I love singing. Mum was so taken with this that she arranged for me to have lessons with a mad lady called Miss Langford, who wore a lot of scarves around her neck and on her head and favoured a v v red lippy and hair to match. She was actually lots of fun but I think she was usually a bit squiffy by the time I arrived. And then one day she was gone: upped and left without any warning. Gran likes to say that Miss Langford had saved enough ‘running-away money’ by then and left with the Raggle Taggle Gypsies(o).*
Now I concentrate on the choir. It’s run by Mr Bell and he loves the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t always love the sound of everyone else’s. That was the problem with Dixie. She is v v enthusiastic when she takes on a project but she can’t hold a tune. It still took Big Ears Bell twenty minutes to find who was making that ‘horrible screech’.
‘Is some poor creature in pain?’ he asked, though none of us felt he was that concerned about whoever was suffering because he added, ‘I know I am.’
He made us all belt out a hymn and he sneaked about, wincing and passing comment on all the sounds he heard. He used the word ‘offensive’ a lot. Dix and I were hiding up the back so we were in the final examination when she was discovered and ‘cast out’ as she reported it to Uggs.†
I actually thought I might die laughing throughout it all and Dixie really enjoys telling the story of her short career as a chorister, complete with her trademark caterwauling.
The great thing about Mr Bell, though, is that he makes sure we all take things seriously, like warming up our voices before we sing. I find that relaxing too. We don’t lie around on the floor doing the breathing exercises any more though, because most of us were so relaxed one day we fell asleep and he said that was ‘counter-productive’. So we do our breathing and then our scales and then we sing. I think that’s why I hum a lot when I’m stressed: it calms me. Also, breathing is handy for staying alive, so it’s probably good to practise it too.
The best fun at choir was when a dance teacher, who uses one of the other rooms in the school for classes, came in to suggest she collaborate with Big Ears on an interpretive piece and he nearly fainted.
He clutched his chest and gasped, ‘Making it up as we go along? Anarchy!’‡
I think if he could have said, ‘Begone,’ and turned her into a frog he would have: instead he settled for, ‘Madam, please leave.’ Then he had to have a break to gather his ‘shattered nerves’.
Dixie was still in the group at the time and she does a brilliant re-enactment of the incident.
I’m sort of using choir practice now to prepare for singing in public solo because if I do anything at home there’s nowhere to hide. The Quinns are a nosey bunch.
