Reading Phoenix Choir, Christopher Enston, accompanist  January 2002 - January
2014.


When still a school pupil, I happened to turn on the television one evening to catch
the tail end of a choral competition called Let the Peoples Sing. As I watched,
the winning choir was about to sing the programme out and off air, and that was
my first ever glimpse of the Reading Phoenix Choir, conducted by Norman Morris.
My current association with RPC can be traced back to January 2000. I had just
started my new job as Director of Music at Bearwood College, and literally ran
into Norman two weeks into the new term. He was in Bearwood Theatre starting off
an evening rehearsal for Bearwood Opera, and I was in the classroom next door
teaching a late GCSE revision group at 7pm. I turned around to close the
classroom door and there he was, seeking me out. He knew of my appointment
before I even knew he lived around the corner. He got straight to the point and
asked if I would be available as an organist for the choir if he needed one. I
agreed, and I next heard from him in the summer term asking me to attend a
rehearsal in June in anticipation of a BBC broadcast for September. This was to
be a live broadcast on Radio 4, from Bearwood College Chapel, of a service led
by John Bell of the Iona community.


These occasions don't half concentrate the mind, and that pesky little red light
summoning everyone's attention is a source of utter, cold fear. When it is on,
you are live across the United Kingdom and beyond, and boy, don't you know it.
Your brain snaps to attention and you alone are responsible for your own
salvation at the stroke of 8am and your fingers hit those keys. It really does
take self control to keep calm , even when a producer waves a card in front of
you giving silent instructions to note that a prayer is coming next, not a
reading, before your final organ solo. All did go very well on September 9th and
off we all trotted to Mary Sefton's for breakfast, to listen to the recording
and feel pleased with ourselves. This was the first of several broadcasts with
Phoenix, some recorded for Radio 2's Sunday Half Hour, with producer Claire
Jaquiss, and another live one on Radio 4 for Christmas 2001. By this point, I
had become familiar with choir members and Norman had been waging a relentless
campaign to get me to join the choir, but up to now I had successfully resisted.
However, everyone's clear friendliness, and Norman's demands for attractively
high choral standards wore me down and I joined in January 2002. So began a 12
year period with an ambitious choir, two demanding conductors and countless
venues I would otherwise have missed, not to mention the many friendships I have
made. Exciting opportunities came with the BBC'S Songs of Praise programmes,
three of them in fact, with the endless takes and the perfect Phoenix diction
very characteristic elements of these occasions. The reward, I found, was seeing
my name whooshing up the TV screen in the programme's closing
credits!


The sheer volume of activity of, and the necessary commitment to, Reading Phoenix is
only to be understood by its
members. This was a good way too, it seemed to me, to employ my musical skills
and experience productively and add to them further with a choir and conductor
who knew what they were doing. My role has constantly been to juggle between
remembering where to stand on the risers, what to sing next and when to get off
and find the piano or organ for the next piece. No exceptions are ever made with
accompaniments, you just play what you're given.


The instruments have varied hugely in the many venues, some pianos too loud, some
too old and the organs have posed even greater challenges. Many has been the
time when - up to my last day with the choir -  when a clear sight line from David
Crown to the organ has been a challenge. More recently, playing completely
'blind' has made a virtue out of necessity, resulting in some unexpectedly good
ensemble work between David' s conducting, the choir and my playing, despite
not seeing one another! Norman's style, with complete sang
froid if he couldn't see me, was first to talk to the audience, then shout
in full voice down the church, "Are you there, Chris?" to which came the reply
from behind a huge Victorian pillar, " Yes, Norman!"


An accompanist's work has its moments of unscheduled anguish and terror too - no
matter how much you practise beforehand. Norman made endless arrangements, in
his own hand, photocopied and stuck together back to back with tape. One such
was 'Love is the sweetest thing.' We were a good way through it, I turned the
page and, oh bother, the tape had come apart through frequent use, the papers
divided to reveal........ two blank pages! My panic was like a bomb going off,
turning back and forth the wrong way compounded things and Heaven alone knew
where I was meant to be. The choir carried on as my hands improvised something
which didn't quite fit. Lovely.


