CAMBRIDGE MUSICAL EVENINGS

In the course of my visits to Peterhouse, Cambridge, to visit Selwyn Tillett and talk G & S, I gradually got to know a number of his friends. A few years ago the departing organ scholar, Michael Graves, gave a sort of farewell party in his rooms, consisting of an informal concert of "bad" Victorian music, and given for a few invited friends including myself. This concert was to a great extent organized by Selwyn, and subsequently he began to give more of these delicious evenings, which became larger, more ambitious and more frequent, till they became almost a tradition. Another tradition was that somebody should sing "Come into the garden Maud," at some stage in the proceedings, as a surprise item, always by a different person, and always unannounced.

One of the best of these concerts took place on Saturday 11^th March 1978, which included the first ever performances of three songs from a new setting of Gilbert's His Excellency by Dr. Adrian Matthias, a Don of Peterhouse. All these ''dos'' are tape recorded, and on this occasion Selwyn had thoughtfully placed the recorder next to Fr. James Owen, a loveably eccentric clergyman, who muttered witticisms all the way through. Comments and witticisms were the order of the evening, particularly references to any falling music being "part of the act". At the previous soirée, Charles Nettleton, halfway through a superb rendering of the first movement of Weber's “Grand Duo Concertant for Clarinet and Piano” had the misfortune to have his music stand collapse, sending a very graceful cascade of music papers on to the floor. After he had picked them up and the audience had stopped laughing, he continued as though nothing had happened. Fortunately no mishaps occurred on this occasion. The star of the evening was Stephen Perrins, a quaint, idiosyncratic bundle of talent and fun who had had a trick played on him. He had been told that everybody was coming in fancy dress; everybody else was told that only Stephen would be coming in fancy dress, and he duly arrived wearing crimson silk tails, a black silk waistcoat, knee breeches and white hose. The expression on his face when he learned the truth, had to be seen to be believed.

We kicked off with the "Ode on the Opening of the Colonial and Indian Exhibition" by Sir Arthur Sullivan - this is certainly the first recording of the work, but probably being the first is its main claim (if any) to fame! Then we had "Qui Vive" by Wilhelm Ganz, a brilliant but difficult piano duo, which had been-adapted from a solo with the addition of virtually no notes. Somebody observed that the adaptation was probably owing to the difficulty of finding a pianist with four hands. Then I was on. This is what Selwyn said of my number:- "The plot of The Catch of the Season is slight enough to be negligible. It concerns Lady Caterham's step-daughter Angela, who is a debutante about to 'come out' and of course becomes 'the catch of the season' and engaged to the young rake, Lord St. Jermyns, when she really loves the page, Bucket. And that's it. There are nearly 29 other minor characters, totally irrelevant, including the euphonious Princess Schowenhohe-Hohenschowen. Michael's song comes from the first act and is sung by the Honourable Honoria Bedford, Lady Crystal's younger daughter (!) who is about to 'come out' and has taken up smoking. Of course in 1904 this was considered very shocking. I hope you will be suitably appalled." In spite of Selwyn's notes, I did not perform the song in drag! After a number from the ill-fated opera Jane Annie and a quartet from The Zoo, Stephen Perrins ("casually dressed for the occasion") took the floor with "Shall I be an angel, Daddy?", singing the refrain in a squeaky falsetto, which had the audience in hysterics. Father Owen, muttering and complaining about what a dreadful song it was, sang "The Giddy Butterfly" from Sydney Jones's San Toy, and excellently he sang it too, and Jane Lumbard rendered "The Wren" by Julius Benedict, with John Lotherington (terribly nervous as usual, and quite without reason) providing the flute obbligato. The three excerpts from His Excellency followed, and very interesting they proved to be, with Selwyn belting his lungs out in "A Monarch is pestered with cares" (slight departure from Gilbert's words) over an accompaniment of tin toy trumpets, and triangles, with Charles Nettleton as a busy (but certainly not a common) little drummer-boy. John Lotherington achieved his greatest triumph with "Mary Mary, quite contrary" by Ivan Caryll, from The Messenger Boy which he sang with great sense of humour, milking the audience for every laugh in this really very funny song, (But note, anyone thinking of doing it, it's only in some editions of the score.) Charles Nettleton gave us the second movement of the above-mentioned Weber piece, after which Father Owen was heard to remark "Nice to hear some real music". Stephen Perrins, who had been at the piano for the last two numbers, remained there, and I joined him in singing that famous ditty "The Egg" which we both milked. It was then my turn to do "Come into the garden Maud", again with Stephen accompanying me. This was followed by "The long day closes" and then by a song "All you want for Christmas is a duck" which had been written and composed by Dr. Mathias and was sung by Selwyn and Stephen. Then Neal Wade launched into his euphonium solo - variations on "My Grandfather's Clock" - his keys were clicking somewhat noisily, sounding like a knitting needle obbligato.

A total of five people have now sung "Come into the Garden, Maud" at these evenings. The first was Michael Graves, who unashamedly sent it up, with lines like "and the woodbine cigarettes are wafted abroad", and not singing top notes, left, right and centre, (Michael never could sing). Andrew Smith was in the same vein, but less eccentric. James Owen sang with more accuracy, and with a quaintly idiosyncratic humour, finishing up by singing "I'm here at the gate --", then a look of horror came over his face as he sang "-Alone!" and dived under the piano. Stephen Perrins sent the song up, in his own way, by introducing the names of various members of the audience instead of the word "Maud". I'm afraid I turned the tables on him by singing one of the refrains to him, and pulling his hair on "little head sunning over with curls". It may have helped to cover the difficulty I was having with the top notes.

A great variety of music has been performed at these soirées ranging from the familiar Sullivan to many (deservedly) obscure composers, not forgetting one with the imposing name of the Reverend Dr. Sir Frederic A. Gore-Ouseley Bart. (He'd have done for Gilbert's Picture Gallery). Among the items which stand out in my recollection as "five-star" items were Selwyn, Bob Osborn and Robert Ball singing "Three Little Maids from School" in a squeaky falsetto; Andrew Smith's plaintive (but hilariously funny) rendition of "Father's a drunkard" ("poor little Andrew will die"); Selwyn and Bob singing the Cat Duet, Ann Luff doing a recital of Anna Russell songs, and Robin Angus singing that curious aria "I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home again empty" from Ruth. MICHAEL WALTERS

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