*Master Schuster was appointed a member of the Choir Committee in 1930. He and Master Konstam remained senior members of the Committee and regular worshippers at the Temple Church after its rededication in 1954 until their lamented deaths in 1956
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What lovely introits we sang ! G.T.B's Know ye not that ye are the Temple of God?, H.W.D's Turn thee, for thy time is short, and The hour cometh. Other memories are of Frank Hastwell singing 0 Emmanuel and My blood so red; and of two boys (one of them myself on a later occasion) singing Blessed are the pure in heart. The Psalms, as ever, were sung with the greatest care and attention, and accompanied with consummate artistry by Mr. Ball. The illustrative touches were, and happily still are in 1960, unmistakably his: 'Let them consume like a snail' (Ps. 57), ' Why hop ye so, ye high hills ?' (Ps. 68),' Blow up the trumpet in the new moon ' (Ps. 81), sforzando chords at the opening of psalms beginning ' The Lord is King ', and at other verses showing a change of mood. All these small details gave that individual touch to the Temple psalms appropriate to our choirmaster's maxim: ' Make the congregation sit up, so that even an old Bencher will say to himself, " by Jove, I've never realised before that the psalms were so beautiful or so full of meaning." '
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| The Lessons were usually read by the Reader from the lectern which stood in the north aisle between the two eastern-most pillars. The canticles were almost invariably sung to a setting and nearly always took the form of the Te Deum and Jubilate. A rare experience—sometimes on Good Friday or before an afternoon Cantata—was Tallis's Litany which Dick would sing as movingly as Gregory Hast before him. Another often near-perfect part of the service was the unaccompanied singing of the Lord's Prayer in the harmonized version of Marbeck. One took all these gems for granted, and it is perhaps only later that we realise what a rare wealth of sincere artistry we have inherited in the Temple Choir. | | | |
| On the first and third Sundays of the month Holy Communion was administered after Morning Prayer; on these days the ante-Communion Service was sung before the Sermon, including a -Kyrie and the Nicence Creed from the Temple service book, as of old. During the hymn before the sermon, the Master or the visiting preacher, as the case might be, was conducted from his stall to the pulpit steps by the verger, which involved much decorous bowing to one another; on his perambulations in church the Master's Verger carried an eighteenth-century silver-topped staff, happily still surviving. In my day, and for many years before, this verger was white-haired John (' Daddy ') Wright, a rather sour old fellow, or so we thought, whom we used to taunt in the vestry. He died in 1937 after 40 years' service in the Temple Church. Another familiar figure who disappeared from the scene on his retirement in 1934 was Arthur (' Pa ') Stone, the friendly Custodian who had been known to generations of choristers since his appointment in 1895. The Templar commented: ' Indulgent to high-spirited young choristers Stone was known to us all and could no doubt tell of many an unpunished lapse committed within the sacred precincts during his term of office.' The new man was silver-haired, dapper Mr. Stillman, whom I recall in a typical attitude, looking up at the organ-loft during the practice before service, with watch in hand as a sign to Mr. Ball that he wished to open the great west door to admit the congregation. | | | |
| When he had got into the pulpit the Master or visiting preacher (there were few of these in my day) would of course read the fine but seemingly interminable Bidding Prayer. What a relief it was when the Royal Family, the Bishops, Priests and Deacons, the Judges, the two learned and honourable Societies of this House, the Seminaries of sound learning and the Commons of the Realm had all been safely accounted for and we could settle down for the sermon, hidden by the ample woodwork of the choirstalls, especially in the second row. In the front row, at this time, many of Tom Burdess's inimitable caricatures of the choir were committed to the backs of service forms. | | | |
| At the conclusion of the morning service the choir and clergy retired in the same order to the vestry where the Master said a prayer. This was followed by a chanted ' Good morning, Master! Good morning, Mr. Reader!' and then a wait for the head boy to return with the ' verdict' from the organ-loft; nobody must disrobe, under dire threat of punishment, until this had been delivered. A mad rush followed up the narrow spiral stair and over to the Hall, while meanwhile our brilliant organist was hoping to drown the noise with the colourful chords of Karg-Elert or the subtle counterpoint of Bach—unless it was Communion Sunday when there was no voluntary. | | | |
