Open Features: A Most Memorable Messiah
When Stan Brackenbury was the head of a liberal studies and adult education department in a Further Education college in a Midlands town he was deeply involved in setting up a community arts society, which included an amateur operatic society, children's theatre, dramatic society, a choir and an orchestra. The standard of performances and presentations in all these units was of a high order. Members of the various groups decided to combine to present Handel's Messiah in a local chapel.
What was needed was a trumpet player - and Stan thought he had just the man.
Professional soloists were engaged, at considerable cost, and in order to reach the required standard, rehearsals began early in September for the following Christmas. The Orchestra and Choir worked very hard realizing that the professional singers would expect a quality performance. All were enthusiastic amateurs, but it was agreed that the Orchestra required a trumpeter who would have such an important contribution to make in the oratorio.
I knew the very man! He played in a local colliery brass band and was reputed to be one of the best players in the brass band world. I had previously asked him to play in the “pit” orchestra for the operatic society. I pointed out to him on that occasion that I did not wish to become involved in musician's Union rates of pay and agreed a sum which was to be supplemented by a pint on’t piano' before the curtain went up, and two pints at half-time! I didn’t think that was quite the appropriate remuneration for a performance of Messiah, especially in a Methodist chapel, but I proposed a fee which pleased... let's call him Mervyn Hughes.
The great evening arrived. The audience filled the chapel – both downstairs and in the gallery. The choir and orchestra performed abley and it appeared that everyone was well satisfied with the first half. I was somewhat concerned to notice that Mervyn had not taken his place, so I went round backstage during the break and was very relieved to find him eager to perform in the second session. He explained that he had been unable to arrive on time for the beginning, but “There was nowt much for me to do until interval” – which was true.
Everyone was ready for the concert to re-start. The orchestra began beautifully and the professional baritone was preparing for his solo – the very impressive “The Trumpet shall Sound”. He made a very imposing figure, standing in the pulpit.
The trumpet did sound - but unfortunately it was about two tones flat! The baritone was obviously taken aback, but was quite prepared to overcome this unusual problem. So he steadfastly continued, with the right notes in the right key.
Mervyn, now sitting very comfortably, and concentrating on his music, was equally steadfast. It appeared to me that neither was prepared to give in – and so we were treated to a delightful rendition by the singer of “The Trumpet shall Sound” and a most competent accompaniment by the trumpeter – only the latter was very flat indeed.
The combined effort was quite excruciating. Sitting in the gallery , I was trying to disappear down the gap between the floorboards. Eventually, the duet came to an end, and the performance continued, reaching the final chorus to the audience’s great acclaim. They were very generous in forgetting – or overlooking – the trumpet episode.
Before the applause had ended, I was down in the vestry at the back of the stage looking for Mervyn. I suppose in a way, it was fortunate for him that he had disappeared. I was very angry that he should have spoilt an otherwise acceptable performance. I apologized on his behalf to Richard Standen, the soloist, but he apparently had taken it in good part and seemed unperturbed. I went with the soloists for a meal and the matter was hardly mentioned. The evening had been a great success.
Nevertheless, I was quite determined to obtain at least some explanation from Mervyn. I was in my office very early the next morning, planning to go to his home in the nearby colliery village, when there was a timid knock at the door, followed by Mervyn’s head. In his delightful Welsh accent he stated the obvious. “I thought you’d want a word with me, Boy’o.”
As politely as I was able, I asked for an explanation for the terrible sound which had emanated from his trumpet.
“Well, you see I was late and couldn’t get into the chapel for the beginning. I went across the road to the King’s Head to fill in time until the interval. I had a drink – and when I was ready to play, my trumpet was cold.”
Now, I knew Mervyn well enough to know that his definition of “a drink” meant he would have consumed quite a few. It was unfortunate that I had not detected this when I met him in the chapel during the interva, but he had hidden it very thoroughly. Mervyn was most profuse in his apology and said he certainly wouldn’t accept the fee which he and I had agreed. By this time my anger had cooled and I was just beginning to see a slightly humourous aspect to the whole incident. After all, if a professional soloist could get over it, then I should be able to do the same.
This incident took place in the mid-sixties, and to this day I am not really sure of the real cause of the failure of Mervyn’s trumpet. Was it really cold, or had he had too much lubrication?
We parted on friendly terms and I later came to respect his real musical ability in future operatic shows and other concerts. He really was a delightful man, who, like so many others in that area, earned his living by working at the coal-face.
I was reminded of this incident the other evening when I watched on the TV a showing of the film Brassed Off. I had seen it three or four times before. It tells the story of the closure of a colliery and the effect it had on the the miners and their families. In the end, the only aspect of the pit which remained was the colliery brass band. This was true of somany mining villages and in some ways, the musicianship of these working men provided some comfort to ease the pain of the loss of livelihood and the destruction of their communities.
