I grew up in a relatively new coal mining village about four miles from the town of Wrexham in North East Wales (now a city). Early road maps identified the village as a ‘model village’. The mine owners developed the village with a series of wide avenues, a central area of shops, cinema, boys club, church, and a garden of remembrance. Subsequently, the local council added housing stock to meet the demand from miners moving from many parts of the UK for work.
I was appointed organist of my parish church at the age of 17. Facing me, as I sat on the organ stool, was a small plaque stating that the organ had been rescued from a bombed church in Diss, Norfolk. What was the story about this church. Clearly, an early German raid had been responsible. As I write this blog I wonder if there is anyone still living in Diss who can remember the raid or were told about it by their parents or grandparents.
Originally, the air was pumped through the organ pipes by bellows, but all properties in our new village had the luxury of electrical supply generated by the colliery. The BBC organist Reginal Foort was invited to play the organ at the service of dedication. Years later, I met his brother Brough Foort when he was posted to RAF College, Cranwell, where I was stationed. We sang in the college church choir together. I was deputy organist at the College.
I was organist at various churches (and on various organs!) wherever I resided from 1954 until 1980 and there is nothing more satisfying than accompanying a church full of worshippers enjoying singing a popular hymn or carol. I have published a set of four poems – ‘TALES FROM THE ORGAN STOOL’ in BOOK THREE of my POEMS BY AN OLD CODGER. It was difficult to choose one to end this blog.
I hope you enjoy this poem. If you do, then tell your friends about my poems, or better still, go to AMAZON BOOKS and buy a set. Proceeds are going to THE BRITISH RED CROSS UKRAINE APPEAL.
FROM THE ORGAN STOOL – 2
Organs come in all shapes and types,
Some for home and some with fake pipes.
Pipe and reed and theatre Wurlitzers,
Now, electronic with many sounds and mixers.
My childhood home had just one family room,
But held both piano and organ at one end.
Our ‘American Organ’ had played many a tune,
Air is sucked through metal reeds, so will not bend.
For clarity, Harmoniums have air blown through,
Organists must pedal as they play, that’s true.
Both have pedal operated bellows, to drive the air,
But more, paddles pushed out by knees, the pair.
This increases the volume of sound on its way.
Organists play, pedal, with knees going out sideway!
I mention these facts for one good reason,
Stationed at RAF Cosford, teaching things technical,
The camp had closed for the Christmas season,
So, services held at the adjacent hospital chapel.
I was asked to play for the midnight Eucharist,
A touching experience; converted ward at its best.
A small harmonium stood on the polished floor,
Military floors are polished to perfection and more!
A rousing carol was on the service agenda,
Needing plenty of air to send the sound asunder.
I pedalled hard; my knees well spread,
The sound heard by a patient in a nearby ward bed.
Then slowly my stool started sliding away,
As I pedalled with earnest, so keen to play.
The more I pedalled the further I slid backwards,
Away from the keyboard, paddles, pedals, music, words!
Over enthusiasm and fervour never pays,
Just keep a steady pace in all your ways.
Mistakes will occur if you rush in headlong,
From running a mile to singing a song.
Copyright 2023 Neil Davies
………….
I hope that you have enjoyed this poem.
If so, please tell your friends, and better still, buy my books.
Proceeds from the sales of my books are going to –
The British Red Cross Ukraine Appeal
Thank you,
Stay safe,
Neil.