The Farewell

 

Standing in front of cute Mousehole Harbour

Amazing Grace

We made our way toward Mousehole Harbour last evening, blanketed by the gleaming sea and sky you can find only in Cornwall. We did this in order to listen to our favorite choir, in concert, in all their glory. Just getting there and finding parking was a tough-ish job, (thank you Rosie), but absolutely worth it because the Mousehole Men are great. 

Once the drive, and the parking, and the (short) walk along the harbour were accomplished, we began to hear voices. In 4 part harmony, and then in 6 part, the favorite song of millions rang out across that harbour. "Amazing Grace".

As they sang, my eyes drifted across the faces. I know a lot of them. Several have driven me up the hill to the church at Paul on Monday nights, and I am loyal to them for it. You have heard how fun those rides are, and how the men riding along always kept us current on the latest.

Last year I got to know Jeff, a choir member who struggled with cancer but didn't let it keep him from singing. He rode along with my kind driver Matthew, and had a sweet attitude to this crushing situation. 

Last week I noticed that his spot in the car was empty.

"Where is Jeff?" I asked, fearing the worst.

"Jeff is very poorly now," said Matthew. "In fact, I'm sorry to say that he has only 3 days to live."

John, Matthew, and I let the car settle into a silence as we thought about Jeff's kind smile, and his humor, and the fact that he never complained. At the end of the concert, the director shared with the audience what we did not want to hear -  that Jeff had passed away. His favorite song had been "You'll Never Walk Alone", and the choir chose to sing it to Jeff as a Farewell.

(please turn up the volume, for I was a distance from the choir)

The concert had begun with Amazing Grace, and ended with "You'll Never Walk Alone". 

They could not have chosen better.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Eat

One huge highlight of a trip like this one is how much fun it is to eat. I love to eat, and I think it is fun because we were created to do it. Even Ruprecht was created to do it. That is why it is sad when people feel compelled to look at food as if it is some sort of enemy, when it is not an enemy at all. It is a lovely friend.

During my first two St Ives weeks, my food choices were relatively simple because I was alone. A sandwich here, a bowl of soup there, and they were all really good. But on week 3, my British friends joined me and opened the door to a great change, three times a day. None of this sandwich and soup business. Our only trouble was having too MUCH choice. The number of restaurants we are surrounded by beggars the imagination. 

 Last night we ate at Ardor. 

Tonight it was Harbour View House.

Tomorrow for the Sunday Carvery it will be The Badger, in Lelant.

Later in the week it will be The Ugly Butterfly, for an afternoon tea. And these are not by any means all. There will be more.

Tonight we started by looking at the menus, discussing and choosing what we wanted to eat. I'm afraid I don't have a menu to read to you, but I will check with friend Rosie later who will remember every single item we had. But it almost didn't matter, because all of a sudden the most beautiful two voices wafted our way. They were young (20's). They were beautiful. They smiled. And they sounded like angels.

We were treated to the most lovely little concert in the Harbour View House, with the sea shining behind them (there was a plate glass window all along the back) and the spectacular sky above. The young man introduced his sister, and then played the guitar and sang with her in the most talented fashion. We were instantly hooked.

When it became time for us to leave, I asked the two of them how I could access their music. They did not have a way, yet. I said how much it had meant to me that they were a brother/sister group. And then as we moved through the door, a beautiful blond woman stopped to tell us that those two wonderful young people are her children! 

Her face shone as she told us how proud she is of them. How she loves going to their engagements. And that if we want to find out a little more about them, I should type "Globaljamming" into Google or facebook. This was promising! and I shall try it but not just yet, because I am supposed to be in my bed right now.

Do you mind?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Other Things I See

This is the only cat of St Ives I have seen this trip. It was sweet, and just like Opal back at home. (I wonder if this one stands at its owner's big window and yowls until the owner finally comes out looking cross?) Apparently both this cat and Opal live for one thing, and one thing only: being fed. There are two cats living with the Rather Stunning Son back home, who also live to Eat. They are called Two Scoops and Ruprecht. This black cat of St Ives has kept her trim figure, but Ruprecht has taken "Eat" to a whole new level. 

This is the last full day in this, the second cottage this trip. We learned that the Queen came to St Ives some years ago and held onto these hand rails as she walked along. She must have had to be very careful walking on the cobblestones of St Ives. It would be terrible if anything untoward happened to her Majesty.

I like hearing about the Queen, and indeed I miss the Queen, now. During her year of Jubilee in 2022, I was here when she celebrated her 70 years as the first Monarch to reach this milestone. People were happy about this accomplishment, and had many celebrations to honor her. 

I was also here during the time of the King's coronation, which was a bittersweet day; you had to lose one person in order to gain the other. 

