7.     The Audition

Charles, Tris and I stood in a row before them.  I was feeling a little more than nervous.  "Dr Henson, Dr Al‑Hamed, may I present Mark Foster, the candidate for today," Charles said indicating me with a mildly theatrical gesture.  I stepped forward and was immediately heartened by the smiles I received and the warm handshakes.  "And this is his assistant, Tristan Price‑Williams, who will be joining us next academic year dependent on his examination results." Charles turned to Tris and me.  "I'll leave you now and will be back at four‑fifteen for your interview," he nodded at me, "with Professor Tanner."

     Dr Al‑Hamed was obviously in charge.  "You have prepared the required piece?" he

asked  and smiled.  I nodded and said 'Yes'.  He looked at a piece of paper on a clip‑board.

"And you have chosen Mendelssohn, the D major Sonata and the Alain Deuxieme Fantaisie."

I said 'Yes' again.  "Right, then.  Before you start I have to give you some ear‑tests.  What is

your sense of pitch like?"

     "Relative," I said, "But I can usually pitch an A and work from there."

     "Try it," he said.

     I looked at the nearest plaque to concentrate.   I read 'Hic jacet....' and sang out as

firmly as I could.  We were standing just by a grand piano parked under the organ loft.  Dr

Al‑Hamed hit a key.  It was A.  "Perfect," he said.  "What's this chord?"  He played an

arpeggio up on a major chord, then repeated it as a chord.  "First inversion."  I paused and

took a guess.  He was on my side.  "First inversion A major."

     He laughed.  "Yes, an easy one to start.  What about this?"

     This was easy, too.  It was that chord in the Bach.  "Full diminished seventh."

     Two chords followed.  "Tonic followed by augmented fifth."

     He was nodding.  "OK, last one coming up."

     Had he guessed something?  I shivered as the chord rang out.  The chord was so

familiar, the notes as written, F, B natural, D sharp and G sharp.  It was the chord I always

played or heard in my mind when he appeared on the scene.  "That's the Tristan chord," I

said softly, "The opening chord of Tristan and Isolde.  It's a half dominant seventh according

to the books."

     "Show me," he said, getting up from the piano stool.

     I sat and played those haunting rising few notes of the Prelude.  A to F, down a

semitone to E, then that chord.  I played to the end of the phrase.  The seventh sounding

again.  That yearning for fulfilment.

     "I can see that means a lot to you."  He turned to Tris and smiled.  "I can see why."

     He turned back to me.  "I won't spend any more time on those tests.  Anyway, these

days, composers seem to take great delight in devising chords which baffle the rest of us."

     I heard the Chaplain grunt.  "That last anthem the choir sang, Lord only knows how

they pitched half the notes.  Anyway it's my turn."  He came and plonked a hymn book on

the music rest in front of me.  "You say you're a tenor.  Let's hear you sing that part in that

tune."  He pointed at the page.  I knew the tune well,  'Irish'.  He banged a note.  "There you

are key of E, G sharp."  I sang through the whole tune.  He grunted at the end.  "OK, come

Sunday at Matins you find the first bass has lost his voice, the second bass is missing because

he's gone to his grandmother's funeral and the last and only other bass was hit on the larynx

playing rugger yesterday.  You have to deputise as the third verse is choir only."  He hit an E

in the bass.  I dropped my voice and even hit the two low G sharps quite firmly.  He grunted

again.

     I saw Dr Al‑Hamed look at his watch.  "Time to play.  Don't rush.  Have a pause

between each of the three pieces.  OK?"

     I picked up my music and went to the winding staircase closely followed by Tris.  He

patted my arm at the top as I settled on the organ bench and put the Bach up in front of me.

He pressed the button to set the blower motor going.  I waited a few moments then pressed

the pistons to set the manuals and the pedals.  I was off.

     Everything went according to plan.  I made one change.  Just as I was coming near

the end of the Bach prelude I whispered to Tris.  "After the last run add the Choir Cymbel.

I'll nod when."  I knew that would add that extra sparkle to the wonderful cadence.  Spot on.

I was pleased with the result.

     The Mendelssohn went a treat.  I even smiled to myself when the scales and the twos

against threes occurred.  Microbe might get another five pound note.  I played the Fantaisie

with as much feeling as you can put into such a mechanical monster as a three‑manual organ.

