The Complaints Flood in

I should have known it.
After my last bulletin, in which I suggested that choir masters have come from the infernal regions and the best way to deal with choirs is to fill their robes with helium so they float off, I have received a veritable flood of complaint.  It comes, surprisingly enough, from a Mrs Trellis of North Wales.  She writes:

"Dear Rowan.

I notice that you suggest that choir masters have come from the infernal regions and the best way to deal with choirs is to fill their robes with helium so they float off.  This is outrageous.

Given the relative densities of helium and nitrogen, and the average size of a chorister relative to their robes, there is no way you could get them off the ground.

Yours faithfully

Mrs Trellis."

Goodbye to the Choir

An odd little episode, was the Beaker Choir.

Clearly we had to do something.  You can't have some out-of-control maniac running around the place pushing people around and not listening to anyone else.  Correction.  You can only have one of those.  And it wasn't going to be the choir master.

I'm still a little baffled.  It's one of those mysteries of the universe.  Where do choir masters come from?  He wasn't a member of the Beaker Folk before the Choir was formed.  He just appeared from somewhere at the precise moment.  Or was he behind the suggestion that a choir was needed?  Either way, instantly he assumed total power in his sphere of influence.  Which was ridiculous.  Under our democratic, heavily-delegated, bottom-up form of religion, it's only I who have total power.

So once again thanks to Young Keith.  He can be a right pain when he's freelancing off the leash, but when operating under archdruidical sanction he is just the right man for dirty deeds done dirt cheap.
So as the choir launched themselves into the Tedium (as I believe they called it) this morning, their robes once again strategically placed to trap all the hot air coming out the heating vents, Young Keith flicked the switch on the helium bottles.

Now initially the Choir seemed to benefit from the addition of helium.  Clearly their robes weren't completely airtight, so some of the gas was able to escape through the necks of the robes.  You could see the effect when Edith Weston went for a high "C" and, for the first time in her life, hit it without breaking one of the windows.  The smile on her face only died away when she realised that Burdwitt, who was the Choir's "double bass", unable to hit notes even on the bass clef normally without the use of extra-tight trousers, also hit the note.  For a while, there was a general impression of a group of eight mice singing in ragged harmony.  But then as they reached the line "et extolle illos usque in aeternum", the singing stopped as they realised that they had indeed been lifted up, but not in the way the song envisaged.
So there they all were, squeaking "get us down" in a manner not dissimilar to the performance of Messrs Alvin and the Chipmunks, while floating approximately eight feet from the ground.  A couple of the lighter choristers with more voluminous robes were actually bobbing off the ceiling.

As the Ceremony ground to a halt, and we all headed for the open air, poor Ardwulf floated out through the chapel door and off across the fields.  He was last seen causing a problem for air traffic somewhere in the direction of Luton Airport.  I'm getting a little worried now.  Those robes were worth quite a lot of money.

Meanwhile, the choir master had disappeared.  We still don't know where he went.  We just know there seems to be quite a smell of sulphur around the place.  But at least the Choir is at an end.

The Beaker Choir

Full marks once again to Keith for his hard work and imagination.  It was quite an achievement, clearing St Bogwulf's Chapel.  But I think the knock-on effects may mean trouble.
St Bogwulf's had been the chapel on the family estate for hundreds of years, until my grandfather Orville's joining of the Extremely Primitive Methodists meant an end to what he so waggishly called "iconography, idolatory and abomination".  He had a very dry sense of humour, did Granddad Orville.  At least, I think it was a sense of humour.  In any case, over the years he converted the chapel into a log shed, a Chinese steam laundry, a branch of Woolworth's and - finally - a very small warehouse for a local ironmonger's.  Granddad died during a seven-hour sermon in the long cold winter of 1978-9.  When they came to bury him in the family vault, they found they couldn't get to it because the chapel was full of assorted iron fittings.  So instead they threw him in the brook and covered him with hinges and coat hooks.  It was what he would have wanted...

Anyway, thanks to Keith we now have St Bogwulf's re-opened and, due to some really hard work on the part of Grenville, and some assistance from a local plumbers' merchants, we have heating.  So a suitable replacement for the Moot House!  Unfortunately, the place is quite small so twenty or so Beaker Folk have to stand outside during our Occasions, but into every life a little rain must fall.  Or sleet, indeed.

Now when they said "can we start a choir?" I presumed they meant a quire.  So I said of course they could - looking forward to our worship being enlivened by a little 17th-century carolling.  I even said they could pick the songs.  But no.  They meant a choir.  Eight people who would - let's say - be entitled to protection from Sudbury council's offense-prevention unit, each equipped with enormous robes.  Singing 19th century tat and - for reasons best known to themselves - a selection of "songs from the shows".  Not only that,  but by careful placing they managed to put their robes over all the heating vents in the floor.  We were all so cold that we might as well be outside - a reminder that Granddad Orville used the place as a refrigerator for a while, on account of its thick walls - while the choir stood in cosy splendour.

Now, I've spoken to the choirmaster (who appointed him?  I'd like to know) about the situation.  He explained that the choir has chosen the hymns - ever since 1845.  I pointed out that he meant 18.45 last night.  He accused me of unreasonably attempting to change the music in the church and said that "some people" (unspecified, he said because I might "get at" them, I think because they don't really exist) only come to Beaker worship because of the choir, and that he, the choir and they would walk out if I stopped them.

It's a tricky situation, needing tact, diplomacy and empathy on both sides.  So I think we could be in trouble here...