| The boys lunched alone in the lofty Inner Temple Hall itself, at one long table with Mr. Ball at the head, unless he was dining with the Benchers in their Parliament chamber. We were sometimes visited at table by a Bencher or two with their guests on their way to lunch, whereupon we promptly leaped to our feet. The white-haired, fierce, but respected Sir Alfred Tobin liked to come and ' inspect' us in this way and became fond of quizzing Tom King, a ginger-headed and rather cheeky probationer. We would wonder what was under the lids of the silver tureens and dishes being carried the length of the hall by the ' pannier-men ' who disappeared through doors in the panelling at the far end. Our own fare was always ample, though monotonous—rissoles or occasionally steak pie in winter, cold meat and salad in summer. This was often followed by jam tart which we called ' three-ply '. In summer too we often had delicious water ices. In my time it was the custom for the probationers to serve and carry the plates of food from a side table to their seniors on either side (decani and cantoris) of the table, but this practice later fell into disuse when the waiter extended his activities. When lunch was finished Mr. Ball called on one of the boys to say Grace, then if it was fine we would all run over once again to the Gardens for a glorious hour's play—football or cricket according to season, varied with rounders or the ever-popular prisoners' base which was more usually played on a pitch at the lower end of King's Bench Walk as well as on the small pitch outside the practice-room; many a pair of trousers was torn in falls on the gravel there in the course of breath-taking dashes to get back to base before being caught by an opponent who was ' fresher '. An alternative to the more formal games was the age-old joy of a chase through the Temple courts which would as likely as not take us through ' Wood Tunnel' or ' Three Ways '. If it was wet, there would probably be a ' play ' in the practice-room, the most important part of which was the rolling up and down of the curtain which hung from a rod suspended across the room and which was usually worked by a junior on top of the music cupboard. The rare appearance of snow would see us all outside, of course, and one very wintry Sunday we made an enormous snowball in the Gardens which attracted the attention of the neighbouring Press, with the result that a picture of it appeared in the next day's papers. I recall the painful pleasure of thawing my hands at the practice-room fire after snowballing. This was shortly before the open hearth was replaced by a less romantic but more efficient gas-fire. | | | |
| ' Places ! ' was called once again at 2 o'clock, and we all had to wash before practice. Along the narrow passage and up the winding steps we formed a queue for the single wash-basin with its one cold tap; the formula was ' ten for a wash and five for a drink ', meaning that each boy had to complete his requirements in these respects while the head boy counted aloud. After the allotted time the toilet or drink had to be completed with some difficulty to the accompaniment of thumps on the head. Later on, the pressure was relieved a little by the construction of additional lavatory accommodation, albeit restricted, at the angle of the passage, in place of a curious cupboard in the wall, with a door at each end, which appears to have been the vestigial remains of a passage shown in Smirke's plan of the organ chamber of 1843. This cupboard provided great opportunities for imprisonment of probationers, as did also the surplice cupboards with their double pairs of doors. But at 2 o'clock we lined up in the practice-room and at the head boy's ' Right! ' we marched into church to practise for the afternoon service; soon the gentlemen would be returning from lunch (in those days most of them walked to and from Fleming's restaurant in Oxford Street) for a short rehearsal in the practice room before the 3 o'clock ' Evening Service '. This differed from the morning only in that it was a service less for the Benchers and more for a highly musical congregation, though this only meant longer anthems, and of course the customary cantata without sermon on the 3rd Sunday of the month. Because of the great distance apart of the choirstalls, the decani side always ' came across ' for the anthem, except when it was unaccompanied; then Mr. Ball conducted from a desk centrally placed between the