A wandering scholar : the life and opinions of Robert Roberts

urn:iso:std:iso:639:ed-3:eng

66-68

text excerpt

It was Christmas morning and hoary winter reigned supreme.... It is yet but six in the morning, but the parish church is filled with a throng that would cause a strangerto think that the speakers in the last chapter had little cause to complain of thin churches. But this unusual concourse was no mystery to the people of Llangammas. For was not this the Plygain, or Christmas Matins, the service at which the aspirants for musical honours exhibited their skill in carol singing to the assembled parish?... 

[T]he parson makes a pause at the end of the Venite for the first batch of carol singers. This being the breaking of the ice, there is a good deal of hesitation before anyone finds the courage to begin.... Just as the vicar was giving them up, and turning over the prayer book to the Psalm of the day, two miniature choirs, from different parts of the church, start together, - one singing a lively carol on “Belleisle March” and the other a dismal dirge to the tune of “Cowheel”. For a few lines a hideous sort of Dutch chorus was carried on between them; the vicar hid his face in his surplice, and seemed to press it pretty closely round his ears. However, the lungs of the Belleisle March's party were the strongest, the Cowheelites sat down discomfited and sank into obscurity, and the conquering party marched through a dozen long stanzas with great satisfaction to themselves if not to the audience. The the Psalms were read and another carol followed, this time a solo  by Robin the Tailor.... Robin started with great confidence but he soon found that he had pitched his tune too high, and thereby came to signal grief. But a Deus ex Machina appeared in the shape of Robin's father, a “musicker” of some note, who called out from his seat three or four rows back: “Thee are too high Robin – try it in G, Robin – here’s my pitchpipe for thee." So saying he hands to Robin a wooden instrument like a moderate sized barometer: Robin takes it in hand, blows thereon a wide sounding blast wich does duty for G and starts afresh, no ways discomposed. Indeed,no one seemed to think that there was anything ludicrous in this bit of byplay. The performer and listener alike preserved the most exemplary gravity throughout. The rest of the carols, half-a-dozen in all, were got through without anything noteworthy.

excerpt from 'A wandering scholar : the life and opinions of Robert Roberts' pp. 66-68 (422 words)

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1532950192898