Never Kick Up A Fuss

 It looks like an innocent little country lane, doesn't it? I have walked down it tens of times over the years with no shocking consequences. I love it. It is where I sing out and nobody can hear me practice with the Choir Master's Voice Files. 

But yesterday, it didn't feel innocent or little anymore. I felt little. And certainly I am little when compared with a dark gray sedan only a year or two old. 

I was walking along when I sensed a car approaching from behind. Every walker/runner knows what to do in those cases. You squidge to the side of the road or lane, and get as far back from the car as possible while they pass. This, I did. I knew the game. But perhaps my strange driver didn't, and suddenly I felt the left rear tire GOING OVER MY TOES! 

I screamed and the car stopped. The man got out and said, "What happened?" 

"You ran over my toes!" I said with some heat.

"Let's have a look," he replied. So I took off my socks and shoes and we peered down at the poor little things.

"Does it hurt?" he ventured.

"Yes!" 

As I put the socks and shoes back on, the man said "You really shouldn't be walking on lanes, you know?"

I found this ridiculous. Everyone walks 'on lanes', and can walk on lanes. The lanes were there long before cars were, and there are laws about letting people walk on them.

I will now draw a veil over the fact that I did not speak up for myself, and did not make a fuss. I had been brought up to not kick up fusses, and besides I was in a state of shock, and watched the man drive away. A good Samaritan came by and showed me where the Stennack Surgery was. Then:

*I was told at the surgery that I should go to the Penzance ER for an x-ray. When I told the nurse about the man driving away, she called him a bad word.

*My good friend from the church choir collected me and drove me to Penzance. 

*My phone battery died, leaving me cut off from humanity

*No one at the hospital would help me charge my phone. They all asked me if I had brought my battery charger. To which the answer was, No.

*I had the x-ray.

* It showed no injury or breakage. 

*I was released. 

*A member of the Mousehole Male Voice Choir who works at the hospital saw me (he is their greeter at rehearsals and makes sure the visiting Roadies have comfortable seating. He is just swell!) and asked what had happened to me. 

*I told him. When I came to the part where the man had driven off, he didn't call the man a bad word but HE WANTED TO.

*The choir greeter was kind enough to give me a ride to the Penzance railway station! So in a wonderful circle of choir dynamics, here's Hip Hip Hooray! for the choirs of Cornwall. One took me to the hospital and the other took me out of it!

And that is, I think, the end of the story. But what do you think of this idea: Maybe they have CCTV out on that country lane. The Brits are awesome on television with their CCTV and I always wonder how crooks are ever able to successfully rob, cheat, or steal anything at all, with CCTV staring at them the entire time. Maybe I should ask. 

*(whom should I ask?)

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

His Name Was Michael

I walked up the steps to the top of a hill, and saw him. He was an elderly man, struggling, breathing hard, and in need of help on this hot and sultry day. In time I found that his name was Michael.

"Shall I carry your bags?" I asked. There were two bags, and they were big.

"Okay," he said, and I retrieved one bag. Great Scott! That bag seemed heavy enough to injure a much younger man. I set it back down.

"Michael, I am going to get us some help. Would you like to sit and rest on this step?" He did, and in no time there was a small army surrounding the man. We seemed to gather them like a rolling snow ball - except that a snow ball would be melting in all this heat. 

The men said things like,

"Of course!"

or, "Love to help!"

or, "What can I do?"

The younger men carried the bags as Michael clutched his stick.

 "I should never have gotten so many groceries in Hayle."

"Hayle!" I said. You went all the way to Hayle?"

"Well, I did. On the bus." We walked in silence, for a while. Then finally, ""I don't know what I would have done without you." he said. "I was at the end of my rope before you came along."

When we reached his home, the little army went their way as we talked about what we should do next. 

Michael said, "I have a daughter in Carbis Bay."

"Let's call her!" I chimed. 

And we did. Then had a nice 'cuppa' because for the Brits, it will always be Tea. No matter what Michael or anyone else goes through on any given day, tea is the:

Universal Remedy. 

Liquid Therapy.

Comforting Beverage.

Universally Offered in time of need.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The Garden Party

"But - I have an event!"

It was 5:00 pm, I had just dragged my bags into the new cottage, and the Vicar's Garden Party would begin at 6:00. But there was no hair dryer.