choirstalls, behind the front block of pews. The pause for the procession of decani to the cantoris side provided an opportunity for improvisation on the organ, which was always wonderfully executed by Mr. Ball in the tradition established by both Hopkins and Walford Davies before him. Sometimes a phrase of the anthem to be sung would develop into an intricate pattern woven in a distant key, but always leading back by subtle steps to the opening chord of the work. As in Hopkins' day, the cramped organ-loft was often full of admiring musicians, fascinated by the organist's skilful registration and manipulation of the instrument (with Rothwell's patent tab-stops at his finger-tips), by which he could display the depth of his interpretation. | | | |
| At the afternoon service there was no Bidding Prayer; the Reader invariably preached and was inclined to dilate on certain oft-recurring themes such as ' This private chapel' and ' The law of consequences.' His somewhat reserved manner belied a friendly interest in and helpful attitude towards individual members of the congregation. He presented a distinctly Victorian figure on his way to his flat at the top of Goldsmith Building after service, with his top hat, tail coat and a tiny attache-case so out of proportion to his large presence. Another colourful character who often attended afternoon service was Count Potocki, so-called pretender to the throne of Poland. He wore a red cloak, velvet beret and sandals and his hair hung in long curls to his shoulders; we liked to think of him as part of the Temple. Then there was the English clergyman from Brazil with a case of butterflies and beetles—a wonderful collection which entranced us boys outside after service. By the porch there would be the usual gathering of parents and friends, talking over the anthem and the solos—a veritable Temple family, and sometimes the day ended with a friendly tea at Stewart's or at the Strand Palace grill room where we would perhaps meet Mr. Ball, Dr. Douglas Hopkins from St. Paul's, Dr. Osborne Peasgood or the legendary Miss Sugg with a party of ex-choristers from the Abbey. | | | |
| There was a different and more intimate atmosphere in the practice-room during the week. Two practices were held on Monday (the second often for juniors only), Tuesday and Thursday, with an interval for tea at ' Court's '. Very occasionally, in Mr. Ball's absence, the practice would be taken by Norman Greenwood or by Reginald Goodall (at one period) whom we thought very bad-tempered, though he ' knew his stuff.' At the end of first practice, at about twenty-to-five, Mr. Ball would announce ' Tea ! ' sometimes to the Grand Chant: | | | |
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| which was followed by juniors asking ' May I stop ? ' and by a mad rush ' across '. The table in the basement room at Court's was not very long and if the numbers were large, one or two probationers might have to have their tea on the window-ledge. Sometimes on Tuesdays we had boiled eggs; if there was one over Mr. Ball might call' (Mr-"" to receive a chorus of deafening ' Ego ! 's. The barristers took tea in a larger room opposite ours below the Reading Room in which the meetings of the Templars' Union and Male Voice Choir were held on Friday evenings. On the death of Mr. Court in 1935 the provision of tea was taken over by Mr. and Mrs. Whitehead, the head porter and his wife. Friday tea was taken in the Hall and was not so ' home-made ', and the tea came already ' milked ' in large jugs. | | | |
| In the practice-room we sat in the old narrow sloping desks, the probationers on benches in front. If one was singing well he might be told by Mr. Ball to go ' up ', which involved crawling through underneath the desk (seniors being at the ends, as in church), with the risk of getting his head smacked on the way; but it was worth it to emerge proudly in the more professional world of the First Twelve. Practices during the school holidays were never regarded as irksome; they were often held in the morning, and apart from the fact that everyone enjoyed the rehearsals with Mr. Ball—and not merely because he was known to chuck ha'pennies to people who sang passages correctly—there was also the prospect of cricket, football or prisoners' base outside, or ping-pong or jimmy-nacker in the practice-room. Towards the end of a holiday practice Mr. Ball would as often as not send a senior to Lyons in Fleet Street (Temple Lyons, we called it) for a consignment of swiss rolls or ices; yet it was not because of these kindnesses that his discipline was so effective. Like Walford Davies, he had the gift of inspiring loyalty and devotion to the high standards of the choir without methods