It is 7.30am on a very cold, dark December morning. I unlock the heavy wooden door and step into the vestry. The boiler, desperately trying to pump out heat, grumbles in the dark. I flick on the overhead light, unlock the inner door to the church and step into the darkness and silence of this sanctuary. Fumbling, I find the switch, the dark recedes and soft, gentle lighting reveals the empty space.
I am here for the third time this week, long before the sunrise, to practise hymns, processionals, interludes and finales on the church organ. I change out of my warm, thick winter boots into my soft organ pedal shoes, remove my heavy coat and slip on a gilet, hoping it will keep me just warm enough for the next hour or so, and begin to play.
Within minutes I am absorbed into the music, adjusting choice of stops and manual changes, correcting slips, timing the pieces, processing how it will sound for the service. My fingers are bitingly cold; my feet are numb. From time to time, I must stop to restore warmth into my hands. I slide off the organ bench and stamp my feet to improve the circulation, to little avail, before climbing back up and continuing my practice, determined to make the most of these early morning sessions. An hour slips by. At exactly 9am a teacher from the adjacent school arrives and opens the main doors. The school children are here to rehearse for their carol service. I gather up my music, chafe my hands and ease my cold body off the organ bench, back into boots and coat and retreat through the vestry.
A few days later after two more of these bitterly cold, early morning starts, I am here again. It is Christmas morning and I am playing the church organ for the Christmas Day communion service for the very first time since I began learning the instrument five years ago. This time, the church is brightly lit, warm and welcoming and people are streaming in, regulars, visiting family members and people for whom church at Christmas is an annual event not replicated any other time of the year. All are welcome. I am well prepared and to my surprise able to relax into the joyful atmosphere.
Everything goes well. The service ends. I play my planned Finale. Then realise that there are still many people milling about chatting. I cannot finish playing yet. I fish out my backup piece, not a chorale, or finale, but a Christmas song, which I have not perfected. I begin to play, nervously at first, then I hear a few people joining in, my confidence grows and I reach the last round of the chorus, “Come and share our jubilation, there’s a new King born today!” A small ripple of applause sounds from the remaining few people. I give a nod of appreciation from my perch and relax. Christmas has begun and what an honour and a privilege to provide the music for such an important service of the year.
Article written by: Lynne Saunders M.A., B.A. Hons, CT ABRSM
Lynne Saunders is a piano teacher, accompanist and church organist