The lady on the other end of the phone said,  "I'm sorry about that, Madam, but as you see in the fine print, a hair dryer will not be provided to your cottage. Don't you have a Tesco or a Co-op or something like that where you could nip down and purchase one before the event?"

"I would love to be able to 'nip down' and purchase one. But I have no car to nip. And the garden party..."

"I'm sorry, Madam, but the fine print.." 

We were getting nowhere, and it wasn't really the lady's fault. So I gave up, forgot the hair dryer, and started walking. The Vicar would be waiting.

Have you ever gone to a Vicar's Garden Party? I had come close once, but it was to the Lord of a Manor's kitchen where we were offered cake and coffee. A Vicar's Garden Party would be something altogether different.

I was nervous, a bit, not being sure how one behaved in Vicar's gardens when one is the only American there. But I peered around until I saw Margaret, one of the Alto's from the choir, and attached myself to her. It was the exact right thing to do, because she instantly introduced me to everyone within ear shot, and we were on our way.

The garden party wasn't really that different from gatherings in American back yards. People stood about chatting and laughing, eating potato crisps served out to us by the Vicar's children. They were enchanting. The Vicar lit the BBQ and the choir Master's wife told me about their children who are wonderfully musical, and that she is a niece of JRR Tolkien! and one of her children was named 'Reuel' because of that.

 At some point I needed to find the restroom so the Warden's wife indicated where I might find it. 'Might' is the key word here, for I did not find it. But I did see the downstairs rooms and was thrilled, because the rooms were very like my HGTV shows that tell all about how to replace tile with hardwood and walls are crisply white. It was all so thrilling that I forgot why I was in the house in the first place. Someone finally came and found me.

Eventually the wind became even more of a gale, so after eating a lovely dessert I had never had before (a layered mouse/chocolate item) Margaret and I said our goodbyes and she gave me a ride back. We both agreed it had been a wonderful Vicar's Garden Party, and I told her the Vicar's children reminded me of some other wonderful children from over the Pond, whom the SconeLady very much misses. 

A life with British people and British customs in it can be jolly nice, I am finding. The choir Master's wife glanced over at me while I was explaining something about American people to a small group of British people. She smiled, and I felt that little things like that can cover a multitude of talking heads.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

 

Perfectly Heavenly

(As I write to you, there is a scary thunder and lightning storm out over the sea, directly in my line of sight. My, that is noisy). 

Cats of St Ives:

It has been years since this perfectly heavenly white cat has let herself be seen by the SconeLady. The one and only Tourguide Tony apparently sees her a bunch because they share the Memorial Garden whenever Tony brings a crowd. But it is my turn now and I got a dandy of a video. I am beyond thrilled! See below.

Meanwhile, people have been dreadfully shocked by the heat wave today. Did you hear about it? I don't know if it went far enough to actually make people in St Ives faint, as it did at the end of May (apparently the people in St Ives have never been to southern California). 

Today was a day for visiting Jean, but when I got up it was already too warm for me. I got ready anyway, ate breakfast, and ran in the direction of the bus stop called The Malakoff. It would have been a great idea to check the bus timetable ahead of time, but I live in a world where everything will simply happen the way I want I to. 

So I missed the bus.

Trudging on up the hill I checked the wretched bus timetable on my phone, and discovered that I would miss every bus every time there was a bus. When I finally reached the care home and tapped at the door, the manager tried to smile and look pleasant, but failed.

"It is awfully early, Madam," she uttered, checking her watch. "Jean is still asleep."

"Oh. Well I came early because it is going to become hotter the later it becomes."

She did not acknowledge this brilliant statement, but said I should "come back in an hour". By now I realized how smart it would have been to check the care home's timetable to see if it matched mine (but I presume you know what kind of a world I live in).

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

 

More Things I See

The people of St Ives last night gathered to watch the sunset. It is different than with a sunrise. There is hardly a soul outside during a sunrise, because the sun rises at around 5am. You won't catch a tourist outside their bed at 5am. 

But the sun sets at 9:30pm, and tons of people go and watch it. It takes place only a short distance from where the sunrise happened that morning. Isn't that cool? 

Just in case you haven't heard it yet, the heat has arrived! I can't believe the difference this has made in our current crop of tourists. They and their dogs are once again out in force, searching for shade, ice cream, and sun screen. Weather is the main topic of conversation, because no one can think of anything else to say.

When the heat happened, the surfers instantly grabbed their boards and ran, flopping into the waves with huge grins on their faces. They are just about the only part of the population that is happy while hot. Who cares about sunburn? Not they!