Norman and David were happy to allow me to play organ solos during concerts. One of the
first 'good' venues I found for this sort of thing was Douai Abbey. There, the
audience can see you, and for once, members of the choir could watch all the
pedal action too - which came as a
complete surprise to some. Dermot said I looked like I was "kicking a football
around down there!" In Axeminster, the organ yet again was completely hidden
behind several tons of monumental gothic masonry. My solo, Bach's Komm Heiliger
Geist, came to an end, and then.....and then..... complete silence. Had they
gone home? Was my playing just too awful? I threw caution to the wind and -  what a cheek 
- I started my own applause! By tradition, the choir does not applaud its
own soloists - something I've never agreed with, but there you are, you do your
work in public and some acknowledgement, no matter from where, is always nice.
This was turned on its head on the York tour with a concert at Huddersfield's St
Paul's Hall, and a fine, modern, glittering four manual organ. The host choir
applauded their solo organist, and
not to be outdone, Phoenix responded with moving spontaneity when I finished my
piece, all the sweeter for its rarity. The organ at Budrio, Italy, is the oldest
I have played anywhere, built in the year JS Bach died - there's a thought - in
1750. My page turner for this event, Silvia Hill, and I had the longest hike
ever to the console. An ancient stone corridor took us upstairs, out of the
church and back again. Still, it was worth it when the Toccata and Fugue in D
minor started up like a Ferrari. The Father Willis organ at 
Cardiff's Eglwys Dewi Sant on the Wales tour is another highlight, a fine
instrument, cherished and well maintained. Christ Church Cathdral's 1971 Reiger
organ in Oxford last August, again a head turning instrument, was a joy to play
with its direct and powerful sound and with a chorus of reeds as blistering as
red hot irons. Another page turner, together with Sylvia, has been Cynthia
Crane. Both have helped me hugely by keeping a watchful eye and ear on the music
to turn a page of complex organ writing at the right moment - and it is not as
easy as some might think!


Latterly, David's undeniable achievement in raising the standard of the choir was not
wasted on anyone, least of all the accompanist. Witnessing the rising level of
demand expected from everyone in the choir soon made me aware that I had better
follow suit at the piano and organ and rediscover those qualities which make a
performance musically compelling rather than merely 'good'. There were
opportunities aplenty to match this challenge from the opening crescendo of
Evening Hymn and the stately procession of Zadok - all the right notes in the
right order no matter on what organ - to the rhythmic certainties of
Ching-a-Ring and Make a joyful noise. With Bach's Lobet came a transposition
test down a semitone thrown in for good measure, oh yes, reminiscent of the FRCO
exam. Solos too were given a good dusting down to present them at their best.



My final Phoenix concert at St Clement Danes, London, in January 2014 - a matchless
gem of a building by peerless Wren himself - seemed to crown (forgive the pun)
my time with Phoenix, with its majestic Harrison organ high in the gallery. Even
at the very end, with choir and conductor out of visual range of the organ's TV
monitor, I had to 'feel' when the choir breathed, phrased and finished the Irish
Blessing. Thank you, dear Phoenix, for outstanding musical moments too numerous
to count and which will be difficult to equal in the future.


 
 

 
 
  

 
 
  
 


 
 v

My experiences of Penrhos College, Colwyn Bay, span a brief but joyful period from September 1997 to July 1999, in fact, the final two years on its enviable, elevated location directly over looking the sea. This was a watershed in my career, being my first appointment as a Director of Music. The area, too, held many happy memories of childhood holidays.

Facing the challenges of a girls’ school with its long established and cherished traditions gave cause for not a little anxiety. Knowing nobody, I had taken up residence in the last weekend of August 1997 and decided one evening to do some organ practice and generally get to know my way around the place. I had not been sitting at the 1925 Rushworth and Dreaper organ for long when into the Hall came a young lady, lively, confident and articulate and who so obviously knew Penrhos. She said she had thought it best to introduce herself and we shook hands and that was that. I thought, oh, a member of staff, how friendly they are here. Alicia O’Leary had omitted to tell me that she was, in fact, the new Head Girl.

Such was the labyrinthine structure of Penrhos College, a great fortress network of corridors, staircases, roof-scape turrets and countless classrooms, not unlike Castle Gormenghast, all raised on its proud cliff-top site in varying styles from the 1880s to the 1980s, and given that my accommodation was in Top Main, (top floor of the main building over South Entrance), it was perfectly possible to spend one’s entire day indoors, never having to go outside or a give a moment’s thought to the weather. This unusual internal existence soon became rather too much for me and the one sure thing to counter any feelings of claustrophobia was a brisk bicycle ride most evenings up to wind-swept Rhos-on-Sea, or even gracious Llandudno along the next bay, just to get a blast of fresh sea air!

