I'm not a religious nutter, I swear. I just really like really good choral music and gothic architecture. In particular, I love boy choristers (and not in a creepy pedophile way). I am just always amazed by how these tiny boys (and girls in some cathedrals) can master such technically difficult music and sound so sweet and pure. My grandfather was a treble soloist in the Greenville Boys Choir back in the 1930s, so maybe my love of this kind of music stems from that heritage.
London has at least four cathedrals that have a choir of men and boy choristers. Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Cathedral, and Southwark Cathedral. As with most cathedral choirs, these four have affiliated schools where the boys are educated for free or reduced tuition. They admit boys at the age of 7 or 8 for a probationary year, and then they join as full choristers after that if they make the cut. They sing at least two services on Sundays during the school term, and at least two or three Evensongs during the week.
I had never been to Southwark (pronounce Suth-ook) Cathedral, so I decided to give it a try. It is right near one of my favorite spots in London, on the south bank of the Thames under London Bridge. It's where Borough Market, a wholesale (and retail) food market, is, The Globe Theatre, and, my favorite, a full-size replica of The Golden Hinde, Sir Francis Drake's pirate ship.
I got to the Cathedral early in hopes of getting seated in the choir (or quire) area where the seats are cushier and the action nearer, but, unlike St. Paul's or Westminster Abbey, they don't open it up to ordinary folk. Southwark is definitely less touristy than the others I've been to. It had a large congregation of regulars, and this morning there was also a baptism of an adorable little baby with an unfortunate name (Stanley). As such is was a long service.
After a somewhat grueling search around town for a cheap shoulder& bag (I should mention that I have no less than three quality shoulder bags at home which I forgot to pack), I finally ended up at this horrible place called Primark, which is full of cheap things...mostly cheap skimpy clothing for teenage waifs, and bought a purse for $5. It will last until I can get something more serviceable. This Primark happened to be close to Victoria Station, which is close to Westminster Abbey, which, at 3 p.m. on Sundays happens to have a beautiful Evensong service. So I couldn't not go.
Westerminster Abbey Evensongs are always crowded, but have enjoyed (sarcasm) a boost in popularity since the Royal Wedding a few years ago. So, even though I arrived 10 minutes early, I was seated in the nosebleed section. The curates of Westminster Abbey are pretty jaded, and they are the same ones year after year. There are the two that stand at the gate, sneering at visitors to tell them that entrance is for worship only and that they must, under pain of death, stay for the entire hour. They look generally disgusted with everyone that walks by. We are all, in their eyes, heathens who are too cheap to pay the 15gbp (I still haven't learned how to shortcut the gbp sign) entrance. Then there is a slightly creepy woman with a vacant, almost possessed look on her face that directs you down the nave. Then there is a really really creepy guy who, bless his heart, looks exactly like Marty Feldman. I was going to post a picture of Marty Feldmen, but I have a deep and abiding phobia of Marty Feldman. I literally feel woozy when I see his face, so I'm not going to put in on my blog. It is the same feeling I get when I see an empty pool. And, yes, I know I have some issues.
When I got back to the Centre-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I went to their informal 3rd Sunday of the month service in the basement, thinking maybe I could meet a few people and stop being so socially awkward. Being active with Brent House at The University of Chicago, I'm used to a small congregation, but there were only four of us. Five if you count the Danish chaplain's unborn child. A bit disappointing, but had interesting conversation afterwards.
So I think I've fulfilled my ecclesiastical obligations for the week. I'm slowly settling in to my new quarters, and am not even that frustrated by the fact that both of the hall's toilets are out of commission. One is clogged and the other has no functional light. I swear I packed a little flashlight, but I couldn't find it. So I have been peeing in the dark with only the light of my Nexus 7 to keep me company. Tomorrow I brave the breakfast room, which I have been too cowardly or tired to do thus far.
No comments:
Post a Comment