of coercion; the worst punishment was to be sent out of the practice-room and, though more drastic measures were sometimes taken by the seniors' Committee, it was indeed regarded as a disgrace. But after an apology the matter was soon forgotten; there was never any sarcasm and, again as with Walford Davies, our learning was mostly by example, either given by our choirmaster himself, who had a voice of wonderful range and quality, or by our fellow-choristers. We were a team and we learnt that all seniority, all solos, were for the good of the choir as a whole and that results could only come through hard work and the application of our own individual gifts. In this way our work in the choir, though it sometimes interfered with work in school, provided a valuable supplement to it. | | | |
| Full practice on Friday night was the culmination of the week's work, before we went on to the Sunday services; from 5.30 until 7.30 or even later we worked at the psalms, canticles, anthems, hymns, introits and extroits, even the spoken parts of the service, and if something went wrong, as for instance in the case of consistent flatness, there was the prospect of an extra practice for the boys on Saturday morning. This was a rare occurrence but it had been known to happen, likewise a re-rehearsal immediately after the service on a Sunday afternoon when the anthem had gone badly. But if the verdict from the organ-loft was ' Good ! ' we knew that things had gone well, for our choirmaster, though anxious to give credit when it was due, was not lavish with his praise. Having sung one or two things well in practice, I suddenly found myself promoted to head probationer, then into the First Twelve within a few weeks and singing duets with Jack Phillips who was my senior. We sang 0 where shall wisdom be found (Boyce), Hear my prayer (Kent), The souls of the righteous (Nares), Remember now thy Creator (Sterndale Bennett) and My Saviour Jesus now is taken (in the St. Matthew Passion), some of them more than once. These duets have appeared from time to time in the service forms when there have been two boys whose voices blended well; the next pair of duettists were Tom Meddings and Alan Muir. A work which made an impression on me was Elgar's setting of Psalm 29, Give unto the Lord. Wesley's Wilderness too I loved, and of course Prepare thyself Zion, Slumber beloved and Keep 0 my spirit, which all the boys sang together in the Christmas Oratorio. Among the carols which we sang in the Round my favourite was A spotless Rose by Herbert Howells; this beautiful work gave me the shiver down the spine which came only on rare occasions—in the last movement of Brahms' Requiem, in Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets (St. Paul], and in Ah, Golgotha! (with its strange and intriguing last cadence), and indeed much of the St. Matthew Passion. When we sang this work at St. Paul's, under Stanley Marchant, it was in those days preceded by the Miserere, Psalm 51, which was bound up with the old Cathedral copies of the Passion; I found this introduction intensely moving and I was sorry when it was later omitted from the service. At St. Paul's we had wonderful excursions up into the Dome, not to mention water-pistol fights with the Chapel Royal ' Children ' in the Crypt. | | | |
| While I was in the choir there was a serious outbreak of mumps. I escaped, having already had the complaint, but the First Twelve was seriously depleted and I remember that Parley Leach and I, both very junior in status, were left one Sunday to lead an extremely thin choir half made up of probationers; somehow we managed to get through. This is a risk that must be run with only twelve singing boys; on the other hand the unanimity which is possible with a select number was an important factor in the high standard, continuously maintained. Alas, my somewhat meteoric rise through the choir was short-lived: all too soon it was over, my voice broke quite suddenly at fourteen, and I was ' out' before the Long Vacation in 1933. There used to be rather terrifying voice-tests in the Round from time to time to see whose voice was going and whose was coming on. When Tim Leibe's voice broke in 1932 he was followed as head boy first by Denis Barthel, then by Douglas Ratcliffe, and in 1934 by Jack Phillips. Kenneth Harvey did some solo work and became the next head boy in the following year. • He and I had undergone, as did all new boys in those days, our initiation as choristers together. This took the form of a customary ducking in the wash-basin (' Down-one, two, three ! . . . Up-one, two, three !...') and also an ordeal in ' the wells '—the flood-passages at the bottom of Middle Temple Lane. Other initiatory rites