Secretively, and personally, I switched one of the words of the National Anthem, during the St Ives' celebration. (I whispered, "God Save The Queen" instead of you know who).

If I ever could I would want to live in this house, one of Rosamunde Pilcher's homes. In her book  Coming Home, it was called "Riverview", and Rosamunde described it so precisely that you would have to be blind as a bat not to notice it was Riverview. That's the thing about her; she makes you want to live in all her book houses.

 Every day I climb up to the tippy top of St Ives so that I might see everything. The hills are amazing, and steep, but I don't care. I am used to it! The air is crisp and sweet, up there. 

When I have achieved the tippy top, I come to the ponies. The ponies are always waiting for me and are the most adorable creatures with locks of hair that hang down between their eyes. Maybe they are nice to me because they think I have a treat in my pocket. I never bring any carrots or sugar cubes to them, though,  for that would be against the unspoken Rules.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Organ Has Pipes

 They call it the 1907 Hele Organ, and you would never believe it is over 100 years old. We might expect an organ that old to wheeze, or at least to cough or something. But it does not do that. It just soars.

The people who play this organ have been brought up studying it, practicing it, performing on it, and loving it. One might say they eat and drink it, for such is the food of souls. Today we had an organ recital at St Ia Church, and the Hele Organ was truly in its element. 

The performing organist today was one Martin Palmer, of Truro. Martin studied the organ, cello, composition and conducting at London's Royal Academy of Music (it doesn't get any better than that!), while singing with the London Philharmonic Choir. Imagine being able to immerse yourself that deeply into music! I have mentioned on this page before that I was brought up in church choirs and playing organs, but nothing like the riches of the London experiences Martin had.

The 1907 Hele Organ

I must mention our father, who was a wonderful singer himself and provided lessons in piano, organ, saxophone, flute, French Horn, trumpet, and so on. And he expected us to practice. We did. I think it drove him a little bit crazy listening to us playing our instruments in the other room. He had perfect pitch, and knew what something was supposed to sound like!

"No! It's a B-flat!" he would shout in our general direction. 

I recall that as a 7th grader, the band director at school, Mr. Crandall, placed me in the high school band. I played French Horn, and was taking lessons from a professional Horn player who had only one arm. She and I worked on the music Mr. Crandall gave us, and one day it was time for me to do the solo that was the centerpiece of the song. 

None of the students knew what we had been working on. I was pretty scared, as the band approached that place in the song. And then it was time, and I played it. Heads turned. Mouths dropped open. The two most popular girls in the school turned around and stared. Nobody could believe that solo was being played by a 7th grader! Mr Crandall kept directing me and together we, with the whole band, were in the middle of something bigger than ourselves.

I tell you that little vignette because it is my one example of significance a tiny bit similar to Martin Palmer. (I liked the mouths dropping open part..)

Oh - and here is a little something about Martin Palmer that I think is terrific. This morning he woke up and saw it wasn't raining or windy, so he got out his bicycle and rode it to the recital, stopping along the way in Portreath to gaze at St Ives 16 miles away! Just then, a storm broke through and he was drenched! 

But he made it to the organ recital, and played his heart out. 

It is summer season in Cornwall right now. Sometimes you will be walking down the street and hear something beautiful floating out in your direction. If you hear it, go in. Go hear what these people have been working on with you in mind. It's all part of St Ives in the summer.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Them Mousehole Men

The church in Paul

 I was beginning to think the chapter in my traveling life entitled "Mousehole Male Voice Choir" was about to close. This felt sad because I like them so much. They are altogether a different kettle of fish than your church type of choir. First, they come to rehearsal with a Cornishman's full head of silver hair. How they achieve this I may never know (do you know?), but it is noticeable to the people who are lucky enough to be in the same room with them. It's a real Wow factor, as Simon Cowell would say.

Their voices range from deep bass to high soprano, and under the direction of Steven, they are guaranteed to give listeners the chills. But the Mousehole men themselves do not call attention to it. They just sing, and then laugh in between songs. They don't seem to have a noticeable 'ego' factor. It's sweet.

Over the years I have been given lifts to MMVC rehearsals faithfully by the Mousehole men. These rides were as good as the practices themselves. You get to catch up on the various members, and these catch-up sessions are great fun. Pure laughter to the church in Paul, and then back again. 

(I have tried to include a video of the men singing, but this is proving not to work for me right now. I'll keep working on that tomorrow!)

But lately, due to their health issues and family needs, I was not finding myself heading up the hill to Paul. Until now! Now, I am excited to announce that tonight I get to ride up that hill once again. I won't forget my blanket because the church in Paul is a COLD place, and once you get cold, it's hard getting un-cold. There will be other folks there to listen as well, some whom I will recognize from years past. I hope I get to see the elder gentleman who takes a bus from central Cornwall (25 miles) which has a very complicated set of stops and bus changes. He has to leave the rehearsal before it is over because he must catch the last bus. He doesn't care, though, because getting to hear the choir is worth any struggle.