Decorating the length of the Music corridor with a string of coloured Christmas lights proved a popular decision among staff and girls alike and made the place look very festive. We even managed in 1997 to get a Christmas recording of ‘Ding Dong Merrily’ by the Chapel Choir broadcast on Classic FM. Rosalind Powell was nominated the Guardian of the Music Wing, while Kerry Marshall became honorary Music Assistant. Another post of responsibility went to Sarah Somerville who made it her task to turn on the sound and lighting for assembly in the Hall every morning. There was never a better Mistress of the Illumination.

Taking my distinguished A Level Music class - Kerry Marshall and Rosalind Powell- down to the promenade for an ice cream or two from the kiosk was such a jolly daring wheeze, not regretted for one moment, and one to do Bessie Bunter proud. This necessitated a careful choice of escape route in order not to be seen by the ever-watchful Headmaster from his strategically located, first-floor, sea view study which could easily have doubled as an air-sea rescue command centre. Using the main North Entrance drive past the main games field, Hockey One, would have blown our cover immediately, so we sneakily chose the more discreet public footpath going under the footbridge. I have to say an out-of-hours ice cream never tasted more delicious than during an actual teaching period.

Living in the main building brought with it a weekly obligation. My task on Thursday nights was to patrol the entire building - boarding areas excluded - to lock ten doors and extinguish any lights. A colleague, Martin Fenn, and I once had a competition to see which of us turned off the most switches, just to relieve the monotony. I can’t recall the outcome, but I do remember reaching a total of 128, giving an idea of the scale of the task. One such evening at 1.30am, after completing my duty and while watching some late television in my room on Top Main, I decided to collect some provisions available from the staff dining room two floors below. Annoyingly, I found the landing and staircase lights all back on, and while puzzling over this irritation my eye was caught, at the far end of  Miss Nelson’s corridor, by a mysterious figure in the half light charging straight for me, brandishing a hockey stick. I stood firm. No, it was not the ghost of legendary Headmistress Rosa Hovey, but Mr Allen, the Headmaster, who just stopped himself in time from clobbering to death his Director of Music to say an intruder had broken in and tried to break down the Medical Centre door where Mrs Brereton lived. This was a worrying and potentially dangerous incident. However, some maintenance staff assisted in the thorough search but no-one was found on the premises.

The Music Department always seemed a good day’s trek away from the quaintly named Salon by the South Entrance, where an oasis of endless tea, cakes, sandwiches and more tea and cake would appear like clockwork every afternoon at 4pm. In order to fend off thirst, malnutrition and starvation in the Music Wing I decided to institute an oasis of my own, commandeering a practice room and commissioning from Kerry Marshall a new door sign telling the world where to find ‘The Happy Teapot’.

Six days a week the whole school assembled in the Hall for prayers which followed the same pattern each day, a hymn, a Biblical reading and prayers with a sung Lord’s Prayer to finish: not a hugely complicated task for anyone, you would imagine. However, more than once I forgot to get the Lord’s Prayer music ready at the start. It was not usually announced and so, after realising with embarrassment that I had forgotten and missed my cue, to the amusement of the choir, I had to fumble and flap like a lunatic in the cupboards by the organ console in a frantic attempt to get the book open at the right page in about three seconds.

On one occasion a visitor wanted to meet me, that is, according to the deadpan Sarah Somerville – straight after the end of term Speech Day service. Sarah could not have delivered her monotone lines better for the RSC, leaving me utterly convinced that a visitor was indeed waiting. I went downstairs in haste to find the ‘visitor’ – but, how strange, no-one was about. My fatal mistake was to have left my door unlocked.

I returned to the Music Office only to discover I had been truly hoodwinked -  the room had been festooned with balloons, streamers, a lot of shaving foam, several empty vodka bottles and a note telling me what a jolly lively party I had just missed!


Are you an Old Penrhosian who remembers any of this? I'd love to hear your memories in the comments below.

On Saturday 18 May, I enjoyed the rare privilege of playing the organ at the Royal Albert Hall.