included the ' hangings ', with the help of roller-towels, from the practice-room rafters, and another practice involving the use of the large laundry basket. A minor accident however caused the latter operation to be abandoned, and just before the last War ' ragging ' appears to have gone out of fashion altogether. It is happily apparent that in general boys are kinder to one another than they used to be, though on the whole they differ little from their predecessors of thirty years ago. However, I cannot remember that we suffered much harm, physically or mentally, from these rags, and most ex-choristers would probably agree that mild ragging, as distinct from bullying, does no harm and can make the ' initiated ' feel that they ' belong '. The Knights Templars had after all to undergo far worse treatment! Other closely-related operations were known as ' dags', consisting of difficult feats which one was dared to do, such as making a circuit of the practice-room without touching the floor, or climbing round the ' black hole ' (the area on the north side of the organ-chamber) in a given number of seconds; I remember that Tom Burdess, of caricature fame, was exceptionally good at these rather dangerous but entertaining performances. | | | |
| One happy custom which came to stay was the practice of ' christening ' a chorister with the waters of the River Chess when he first crossed ' Temple Bridge ', a footbridge on the Chiltern ramble. Rambles were a great feature of the 'thirties. They were conducted by Captain Dewar and we walked many happy miles in London's surprisingly beautiful countryside, Chorley Wood and Amersham being favourite haunts. They often included a game of ' outings ' or ' ambushes ', and the woods and valleys resounded with the echos of ' Galamayo ! '—' Iwa ! ' These rambles invariably ended with a merry tea. | | | |
| Another department which Captain Dewar looked after was the boys' football and cricket matches. Football was usually played in Regent's Park and our principal opponents were St. Margaret's, Westminster and Christ Church, Victoria Street, whose choristers also benefited from Captain Dewar's care. Cricket was enjoyed in Regent's Park and also further afield. In 1931 a match was played against the choir at Canterbury, in 1932 against the Southwark Cathedral boys at Dulwich, and in 1933 against King's College Choir at Cambridge. Denis Barthel and Jack Berry were the leading lights on the cricket field at this time. Another splendid outing was the trip to Whipsnade in April 1932, at the invitation of the Benchers when the whole choir visited the new Zoo on the lovely Dunstable Downs, by private omnibus. | | | |
| From time to time the choir sang at various weddings, for instance at Berkhamsted Parish Church in 1932 and at Knockholt for Sir Waldron Smithers in 1933, but by far the most memorable engagement in my time was the visit to Winchelsea in 1933 at the invitation of Lord Blanesburgh. This was by special train, and there was a marquee reception in a beautiful garden, lovely things to eat and opportunity for explorations by us boys along the slopes of the old town walls. There had been an earlier visit by the choir on 9 May 1931 to sing at the dedication of three stained-glass windows, designed by Dr. Douglas Strachan, and a new organ in the parish church of St. Thomas, presented by Lord Blanesburgh in memory of his brothers and nephews; on that occasion each Temple boy was presented with a souvenir fountain-pen. On 21 October 1933 three further windows, Sea, Earth and Air, together with an altar and retable, were dedicated by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Lang, in the presence of a distinguished congregation. They had again been presented by Lord Blanesburgh, this time as a memorial to men of the Cinque Ports and the ancient towns of Rye and Winchelsea who gave their lives in the Great War of 1914-18. George Thalben-Ball assisted by his greatly admired friend Sir Hugh Alien, Principal of the Royal College of Music, were in charge of the music, and Keith Falkner, that splendid singer, was soloist. The ceremony was broadcast. The Times commented: ' Music, indeed the music, in which the Temple choir took part, of typically English composers—Walford Davies, Hubert Parry, Wesley and Villiers Stanford—created the atmosphere of the dedication service; wistful and diffused—like late autumn sunlight —rather than thick with woe. The words of Henry Newbolt, " Mother, with unbowed head ", gave a note of quiet fortitude, and when, at the conclusion of the service, the Last Post came sounding through the aisles it seemed to counsel tranquillity.' | | | |