Those crunchy, slushy chords were just right.  The soft curlicues of those strange little

Moroccan tunes were flawless.  That lovely French Cromorne was perfection for the short

phrase I had chosen it for.  Tris never faltered as he followed my playing and changed stops

as indicated on my stuck‑on notes.  I did make one error when I misread which piston to

press just as I was reducing the Swell.  Luckily I spotted too many stops popped out on the

Great which was to be used next and quickly pressed the correct one.  I lingered on that last

chord thinking it was a good job I didn't have to analyse it and gently closed the box so all

we were left with was... For some reason Alice in Wonderland popped into my head.  Yes,

...the grin.

     Tris patted me on the arm.  "Terrific," he whispered.

     We waited a few moments then the Chaplain called up.  "Thank you!   Now on the

music box is a copy of "All hail the power".  Tris passed it to me.  Yes.  The tune was 'Miles

Lane'.  A great favourite of Reggie's who delighted in what could be done with it.  "I want

you to play three verses.  First registered for general congregation.  I suggest the set piston

number four.  The next verse just accompanying the choir and the final verse the choir will

be in unison with the congregation and you can do as you please for a few bars to end.  OK.

When you are ready."

     I set piston four.  Great to principal.  I chose some quiet stops on the Choir for the

second verse.  I said quietly to Tris.  "Last verse I need to build so listen."

     Off I went.  A fairly sedate pace for the congregational verse, a bit more rubato and

an increase in the enclosed Choir in the chair case behind me towards the end for the second

verse.  For the final verse I pressed piston six which I knew drew almost all the major stops

and couplers.  I closed the Swell a bit and set off.  Tris was a marvel.  I opened the swell

more and more until it was fully open at the end of the second line.  "Top mixture on Great,"

I instructed Tris, "And then all on Choir and Swell going up."  That reached the end of the

third line.  "Pedal flues and all Great."  Wow that was a build‑up.  I let loose on the held

notes with dashing pedal runs and curlicues of my own in the middle parts.  "Bombarde!"

Tris drew that final sixteen foot reed stop on the pedals and I gave them the full organ for the

final two bars and carried on developing the 'To crown Him' notes over a long held pedal A

flat with some unknown chords and sequences of my devising before resting on that glorious

low D flat which the powerful Bombarde underpinned before rising to the E flat then the A

flat of the final chord.

     I sat back and pressed the General Cancel toe piston.  Tris shut off the blower motor

and we descended to the chapel.  The Chaplain and Dr Al‑Hamed were sitting on the two

chairs just inside the altar rails.

     "You enjoyed that," the Chaplain said as I walked up to them.  "You see how loud it

can be  in here." He looked at his fellow assessor who had his clipboard on his lap.  I could

see the page was filled with small, neat writing.  "Two questions and he's yours again."

     Dr Al‑Hamed smiled.  "I'll go and get prepared."   Tris followed him down the nave

and I could hear them chatting quietly.

     As they walked away the Chaplain said, "I just need to know general things.  It's

correct you are confirmed in the Church of England?"  I nodded.  I knew it was a condition

of holding any Chapel post.  "And your beliefs?  You are happy to conform to the general

tenor of the liturgy?"  I said I was, but I still had doubts.  "True, we all have doubts and it's

honest of you to tell me that now."  He smiled.  "Back to music now."

     I walked to the back of the Chapel.  Dr Al‑Hamed was smiling and Tris was grinning,

too.

      "Second instrument time now.  Get your breath back because you'll need it and your

friend can get some fresh air now."

       I winked at Tris and mouthed 'Thanks" as he passed me to reach the Chapel door.  I

got out my B flat clarinet.  I had glanced at the music already set up on the stand and saw it

said 'Clarinet B flat' at the top.  Dr Al‑Hamed came up to me and smiled.

     "I noticed you dropped the key of the hymn by a semitone."  Yes, it was printed in A

major and I'd played it in A flat major.

     "I'd tried the Bombarde this morning and that bottom D flat just rang out.  I wanted

to use it and I usually play that tune at home in the lower key as the ladies can't all reach an

E."

