Imagine the scene. It is a warm Sunday evening at the beginning of May. The setting is a typical Norfolk flint church. (Tall tower, Decorated nave with clerestory, aisle Perpendicular; the whole restored - a little heavy-handedly - by the Victorians.) The sun has just reached that point when its light shines more horizontally than it does vertically, casting shadows of tracery across the tiled floor. Inside and out the walls glow gorgeously in its light.
The dominant sound is the chorus of birdsong. Blackbird, robin and goldcrest weave their harmonies together. Wood pigeon calls unto wood pigeon. A pheasant, perhaps surprised by a deer, squawks as he rises from the sea of oilseed rape beyond the churchyard.
Joining this hymn to the creator comes a different type of antiphony. The parson intones, ‘O Lord, open thou our lips.’ A choir responds, ‘And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise.’ The music is Ayleward’s, Organist of Norwich Cathedral in the 1660s. This counts as ‘early music’ nowadays, but the building in which these harmonies echo was a good three centuries old when he wrote this, and there was probably a church here three centuries before that.
The service proceeds without announcement. Psalm. Old Testament Lesson (Authorised Version, no less). Magnificant. New Testament Lesson. Nunc Dimittis. All the while, the sun is sinking into the azure-orange sky. Creed. Responses. Collects. And, ‘in quires and places where they sing,’ the Anthem. By the time the priest raises himself from his stall for the sermon, the sun has aligned itself perfectly with the lofty west window. The light is at its most exceptional, as if God is looking favourably on those who lift their hearts and voices in praise and worship.
This bucolic scene sounds far too good to be true. Choral Evensong is hard to find outside cathedrals and choral foundations, let alone in a village with a population of less than 500 souls. However, the only untruth in this account is that it was not the parson intoning the responses, but me. (The priest-in-charge here, Robin Stapleford, now has, I think, thirteen parishes in his care. He deserves an evening off.)
The church is St Martin, Hindringham. It’s a handsome building, rising above the village as you approach from the south. The Norman chest in the chancel is the earliest of its kind in the country. Pevsner calls it ‘the great pride of Hindringham’. But Pevsner had never heard the choir.
The man behind all this is James Thomson, whose home overlooks the churchyard. James is a teacher at Gresham’s in nearby Holt. He gathers these singers from the wider school community and beyond. Mark Jones, formerly Director of Music at Gresham’s and now organist of the parish church in Holt, directs. James and his wife, Lenny, treat everyone to a hearty kitchen supper afterwards round a big farmhouse table. Indeed, the whole thing is a family affair. James’s father (also James) produces the order of service. His son, yet another James, sings bass and is often found at the organ.
There’s a lovely link here with my parish in North London. James (middle) grew up there, and himself began his life as a chorister in the choirstalls. James (senior) was Head Server back in the day, and probably has the most vivid memories of my longest serving predecessor, Francis Lampen, who died shortly after he retired in 1981. James still comes back to serve the Wednesday lunchtime Eucharist when he can. The Thomsons are all very excellent company, and have become good friends.
I would challenge you to find this quality of music in a village church, other than the summer festivals at Edington and St Endellion. What is most impressive is that these singers – the youngest of whom are still teenagers – willingly give up their Sunday evening to sing here. The quality of their musicianship belongs in a cathedral or greater church. (I can think of plenty of musicians of this standard who would consider a village church beneath them.) As a result, the people of Hindringham and the surrounding villages are treated to music the like of which has probably never been heard in this country church.
By the time we left, fed and watered, the sun had finished its descent and darkness had fallen. It was hard not to think of a verse from that most beloved of Evensong hymns, ‘The day thou gavest’:
The sun that bids us rest is waking
our brethren ’neath the western sky;
and hour by hour fresh lips are making
thy wondrous doings heard on high.
As it happens, this choir will be singing the same repertoire in a few weeks’ time at Norwich, on the cathedral choir’s ‘dumb day’. If you’re in the ‘fine city’ on 25 May, do go and hear them. Better still, come to Hindringham and hear them here.
Comments