| A cloud of sadness descended on the choir at the end of January 1933 when a well-loved probationer, Gilbert Simpson, was knocked down and killed on his way to School. The choir sang a farewell at the funeral at St. Mary's Wanstead, and the scene in the churchyard, with the boys' surplices blowing in the wind, was moving in the extreme. Hardly had the choir recovered from this shock when a second blow befell it. At the end of May the decani tenor, Gordon Ives, was also involved in a car accident which proved fatal. In the death of Gordon, the choir lost a singer of fine quality and a friend of happy disposition. Fortunately he was replaced by another with similar characteristics, Harry Abbott, a young tenor with a powerful voice who was an ex-chorister of the Abbey, thus providing a direct link with our friends and rivals in the adjoining city. He soon settled down on decani next to Dick, and before long became also a valued member of the Templars' Male Voice Choir which was becoming known as one of the best in London. There were further broadcasts, and the Choir achieved a ' write-up ' in the Radio Times of 1 September 1935. There were East End and West End concerts and recitals in various houses. Dick wrote in The Templar (1934): ' Norman Greenwood has again given most valuable help; in fact his work has often been the inspiration of the performances. His accompaniments at the recital at Sir Thomas Inskip's house, and also at the " At Home " in the Library of the Inner Temple for Sir William Hansell, were of the very highest artistic value to the choir and distinguished audiences.' The most important event for the T.M.V.C. in 1934 was the Invitation Conceit in the Inner Temple Hall which took the place of the usual concert with the boys. Jack Thing wrote of it: 'The great secret of the choir's success was in their team work, which I have rarely seen equalled. There were one or two errors-so obvious that we had to laugh, but it showed that the singers were human after all Dick is a wonderful director, and he has trained his choir to such a degree that I would without uneasiness invite the most narrow-minded of able musicians to go and hear them. What they have accomplished is a noble example of the reward of perseverance, concentration and good leadership.' The work of the Templars culminated in the summer of 1935 with a series of engagements to celebrate King George V's Silver Jubilee, the Jubilee Garden Party at the Inner Temple, their own concert at Queen Mary Hall and the Command Concert at the Albert Hall. The last was brought into being by Walford Davies, as Master of the King s Musick ' a magnificent and inspiring example of single-minded devotion on Doctor's part to a lovely ideal. The concert was, as he told us, intended to please the King and the ordinary listener, and judging by the deep and lasting impression it has made, who can doubt that it fulfilled its mission.' | | | |
| At the Aldershot Tattoo of 1934 tens of thousands heard a recorded verse of Abide with me sung by Dennys Lake, a Temple boy Lake had made only a short stay in the choir, his voice breaking comparatively early, but his singing was of unusual quality and he was called on for some solo work He was a very cheery and popular chorister. In the second World War he joined the R.A.F. as a pilot and failed to return from a bomber attack in 1941. During 1935 Kenneth Harvey remained head boy, the principal soloists being Douglas Morgan and Tom Meddings who was rapidly coming into prominence. ' Meddy ' was an extremely intelligent singer with a fine voice which continued to develop in musical stature, and he was without doubt the outstanding soloist of the 'thirties at Temple. In 1934 he first sang 0 for the wings of a dove and later on the solo in Wesley's Wilderness. In the following year came Ye now are sorrowful and I know that my Redeemer as well as many other less exacting solos. The third set of H.M V records was made in Meddings' time and included such well-tried favourite. as Haydn's Insanae et vanae curae, Beethoven's Hallelujah, Bach s Jesu, Joy of man's desiring (with oboe obbligato by Leon Goossens), and Lord God of heaven and earth (from Spohr's Last Judgement) with Meddings as soloist. | | | |
| In 1935 Bishop Hill of Manchester conducted his third Confirmation of Temple choristers in the church. The first had been in 1931: hitherto candidates for confirmation had been confirmed at the School service at St. Paul's, at which the boys of the Temple Choir always sang. But in this year Dr. Carpenter prepared six boys and arranged the service at Temple; juniors and probationers sang in the choirstalls with Mr. Ball at the organ. Bishop Hill took as his text: | | | |
| | I give you the end of a golden string
Only wind it into a ball.