     He laughed and nodded.  "Two good reasons.  Yes, I agree with the first and I don't

know your ladies, but I can imagine!"   He pointed.  "Sight reading.  That passage and that

one."  Thank goodness, I thought, it's the same book that I've got at home.  Sight‑reading

over Dr Al‑Hamed walked to the piano.  "I see you have the Mozart with you.  Shall we try

the slow movement?"  I changed clarinets and checked my reed was set properly.  I nodded

to him and we started that oh‑so beautiful adagio.  His accompaniment was perfect.  I felt so

relaxed but also so alert.  I remembered all the nuances of Jack Brymer's playing and

managed the runs and the little cadenza impeccably.  I was ready to launch into the last

movement but he stood up and smiled.  I was just undoing my clarinet when I saw the

imperceptible nod which passed between him and the Chaplain.  As I wrapped my clarinet in

the protective duster the door opened and a tall late‑middle‑aged man came in.

     The Chaplain looked up at him.  "Oh, hello James, are we running over time?"

     He laughed.  "No, I'm a bit early and I've been listening outside."  He turned to me.

"You must be Mark Foster, I'm James Tanner."  We shook hands.  This must be the Maths

don. He laughed again.  "You have some very powerful advocates out there."  He turned to

the Chaplain again.  "The Carr twins have been bending my ear."  It was the turn of the

Chaplain to laugh.

     "We'll leave you to it."  He shook hands with me.  "Thank you for coming.  I was

very impressed.  We will, of course, in the words of all interviewers, let you know as soon as

possible."  He turned to Dr Al‑Hamed.  "Come on, Safar, we'll continue this over tea."

     Dr Al‑Hamed gathered up his clip board, smiled at me and shook my hand.  "Most

impressive," was his comment.

     No sooner had they gone out and we had just settled on two chairs by the piano when

the door  handle rattled and the door swung open.  A youngish, sandy‑haired, thin‑faced man

came in, spied us and came over.

     "Didn't expect to see you here, Tanner.  Harvard this time?" he said in a rather

peevish manner.

     "No, Simon, it was Yale," James Tanner said very evenly.  Even I could sense some

hostility here.

     The other man sniffed and looked at me.  "I don't know if you're one of mine.  The

Bursar's Secretary seems to have made more errors than usual."  He consulted the piece of

paper he was holding.

     "I'm Mark Foster," I said.  He hadn't attempted an introduction.

     "Yes, Foster, I see."  He looked at James Tanner.  "I got diverted by those noisy Carr

twins.  I told Adam to do me another essay before term started as the last one only deserved a

beta.  Chattering away, he took not a blind bit of notice. There was that so‑called Servant of

the Chapel there...." He looked around.  "This place should have been closed down years ago.

Drains money.  All that could be usefully diverted..."  He looked at me.  "The other one.

Friend of yours?  Blond, pink and rather sweet?"  He gave a nasally laugh.  A good imitation

of a nanny‑goat.  I realised I was not supposed to answer.  He consulted the piece of paper

again.  "Foster."  He ran his finger across the information there.  "Yes, I know the school.

South of the Thames." I was given what could only be construed as a disparaging once over.

"I suppose you're one of the thick autumnal leaves that strow the brooks of Balham

Broadway?"

     I'd had enough.  Stuff Cambridge if this was what you got!  I hesitated, the others

weren't like this, though.  I must have had an adrenalin rush from the afternoon and I wasn't

cooled down yet.  I  couldn't stop myself.  I looked at him and said carefully with as chilly a

voice as I could muster.  "I would prefer to be strown in Vallombrosa and I don't think I'm

particularly thick."

     He was taken aback.  Not only by someone with knowledge of the error in the

Hansard Report  but of Paradise Lost as well, and, to boot, was also ready to answer back.

He recovered his composure, whatever that was.

     "Pert lad!"  He shook his head.  "Though more erudite than that over‑privileged

object yesterday."  He shook the paper and turned to James Tanner.  "Obviously not one of

mine, I see he wishes to read Mathematics!  I'll say good day."

     With that he turned on his heel and positively rushed from the Chapel.

     James Tanner let out a large exhalation of breath.  He smiled at me and shook his

head.  "That was Simon Finch‑Hampton our illustrious History don."

     "I shouldn't think of reading History, then?" I said.  I knew I could say something like

that to this man.

     "You'd be well taught but you'd have to toe the line."  He looked at me closely.