It will be terrific climbing back in the car of the kind man who is happy to pick me up, and will never let me pay for petrol. I always hand it over and he always politely declines. Sweet!

I promise to take pictures for you, and pick up as much 'news' as I can. Not gossipy news, though, because they aren't like that. They are a family, and share like families do. 

But mostly, I am eager to hear the opening chord of the first song of the evening. I don't know what song it will be, but I can guarantee that there will be goose bumps.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Robes and Incense

 

I love that I get to sing in a church choir 5,500 miles from our home. Having grown up in a Baptist church and been in their choirs down the years, there isn't a lot I don't know about Baptists. But there is a ton of stuff I don't know when it comes to high church Anglican.

And I wanted to do it right, and not make obvious mistakes everyone around me will hear. So at the Tuesday night choir practice, the choir Master and his wife gave me the books and music you see here on my table. Just LOOK at the numbers of things I would need to learn! I carried it all back to my cottage, and gave myself a massive tutorial I hoped would do the trick.

The choir typically has a prelude, three hymns (sung by the congregation and the choir), and an anthem. Sometimes more, sometimes less. So those were my tutorial topics, and I rehearsed every day until the music and the words started taking shape in my mind, and heart. 

This morning the only way I could get those heavy books to the church was to put them in my travel roller bag, and pull it up the cobbled hill to the church. As I came in the front door an hour early (as a singer for many years, I had the habit of arriving hideously early :-), I saw another roller bag going down the aisle too. I felt right at home!

Our choir Master and his wife were out of town, so there was a substitute organist. He was terrific, sounding a lot like the organist in The Sound of Music, as the nuns sang "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"

Someone whispered, "He isn't wearing any shoes!" which made us all discreetly look, confirming that indeed he played the organ shoeless. 

It was a wonderful morning for so many reasons. I didn't make mistakes everyone around me could hear. The soprano voices soared in exactly the right places, making us all grin from ear to ear. The Processional made us all jump because we were sitting right next to the huge organ, and that opening chord was a real doozy. 

Standing with all the other choir members, listening to the sermon, noticing the congregants singing their hearts out too, all of this made the practicing and praying worth it all. What a lucky girl I am!

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Some Of The Things I See

Sometimes I stare out the lovely window and watch the Luggers chasing each other, while eating a chicken sandwich with mayo on it and a pile of vegetables.

When during the first week it did not rain, I was able to stare for ages at the "Island", and remember why it is that I keep coming back.

Every day I munch on delicious pastries without worrying about calories, because people who walk long distances don't believe in them. 

Most mornings I walk up to Carbis Bay where friends instantly put the kettle on so we can all have tea.

No matter where I go, the scenery is always breathtaking and never boring.

Sometimes I sit at my window eating a Cinnamon Bun like the ones in Oxford and London. My most fun thing to look at is the church where I will sing in the choir tomorrow.

People in Truro near the Cathedral took the time and money this year to fix up a block of flats that had seen better days. 

The reason I was in Truro today is that I needed to get makeup. Why did I run out of makeup so quickly as to need a makeup store after only one week? The truth is that I had put it off until we were inside the Cybertruck heading to the airport!

So I boarded the train today and enjoyed the rain-less ride to the cathedral city. The makeup store lady was quite exquisite when it came to finding what I needed. I needed quite a lot, and could just about see my husband at home watching his laptop as I made my purchases. Ka-ching! went the lap top. 

"Do you need anything else, Madam?" asked the makeup lady.

"Yes," I said, and then ka-ching! went the laptop again. I shall draw a veil over the next hour. (because did I mention needing shoes?)

When it became time to get back on the train, the conductor's voice rang out over the Station. He was dreadfully sorry that a tree had fallen onto the tracks, and we would not be going home any time soon. The announcer said that they 'might reimburse the passengers'. I had heard this before after sitting for hours on a dead train, and saw not one penny of reimbursing. 

The announcer said we could 'go down to the basement' to learn how to apply.

Not really wanting to see the basement, we sat around the railway station, wondering what would become of us. Doesn't it take a long time to move a tree? 

Eventually another announcement was made that caused the passengers to make a dash for the Penzance train. But I had dozed off! I very nearly missed the train! I would have missed it had not some kindly person shaken me gently by the shoulder and said, "Ah, Madam?" 

He said it in that kind, British, civilized BBC male voice, the type that makes you want instantly put the kettle on. 

"Your train, Madam," he said, and disappeared.

How come Americans never say "Ah, Madam" like that?

See you along the way!

the SconeLady