A Catholic in the Cathedral

Some years ago, as I was trying to upskill my musicianship for a career as a

professional singer, a fellow soprano suggested I try out for the Christ Church
Cathedral Choir. I had never considered this choir, having assumed that it was a
boys’ choir, and an Anglican establishment, probably not open to dyed-in-the-wool
Catholics like myself.

I was wrong on both counts, and pleased to discover that there was a stipendiary
position available for a soprano, and an audition was set up.

Mark Duley was director of music in the Cathedral at the time, and I had heard great
things about him from other musicians. On the day of the audition, he explained the
schedule – all day Sunday, Thursday evenings as well, and write-off Christmas and
Easter because you’re going to live in the Cathedral. But I’ve never liked half-hearted
choirs so I was OK with this. For my audition, I sang an aria which he loved, and was
then handed some sight-singing tests. The first one was early music, and I managed it
reasonably well. The second was modern music, atonal and rhythmically
unpredictable, and I crashed.

He hummed and hawed, warning me that I’d have to do a lot of home study to keep
up, and said he’d get back to me. About a fortnight later, he offered me a job.

At my first rehearsal I was togged out in the red cassock, cincture and white surplice.
My hair was very short at the time, and I looked like an overgrown choirboy – straight
off a Christmas card. I was also given a contract and a document outlining how to be
a good Chorister, including rules about not EVER being late, how to process (square
corners, avoid bovine ambulatory styles, never eye up the congregation no matter how
pleasing to the eye) and not to even dream of turning up without knowing your music.

As the rehearsal progressed, I got my first inkling that possibly this choir was unlike
any I had ever been in before. No note-bashing or sectional rehearsals – the choir was
handed 8-part music and just sang it. Before commencing what I would have
previously considered a major work, Mark would issue commands in a whole new
terminology: “11, 4, 5, Decani, take a quaver off the minim, 13, 2, 4, all voices clear
before the bass entry, 18, 1, 4, plus two in the new tempo at the double bar.” Pencils
flew to mark up the commands while I was whispering, “What??” to the person
beside me, who attempted to explain but didn’t really have time. Fifteen minutes
later, having sung through various pieces of the mass, Mark would advise that that
was fine, and we’d run it again on Sunday before the service. We then proceeded to
fly through various anthems, canticles, and a sneak preview at some more difficult
music for Citizenship and Remembrance Sunday and that was it. An hour and a half
later I had trawled through more music than I had done in a year before, and was
completely shell-shocked.

We didn’t bother rehearsing the hymns and the Anglican Chants – time enough
immediately before the service. And yet they were all completely new to me –
exactly what were those dots and underscores in the text of the Psalm supposed to
mean? And, despite having led congregational singing in Mount Argus for over ten
years, I had never heard of these hymns before, that the cathedral congregation
seemed to know so well and belted out with an enthusiasm we never quite manage at
Catholic services.

The rest of the choir seemed to take it all in their stride, and, nearly three years later,
I’m approaching something like that degree of equanimity. But I still find it hard,
hard work. There have been moments that make it all worth it – Durufle’s Requiem
when I was given the Pie Jesu solo; the organ scholar who managed to sneak in hints
of Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is coming to town during the Organ interlude at the
Christmas Midnight Mass; my first Nine Lessons and Carols, when we sang a
programme of serenely beautiful music, contrasted with pieces from all over the
world, including a medieval Dublin piece, complete with Uillean pipes.

I’ll never make an Anglican, and there are still times when I feel like a foreigner in
the Cathedral, but I’ve learned a lot about our fellow Christians and their services in
that time. Music is a real priority in their liturgy – and I subscribe to that belief, that
we should give of the best of ourselves when giving praise. So I’m hanging in there,
sometimes by my fingernails, until someone offers a Catholic alternative, or at least
until I can sight-sing any piece of music that gets thrust under my nose to be
performed half an hour later!