"What is your connection with the Carr twins?  I see a resemblance."

     I grinned.  We had the same shape of nose, the same set of the eyes and shared rather

large ears.  "They're my cousins," I admitted.

     He nodded.  "Yes, I see the resemblance.  I know them well as I'm President of the

College Rugger Club and they are valued members of the team.  Yes.  They're a nice pair of

lads.  But enough of family.  My job is to see if you have any mathematical talent as well as

that musical ability you were displaying so well this afternoon."  He drew out a piece of

paper from his pocket.  "You're only in the First Year Sixth so I don't expect you to give me

the sort of answers I would expect this time next year."  He pointed at a formula, the top one

of three.  "What can you tell me about that."

     I recognised it immediately.  I'd become hooked on statistics since hearing of Jack's

own interest and he'd said his father would always help if I had problems.  No problems so

far.  I'd used Tris's and my own data of certain emissions in practising doing descriptive

statistics.

     "It's the formula for the standard deviation of a set of data."

     "Nominal, ordinal or interval?"

     "Interval."

     That was that.  For the next quarter of an hour I explained all I knew about collecting

and describing different forms of data.  He showed me a second formula.  My knowledge of

tan theta was plumbed.  Finally I had to expound on my elementary understanding of the

concept of limits.

     When I'd finished and was a bit breathless he stuck the paper back in his pocket.

"Well, Mark, if  you get what's required in the A Levels I'll offer you a place for two

thousand and one.  That's with or without being the next Pennefather Scholar.  You'll be in

my tutor group and I warn you I don't take to slackers kindly.  I spoke to your Head of Maths

this morning.  We played rugger together here too many years ago.  He was most

complimentary, so, keep it up."  He lowered his voice.  "And take it from me, we're not all

like Mr Finch‑Hampton!"

     We stood and shook hands.  As soon as he was gone I collected my clobber but there

was a rush as four youngsters rushed into the chapel.  I was surrounded and all I could hear

was a confused babble.  "You were terrific!"  "What did Professor Tanner say?"  "Why was

Pinch‑bum Hamster here?"

     I held up my hands and this quietened them.

     "Gentlemen of the jury!"

     "Stuff it!" said Adam, "What did they ask and what did they tell you?"

     I thought I would give them the good news first.  "Professor Tanner told me he would

accept me as a student even if I didn't get the Pennefather..."  Four bodies crowded me and

nearly thumped me to death.  I fended them off.  "Sorry, but I don't know anything else,

except I was probably rude to some nasty little man."

     "Bloody Pinch‑bum I bet," snarled Adam, "Bastard told me to pull my socks up or he

wouldn't be responsible for the consequences."

     A silvery laugh came from Charles.  "He gave the poor dear lines for being slovenly.

I shouldn't worry, sweet one, a beta from him is like gold‑dust." He flapped a hand.  "Better

than being made to stand in the corner.  That's what I'd make you do.  I could gaze on you,

then.."

     "Shut up, Charles, you'll give these two ideas," said Ivo almost doubled over with

laughter.

     "Well, darlings," said Charles, "What are we to do?  Precious Mark will have to wait

and stew on the other."

     Ivo looked at Tris.  "Think your Dad will stand for an extra little mouth tonight?"

     Tris twigged immediately.  He turned to Charles.  "Would you join us for dinner

tonight?  We're at the Arundel.  Half past seven."

     Charles smiled.  "I would be delighted...."  He looked from Adam to Ivo.  "...That is,

if I may be allowed to scan the wine list  to discern something with a suitable bouquet.

Mother has been most generous with her alms for the needy this Easter."  He flapped his

hands.  "What Mr Horrid of Harrods thinks of his lady's boudoir is not for me to divulge but

Mother has transferred a mite or two of her reward to my safe‑keeping..."  He blew us all a

kiss.  "I'll be on your doorstep in good time.  Now off you go sweet princes.  I have to shut

up the bally shop." 

     Tris and I exchanged amused glances as he picked up my clarinet case and I bundled

my music together.  I looked at my watch.  Gosh it was just past five o'clock.  My fate was

sealed but at least I would follow in Grandad's footsteps.  All being well I would be at St

Mark's.