The visit to the RAH had been organised by Mrs Wendy Gosling – a Mathematics teacher at Bearwood College – who exchanged many emails with the RAH administrators. We were offered a choice of dates and set off armed to the gunnels with organ music, cameras and recording equipment. 

Having seen and heard it on television and radio, and live in concert, the organ is an integral part of the hall and possesses both legendary and iconic status. Built in 1871 by ‘Father’ Henry Willis, and not quite complete when Queen Victoria opened the hall in that year, the organ is the second largest in the United Kingdom with 9,999 pipes, rivalled only by Liverpool Anglican Cathedral in first place! Since 1871, it has been played by every leading organist on earth, from 
Victorian virtuoso W T Best, the French composer Camille
Saint Saens to our present day players such as Simon Preston, Gillian Weir,
Carlo Curley and Thomas Trotter.


When a pipe organ is built on such a scale as this, it does not fail to inspire awe
and wonder in anyone who stands nearby, gazing up at the towering 32 foot front
display pipes framing the three huge golden arches of the organ case, which echo
the architecture of the Hall itself.


In 2002/04 the organ received an urgently needed restoration - part of the Hall’s
general refurbishment - and £1.7 million was promptly found to carry out the
task. Prior to this, its condition was so bad that
any public performance had needed the organ repair team
-  Harrisons – at hand in the Hall just in case of a breakdown.



At the stage door, my parents, Wendy and I met the jolly porter at his desk. This
gentleman had clearly missed his calling ‘Live at the Apollo’ as he regaled us
with his merry banter and excessive references to Welsh rugby victories. We were
then greeted by the Hall manager, Mo, who, in her brisk but friendly manner told
me in no uncertain terms that I was not to break the organ during the next two
hours. She was then happy to hand over the key to the console and left us to our
own devices. This is when we ran into the first unforeseen, major difficulty.
Having switched on the organ, I soon discovered something which made me feel I
would rather have stayed in bed. Not one of the 36 pedal stops would produce a
single note! This is catastrophic for an organist, as most of the repertoire
becomes unplayable! What to do?! The clock was ticking and the pedals were silent. Mo had disappeared into the bowels of the Hall to prepare the stage for
Eric Clapton, and had seemingly abandoned Mr and Mrs Enston senior, Wendy and I
to a ship with no life boat! This switch, that switch, pulling stops in, pushing stops out. Nothing worked. Nil desperandum, I could hear my father say
in such situations. Wendy thought quietly to herself, while I babbled
incoherently, and then she calmly switched off the organ, waited a few seconds
then switched it on again. This worked! Pedal notes thundered forth, announcing
their unmistakable presence. With a look of triumph on Wendy’s face, we
continued on our mission.



I sat myself on the organ bench facing the four manuals (keyboards) and a
seemingly bewildering array of beautiful ivory stops to my right and left, which
reach high up above my head on both sides. Each manual has ten pre-set pistons
under the keys to enable swift stop changes, and a further bank of twelve
pistons, called ‘Generals’ -  very
useful indeed – located above the fourth manual. More pistons again surround the
foot well and pedals. The ivory stops number nearly 200 in all and are
categorised according to tone quality - Reeds or Flues - and which division they
operated of the four manuals – Choir, Great, Swell and Solo and finally the
Pedals. Each of these has its own Reed or Flue section clearly labelled. Non
speaking stops – those with a connective function, or to couple higher and
lower octaves together are engraved in red.
 


 
To settle myself, I began by playing some straightforward Welsh hymns in order to
reach a comfort zone as quickly as possible, ‘Rachie’ and ‘Cwm Rhondda’ were
chosen. As there was so much to try to understand and I did not have all day, I
simply got on with using the pre-set pistons to choose sounds with which to
play. The loudest stop by far is the Tuba Mirabilis on the Solo manual - this
would give the QE2 siren a run for its money.



I had brought with me some famous pieces, the first of which was Widor’s Toccata
in F. General piston number 12 seemed to obey the command for full organ for
this, while Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor made its stately procession
around the Hall, with increasing volume en route. Garth Edmundson’s glittering
‘Vom Himmel Hoch’ is like an aural representation of Niagara Falls with a
coruscation of notes tumbling down. A set of Variations on a Welsh Hymn Tune by
T J Morgan, however, proved challenging to balance the sounds I wanted. I
included ‘Jerusalem’ for the Bearwood College mp3 file, and finished with Saint
Saens’ Improvisation no.7.