The Rather Stunning Son,

surfing at Porthmeor Beach, 2024

UP

What I did was to creep out of my little white cottage early, and head toward the greenest of pastures. My favorite area on the way up, inside and out, is Tregenna Castle, where it is always lovely and cool. You can stop for a coffee or an iced coffee in one of the cafes there, and then wander at will through the thick foliage. 

Whenever you want to get away from the heat and crowds, just remember there is always the Castle where it is quiet, cool, friendly, and has no seagulls.

Speaking of which..

There is a small crowd sitting right now outside my window eating pasties and hiding from the seagulls! Eating and hiding, eating and hiding. I get it. You have to be just as cunning as a seagull if you expect to survive in St Ives. The crew of tourists out there changes whenever one group finishes their lunch, then another crew brings their lunch, and hides under my obstruction. I don't mind it because they are out-smarting the seagulls, and there is always something magical about that.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

This Town Of Riches

Everybody's dreams came true today, dear Readers. The rain has gone! and in fact it is seriously hot. People are wandering around town sweating, and in a few cases, swearing. 

But of course the mood is generally cheerful. About the only down side was last night during the Evensong church service. The choir members felt as if they were wearing an individually heated sauna tent, and taking them off was not an option!

This morning I crept out of my cottage to catch a glimpse of this new phenomenon we had so eagerly waited for. The sea was flat and I was once again the only happy wanderer in town, and it was sweet.

The Evensong service had been sweet, too. To prepare, we had rehearsed the pieces for weeks, not only at the Tuesday evening sessions, but we had been provided with printed music and voice files to listen to. These files had me walking the heights of St Ives singing with the choir Master on the tenor parts. I came upon the ponies one morning while blaring out Psalm 46. It was brilliant! 

Each portion of the service rang beautifully clear to us all. Whenever it became time to stand, or to sit, or to begin a new song, the choir Master's wife looked at us with a huge smile (reminding us to smile back). We did. I think my favorite part was singing the Responses. That is where the Vicar sings "Oh Lord, open Thou our lips", and the choir responds with "and our mouth shall shew forth Thy praise," which reminds us that our worship originates with Him. We don't make it up. Again, brilliant. 

At the end when the choir stood about in the Vestry talking it over, I said, "Oh dear, I am going to miss those songs now that we have performed them."

The choir Master's wife said, "Well, you don't have to miss them. We will do them again!" She explained that they keep them at the ready for another Evensong down the road.

So there is that worry put to rest.

Here at the end of my post is a clip of the choir Master's organ playing. It is always a tremendous way to end a service, when everybody sits and listens to him play for us. 

My, oh my. Such riches in this town of riches. 

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

 (For the past half hour I have been aware a sound coming from outside my window. The window was open, to let in the lovely summer sunshine in. But - the sound finally penetrated my consciousness, and alerted me to what it was. Rain. It was RAIN!! So much for dreams coming true.)

A Red Letter Day

 

Stuart the Fisherman

"Hey, I should be able to find you a Fishermans Friends concert next time you are over," said Stuart the Fisherman last year.

"What - really?" I was truly shocked. A concert! With the Fishermans Friends? I had seen them perform 3 times and had about had a conniption every time.

Public glimpses of my favorite singing group are just about impossible, but for someone like Stuart the Fisherman, who is Cornish through and through, and who is friends with everybody here (even the Fishermans Friends), the word 'impossible' does not apply.

I remembered this, and waited through the year. I was not worried because even if nothing happened, just hearing that it might was quite exciting.

Today when the blue skies broke out above St Ives, I got out a pretty blue chair to sit on and have a cup of tea and cake. Resting my feet on the outdoor steps, I took a bite and watched the boats across the harbour. Then I suddenly recognized one of the boats. It was a yellow boat. Stuart's boat is yellow! 

Not knowing that my phone was at 3% battery (typical), I began to run! Down the pier I sped just as Stuart was lifting a gigantic plastic container filled with something creepy. You never know what a fisherman might be carrying in those things.

A tourist was mooching around on the pier, and asked Stuart what was in there. The container was strangely active, the lid sort of bubbling up and down. You will not believe what Stuart said. 

"Octopus's! Tons of Octopus's!" (He might have said 'Octopi'. I don't remember.)

"Eeeeeeeeek!" I squeaked. And jumped back.