     Adam and Ivo asked if we would be OK walking back to the hotel.  I said I needed

the exercise to relax me a bit and I had to phone home, like ET, as soon as I got there.  They

said they would come across with Charles at half seven, and not to forget to book a table for

five, and to give my parents their love and include Francis in that, too.  Tris said he was

starving as we walked past Trinity College.  Nadia's Patisserie was still open so he popped in

and came out with two large buns.  We chewed on these as we went over the road at the end

past the Round Church.  I was chewing over in my mind all that had happened today.

     What a day!  People I'd met, things I'd seen, things I'd done, things said, things

unsaid.  I thought I must be a bit like poor Frankie.  All sorts of important, growing‑up things

happening and I needed to talk, to hear, to understand.

     When we reached the Arundel I said I would go up and make a phone‑call while he

booked the table.  Frankie answered it on the second ring.  He must have been delegated to

sit and take any messages.

     "Yeah, and what happened?" was his first question.

     "Don't you think I ought to speak to Mum?" I replied.

     "I can shout!"  He was getting a bit shirty.

     "Hi, Mark," came Mum's voice.  She must have picked up the extension upstairs.

     "Well, what?" came Francis on the phone downstairs.

     "Mum," I said and my voice cracked, "I've been offered a place for Maths.  I don't

know about the audition.  I think I played OK and the questions I was asked were OK."

     Mum sensed I was rather, to say the least, emotional.  "That's good.  They'll let you

know about the other soon."

     Frankie had listened without interrupting.  "Oh, Marky, I'm so glad.  You're in!"

     "I'll tell you all about it when I get home tomorrow.  I've met some interesting people

and even if I don't get to be the Organ Scholar I think I'll like it.  And Ivo and Adam send

their love.  Tell Dad won't you."

     "Bye, love," came Mum's voice and "See you," from Francis.

     Short and sweet!  I put the phone down and lay on the bed.  Oh, what a day!  But, I

was pleased about the offer from Professor Tanner.  I suppose if I didn't get the Scholarship I

would be happy?  I would, but it would be nice to have those beautiful rooms.  And I didn't

know what the ordinary student rooms were like.  I thought of Adam and Ivo.  Mum had said

last week we were all invited to the villa in Italy for the Summer but she and Dad wouldn't

be able to go as the orchestra was going on an overseas tour and she had volunteered to help

the librarian and do any of the many chores necessary to smooth the way.  There would be

fun and high jinks at the villa and poor Aldo would be harried and hurried as usual.  But he

was so good‑natured and he and Uncle Francesco obviously liked us there or we wouldn't be

invited.  I was woken from my dreamy reverie by Tris lying beside me.

     "You amaze me, Marky,"  he said softly, "I would have been so nervous having to

show what I could do all by myself like you did this afternoon.  At least when I had my

interview there were seven others and we couldn't all talk at once so I had time to think.

You were so poised and you didn't flap."  He stroked my cheek.  "You'll be here at St

Mark's anyway with me and that's all I want."

     "I've still got to get the A level grades next year," I said.

     "And I've still got two more exams next week," he said, "School on Monday.  Oh

blast!"

     We contemplated the iniquitousness of our schoolboy existence and realised it didn't

finish with the last school bell.  We had at least three years each of further study and then

what did the future hold?  I think it was the first time such realities had hit home.  I think Tris

had the same thoughts as he was now restless.

     "Come on, up," he commanded.  "We'd better be tidy if the so‑elegant Charles is

joining us."  He grinned.  "I wonder what we'll find out tonight."  He shook his head but his

hair wasn't long enough and too‑gelled to flop.  "Come on my dear, let's prink and perm

ourselves...."

     "....Don't take the mickey," I said, "I think there's more to Charles than meets the

eye."

     We showered, without arousal, and washed and scented ourselves discreetly with

some of Uncle Nick's lotion Tris had appropriated.  "He's much too old for this," Tris said as

he held up the bottle, shaped like the torso of a well‑proportioned young man .  "Wasted on

him, and what was one of his clients doing giving it to him?   I took it before Mum saw it.

Bet it was some floozie he was getting a divorce for with the hots for him!"   True, Uncle

Nick was a looker still and the photos of him as a teenager in the album Tris had shown me

were something to drool over, especially in his running togs.  No wonder I had fallen for his

son!