Throughout all this Wendy was never still for one moment,
recording tracks on the ‘Mac’ laptop, taking some video shots and photographs.
She even brought the video camera to the console to record my feet and hands in
full swing. During our visit, several tour guides came in and out of
the building with about ten people listening to their guide, and to
me. Time flew by far too quickly, and as the final minutes of my time approached, the
Welsh National Anthem rounded off the morning.


 
I have to thank Wendy Gosling for being so willing to be the contact with the
Hall’s administrators and for securing this golden opportunity to play, in this
great building, one of the finest organs in Great Britain.


  Victorian virtuoso W T Best, the French composer Camille Saint-Saëns to our present day players such as Simon Preston, Gillian Weir, Carlo Curley and Thomas Trotter. 

When a pipe organ is built on such a scale as this, it does not fail to inspire awe and wonder in anyone who stands nearby, gazing up at the towering 32 foot front display pipes framing the three huge golden arches of the organ case, which echo the architecture of the hall itself. 

Between 2002 and 2004 the organ received an urgently needed restoration – part of the hall’s general refurbishment – and £1.7 million was promptly found to carry out the task. Prior to this, its condition was so bad that any public performance had needed the organ repair team – Harrisons – at hand in the hall just in case of a breakdown. 

At the stage door, my parents, Wendy and I met the jolly porter at his desk. This gentleman had clearly missed his calling as he regaled us with his merry banter and excessive references to Welsh rugby victories. We were then greeted by the hall manager, Mo, who, in her brisk but friendly manner told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to break the organ during the next two hours. She was then happy to hand over the key to the console and left us to our own devices. This is when we ran into the first unforeseen, major difficulty. Having switched on the organ, I soon discovered something which made me feel I would rather have stayed in bed. Not one of the 36 pedal stops would produce a single note! This is catastrophic for an organist, as most of the repertoire becomes unplayable! What to do?! The clock was ticking and the pedals were silent. Mo had disappeared into the bowels of the hall to prepare the stage for Eric Clapton, and had seemingly abandoned Mr and Mrs Enston senior, Wendy and I to a ship with no lifeboat! This switch, that switch, pulling stops in, pushing stops out. Nothing worked. Nil desperandum, 

I could hear my father say, and Wendy thought quietly to herself, while I babbled incoherently, and then calmly switched off the organ, waited a few seconds then switched it on again. This worked! Pedal notes thundered forth, announcing their unmistakable presence. With a look of triumph on Wendy’s face, we continued on our mission. 

I sat myself on the organ bench facing the four manuals (keyboards) and a seemingly bewildering array of beautiful ivory stops to my right and left, which reach high up above my head on both sides. Each manual has ten pre-set pistons under the keys to enable swift stop changes, and a further bank of 12 pistons, called Generals – very useful indeed – located above the fourth manual. More pistons again surround the foot well and pedals. The ivory stops number nearly 200 in all and are categorised according to tone quality – Reeds or Flues – and which division they operated of the four manuals – Choir, Great, Swell and Solo – and finally the Pedals. Each of these has its own Reed or Flue section clearly labelled. Non speaking stops – those with a connective function, or to couple higher and lower octaves together – are engraved in red. 

To settle myself, I began by playing some straightforward Welsh hymns in order to reach a comfort zone as quickly as possible, Rachie and Cwm Rhondda were chosen. As there was so much to try to understand and I did not have all day, I simply got on with using the pre-set pistons to choose sounds with which to play. The loudest stop by far is the Tuba Mirabilis on the Solo manual – this would give the QE2 siren a run for its money. 

I had brought with me some famous pieces, the first of which was Widor’s Toccata in F. General piston number 12 seemed to obey the command for full organ for this, while Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor made its stately procession around the hall, with increasing volume en route (go here to hear a recording of this). Garth Edmundson’s glittering Vom Himmel Hoch is like an aural representation of Niagara Falls with a coruscation of notes tumbling down. A set of Variations on a Welsh Hymn Tune by T J Morgan, however, proved challenging to balance the sounds I wanted. I included Jerusalem for the Bearwood College mp3 file, and finished with Saint- Saëns’ Improvisation no.7. 

Throughout all this Wendy was never still for one moment, recording tracks on the laptop, taking some video shots and photographs. She even brought the video camera to the console to record my feet and hands in full swing. 

