Breakfast was immediately followed by a short service in the glassy chapel.  Despite my father’s best efforts, I was still unable to read music but, all the same, I was immediately given a stall in the choir.  Day after day we belted out the manful and melancholy hymns that have been the staple diet of Church of England services for the last century, but what I liked most was the sense of teamwork and the slow-motion, antiphonal singing of psalms.