Jumped onto a double-decker bus to St. Paul's. The bus route took us down Fleet Street, which was wonderful. Architectural details in London really are great. So many renovations going on everywhere, and I always wish I could go inside and see the remaining old bathrooms and light fixtures before the spaces are completely gutted. We were to meet the St. Paul's choir director at 4:00 p.m., so we had time for a nice tea beforehand.
Then on to private, closed choir rehearsal -- truly unbelievable to have access to such a thing! It was the little boys first at rehearsal -- I suppose they range in age from six to puberty? They rehearse twice a day, at 8 a.m. and again at 4 p.m. All live on the premises of St. Paul's at a boarding school. Who knew? But it makes perfect sense with the intensity of musicianship required. And they all study three instruments as well as sing. The professional grown-up singers arrive at 5:00, throwing off their business suitcoats and hurrying into their robes. The day's rehearsal was of Psalms 44, to be used at Evensong.
Then (and I didn't see it coming at all!) we were ushered in the back way into "stage seats" for that night's Evensong. Remember, this is St. Paul's, and our group was seated in the front row of the choristery, where the Royal Family sat during Charles and Diana's wedding. The priests were right beside us, and publicly welcomed our student group to the service at its beginning.
I noticed one little choirboy waiting in the choir for the others to enter at the service's beginning and wondered why. At the service's end, I saw he was on crutches with metal leg braces. The boys wear the white neck ruff, black cossacks and white robes that seem to date back hundreds of years. The most junior boys, who must only be five or six years old, wear only the black cossack and sit out the special song. It's unbelievable to me that such young boys can read music and that they have such perfect pitch. They are prodigies, and they do sound like angels.
I found myself inexplicably moved to tears during Evensong. Just being in St. Paul's -- in that pew, with those angelic voices -- caused the tears to well up. I always seem to time-travel in churches, thinking of hundreds of years of illiterate humans coming into the splendor from their harsh everyday existences. The text was something from Job -- about mortality and trying to do Good but Evil always being at hand. The most striking feature of the service was a prayer of protection for the night to come against evil-doers in the darkness! I was instantly transported mentally to pre-electricity days and a London created by Dickens, or one where Jack the Ripper and Sweeney Todd dwell. Then the priests passed little red velvet purses made in the shapes of sacred hearts for the collection.
Anyway, quite unexpectedly a crazy, moving day for me at St. Paul's. I wouldn't have predicted I'd be so moved. Wonder why the boys choir tradition continues now that there's no prohibition of females "performing" in public? The sexism worries me a little, but I need to learn more about the tradition before making a judgment. Of course, all of it -- the church ritual -- is alien to me, yet strangely affecting. The historical part of being there was not lost on me. The organist finished the service with a macabre Saint-Saens piece.
I'll never forget the voices of those boys and the difficult, angular melodies -- almost Medieval.