By now I had noticed my phone battery was at 1% so I quickly snapped two shots of Stuart and the moocher before the phone died.

Here are the two shots I got. Can you see the tentacles stuck to the container lid??? Is that not the creepiest thing ever? 

He had never caught Octopi before, and neither had anyone else on that pier. So this was a Red Letter Day.

I did not like those Octopi's. Stuart had on rubber gloves and plunged his hands in and out of the squiggly mess. (They stuck on his gloves. Oh, man).

I feel about them the way I do about Huntsman Spiders and centipedes. God has a strange sense of humor.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Taming A Seagull, 2

 

Yesterday we acknowledged that there would be no more wild swims this year. 2 out of 3 of us cheered. 

We had developed a swim ritual over the years, so we knew what to expect from every single swim, every single day. It always began with the SconeLady going off for a 2 mile walk, then having cups of tea together, then all of us lurching upstairs to change for the inevitable torture session.

Our ritual had expanded now to include the very sweet and kind Swedish couple. But no! today there would be no sweet and kind Swedish couple. They would be packing. They would be getting the boys up. They would be having their breakfasts! And they would not be coming out to the harbour to train their seagull. 

So I was walking my lonely way toward Smeaton's Pier when I saw what I did not expect to see. The sweet and kind Swedish couple!

"Good morning!" said the husband, shocking me out of my reverie.

"Good morning!" said the beautiful lady. A grin made its quiet way onto my face, and then stayed there.

"No swim, today?" asked the smiling man.

"No, no swim," I answered. "They must all go home."

I heard a squeak, and looked down at their feet on the granite pavement. There stood a quiet and strangely well-trained seagull. 

Their seagull (honest!).

"Oh, there it is again!" I said, sounding almost friendly to it. The lady held out some morsel of interest toward the gull. It took it, then looked up again at the lady expectantly.

"I have not really liked sea gulls - in the past," I said hesitantly.

"Oh?" asked the lady.

I explained that our granddaughter had been scared by the sea gull who had dive-bombed her ice cream. 

"Oh, how awful for her!" she commiserated. "It all comes of having too much food on the Harbour.." This I knew to be true. You should just SEE the amount of consumption that goes on around this place. Ice creams, Cornish pasties, cheese-tomato baguettes, scones, and who knows what all else. Pizza too!

When it became time for them to leave for their breakfasts, I said, hopefully, "You'll be back next year!"

"Well, one can never really know what might happen," said she. But - I hope it will!" 

Then they went, climbing the stairs to their balcony flat overlooking my favorite 3 cottages on the sand. 

I glanced down at the seagull, as it watched them go.

The bench where a seagull learned.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Taming A Seagull, 1

 

Afternoon tea at the Ugly Butterly is not for the faint of heart. Come hungry.

We were ready for it partly by having plunged into the harbour tides at 7:45 that morning. Anyone who does this richly deserves a gargantuan afternoon tea. Every morning we have plunged in this way, and every time 2 out of 3 of us wonder what in the world we think we are doing. 

To distract ourselves, we have begun watching out for the lovely Swedish couple who sit on the Harbour beach each morning, watching the sea gulls. The lady is beautiful and has actually tamed a sea gull (honest!). As soon as she and her husband sit down on the bench, this sea gull comes out. When it comes out, it looks straight at the lady with its head cocked to one side as if figuring out who this gorgeous creature is. 

We always pause at their bench (effectively putting off the inevitable plunge), and hear their encouraging words about what we are going to do in the freezing waters. They say things like, "We are proud of you for your splendid bravery!" 

Or, "We wish we could go in there with you!" 

Or, "These tiny birds will eat out of our hands!" 

We love their accents and their cheerful faces. It will be hard when they are no longer sitting on the harbour bench training the birds.

We went, we plunged, we screamed (not!), then suddenly felt a rather strong current beneath our legs. Hmm. 2 out of 3 of us don't like currents, strong or otherwise, so although I did get into the water up to my neck, I was actually sitting on the harbour floor. Man, were those shivery waves! 

So that is how we prepared for our afternoon tea at the Ugly Butterfly. Here are some photos of our darling meal:

The Ugly Butterfly (last year it was located in Carbis Bay, but they have moved now to Newquay)

I must apologize to Ted for obliterating his head.

(Mentioning hair, there is no way to keep one's hair fixed in Cornwall's current weather. Bangs are always in the upright and locked position).

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

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