It will lead you unto the gates of Heaven
Built in Jerusalem's wall. | | | | |
| He conducted further confirmations of choristers in 1933, 1935 and 1937. The last such service, on 6 December 1938, was conducted by Paul de Labilliere, Dean of Westminster and Suffragan Bishop of Knaresborough, when five boys were confirmed. These periodic confirmations naturally strengthened the Templars' Union monthly Communions which continued without a break until the second World War. | | | |
| The confirmation classes in the Master's study recall a memory of Hooker's ancient chair, later destroyed in the fire of 1941. On the walls of the easy-going, dark oak staircase hung prints of former Masters of the Temple, and on a ledge stood a china parrot which, I think, got knocked over in the dark during a game of' murder ' at one of the Master's Christmas parties. These were merry occasions and usually included charades upstairs in the charming intercommunicating drawing-rooms, in which Dr. Carpenter took part with great gusto. Other Christmas entertainments included outings to the theatre and the circus with Mr. Ball and Captain Dewar. But the greatest delight was once more that of Camp— happily reintroduced by Captain Dewar in 1933 at Quarr Abbey in the Isle of Wight, and repeated in 1935. | | | |
| At the first camp nine boys were under canvas and the holiday took place during a heat-wave. There are happy memories of swimming and sailing in Wootton Creek, and the interweaving of the duet ' For the Lord is gracious,' from Davies in G, sounding across the evening water. There were excursions to Carisbrooke Castle and to Portsmouth in ' Navy Week ' where we went over the Victory and H.M.S. Hood. And of course a midnight rag: the younger boys were wakened with the startling news that thieves had just run off with the camp money, stolen from the office tent; in fact, the lights of their torches (!) could still be seen in the distance. Still half asleep, we ran off across the fields in hot pursuit, but lost them, and it was not until Denis Barthel and Billy Arnold arrived back with the ' swag' (biscuits and sweets) that we realised whom we had been chasing. The hot sweet cocoa was most comforting. The French Benedictine monks at the Abbey were very friendly, especially Father Dom Pedro and Frere Jean Baptiste from Brittany, a lay brother who could not speak much English, but kept a careful tally of our milk on the stall by one of his fine Jersey cows. | | | |
| The 1935 camp consisted of ten boys again under the care of Captain Dewar who had provided all the tents and a considerable amount of equipment which formed the nucleus of future camps. There was a camp-fire and singing with the 8th Westminster Scouts; another visit to Portsmouth Dockyard; the Air Circus at Bembridge; there was Donald Simpson's blanc-mange; a midnight walk by Fishbourne and Binstead, and an excursion on a large boat from which the boys could dive and swim. This was the celebrated occasion when Jeff, seized by a large irate woman and accused of landing unlawfully on a private beach, made the famous reply: ' No speakee de English,' and fled—without his towel. There was a visit to Quarr Abbey where the cellarius produced some excellent raisin wine and biscuits, and afterwards, in the music room, the boys sang Heraditus: | | | |
| | ... I wept as I remembered how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. | | |
| Camp somehow never failed to put all the Temple experiences into a perspective of infinity: | | | |
| | ... And Death he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. | | |
________________________________________________________________
| Canon Firth, the Reader, Dr. Thalben-Ball and the Temple Choir, 1955 | |
Gentlemen: G.Dixon, D.Lewer, E Lough, D.Ratcliffe, R.Green, J Phillips,
J.Prewer, A. Ratcliffe, D.Lea, Dr. Thalben Ball, R Stratton,
H.Abbott, Canon Firth, J.Berry, Rev. W.D. Kennedy Ball,
A.Polgrean, R.Goodchild.
Boys: Thurston, Penny, R.Lough, Mitchell, Cone, Cronin, P.Fisher,
M.Fisher, Minns, Ellis, Seaman, Fairhurst. |
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Extracted from David Lewer's book
A SPIRITUAL SONG
| | | © David Lewer. 1961 | |
Reproduced with permission of the author. 12th January 2005
David Lewer 1919 - 2005
| | UK Cathedral Music Links. 2002 - 2006 | | |
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