It was Monday evening, and as I stood in front of the Royal Cinema I knew I had misjudged the weather. It was getting cold. In one way, cold was fitting, for the Choir would sing Christmas carols that night, and it promised to be dazzling. Still, I should have brought more warmth with me, as certainly the church at Paul wouldn't provide it. The doors would stand open, to help defeat the Virus.
'M's car pulled up, and I jumped quickly in (the cars of St Ives don't wait), and he accelerated up the hill.
"Y'alright?" he asked kindly.
"Oh yes!" I said. "Always, on a Monday night."
Presently he slowed, and then stopped in a place called Nancledra, where Choir member John lived. He climbed aboard, and we repeated our greetings all around. I said something about how cute his village was, and he gently corrected me, saying that Nancledra was not a village, it was too small to be a village. It was a hamlet. A hamlet is a handful of dwellings out in the country, with possibly a pub but no churches, Inns, or shops (I murmured that you wouldn't get many women into a hamlet). A village has shops, and pubs, Inns and churches, and more dwellings than a hamlet would have. And probably more women, Ha, ha.
So, in general, you have:
-a hamlet
-a village
-a town
-a city
And do you know how they define a city? It is a large town that has a Cathedral. A city cannot be without its Cathedral, and I think that is splendid.
St Ives is a town - a large town, but without a Cathedral. So it cannot be a city.
By the time we had settled all of these differences, we had arrived. For some reason there were a lot more observers that night. I am often the only one, and when they rehearse down in Mousehole (a village, by the way), I am invited to sit on the stage while the men sing at me from the audience. It felt funny to me, but to the men in the Male Voice Choir, it was as normal as apple pie.
The Christmas carols were beautiful. I recognized many of the lyrics, but not the music. British carols are often different to the American versions, maybe because the Americans switched things up a bit. They sang:
At the very end, the president of the choir introduced a choir member who had been singing with them for 71 YEARS! Since 1950! They gave him a lovely enlarged photograph of the Mousehole Harbour (adorable, it really is), and then the clapping and cheering! It went on and on, and he was so pleased and honored, it was the absolute sweetest thing! What a lovely way to end the evening.
We drove at a tranquil pace down from Paul to Mousehole to Newlyn, to Penzance, to Nancledra where John got out, and then back to the Royal Cinema in the town of St Ives.
"Next week, then?" M asked.
"Oh that would be terrific. Thank you!" and I hopped out and away, down the hill toward the main road and through the tiny cobbled streets to my cottage by the sea. Unlocking the door, I flew in and put on every article of clothing I could find. My, but it was shivery.
I looked again forlornly at the folder which contained directions of how to operate this cottage - the microwave, the oven, the hot water heater, the refrigerator, the television - and the HEATER - the one thing I had NOT been able to figure out. If you could see that instruction booklet you would understand me. It's not possible. And because the company is 'short on staff' at the moment, emergency calls only.
But I've got my trusty woolen blanket from The Minack Theatre, which will make a world of difference. In the meantime, I think - perhaps a hot water bottle..?
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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