During our visit, several tour guides came in and out of the building with about ten people listening to their guide, and to me. Time flew by far too quickly, and as the final minutes of my time approached, the Welsh National Anthem rounded off the morning. 

I have to thank Wendy Gosling for being so willing to be the contact with the hall’s administrators and for securing this golden opportunity to play, in this great building, one of the finest organs in Great Britain.

Do you have any favourite Royal Albert Hall memories? I'd love to hear them in the comments below.

Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod has a special and personal resonance for me going back many years. As a child, a day trip from Coed Talon Primary School first introduced me to this colourful, cultural phenomenon which, to an eleven year old, presented a fascinating mixture of strange languages, foreign visitors, exotic costumes, autographs to collect and sugary doughnuts. 

A little later, as a teenager, my energy was channelled and focused by the allure of the Llangollen piano competitions – in 1974 the Junior Piano Solo first caught my eye through a great friend and musician, Tim Jones, who was also competing, and he suggested I should try. A little later, the Adult Piano Solo looked equally attractive, fired up as I was by earlier success at the first time of asking. It seemed for a time – a Golden Age – that the month of July would herald an annual family pilgrimage from Treuddyn, over the Horseshoe Pass, to face an array of adjudicators. Kenneth Wright, Solon Michalaedes, Sir Thomas Armstrong, Roy Bohana and Arnold Lewis were to be names I would remember for rewarding me, or not, for my various piano performances on the legendary stage. 

During this period, the organ was firmly established as my first instrument of choice among my musical studies, but it never occurred to me that there would ever be a place or opportunity to perform at Llangollen – so close to home, and yet so international. The first and unexpected chance to do so came along with an invitation from the Music Office to become the Official Organist in July 2001, with a brief from Eulanwy Davies to provide live music for the audience to enjoy from 8.30 am, playing for the early arrivals; during the day between competitions; filling gaps for missing competitors; music before the concerts; the National Anthems; the audience hymn singing and Auld Lang Syne. 

Annually I have come armed with music cases crammed to bursting with organ music to fulfil this task, keeping in mind what to play and when, what the audience will enjoy, not playing something too often during the week, always leaving some repertoire untouched until the approach of Friday or Saturday. 

As this role developed, it became apparent that some pleasant idiosyncratic elements would make themselves known. Early morning arrivals have the pleasure of observing, at their work, the mighty Floral Committee, tending the epic displays. The organ has traditionally always been located in the front among the flowers and, consequently, I have had occasion to compete for personal space with some inquisitive bumble bees and butterflies during some Handel organ concerto. Visitors and acquaintances have also made their presence felt, literally, at rather demanding moments – even when my brain is fully engaged with a Bach Fantasia – with a hearty slap on both shoulders and a “Well done!” or, during an all-hands-and-feet-experience fugue at full steam ahead, some casual remark might be, “Did you enjoy last night’s concert, Christopher?” placing their face between mine and the music! 

Loyal audience members love their traditional seating positions – like children in a classroom – and I soon learned which of them had a good supply of toffees or Mint Imperials to keep me going. 

The stage presenters are always a joy, and regularly give the audience a good ‘heads up’ when the organ is about to begin. The late Robin Jones encouraged the hymn singing by assuming the role of conductor and enjoying every minute. The best ever audience singing I experienced was in July 2008 at the Choir of the World. While the adjudicators were out, 4,000 people needed little encouragement to raise the roof with ‘Calon Lan’ and ‘I bob un sydd ffyddlon’ sung like never before. 

Live broadcasting on S4C from the Eisteddfod brings its surprises too: a young USA teenager in 2001 had lost his folk song piano accompanist, and I was called upon to play for him at four minutes notice – two to practise with him, the next two to get on stage and play for him, knowing the cameras were ‘on’. On one occasion, my wallet had been found on the floor beside the organ. My mother was watching on TV at home: Robin Jones announced the owner’s name, and Mam found out I’d lost it before I knew it was missing! Another year, BBC Breakfast was broadcasting its morning weather forecast from the Eisteddfod field. An alarmed stage hand hurriedly asked me to stop the organ playing I had just started, as it was clashing with the forecaster’s commentary. But, too late, I had been heard live across the United Kingdom!

Do you remember me playing at Llangollen? The organ is sadly no longer part of the Eisteddfod so I'd love to hear your memories of earlier times.