Sing your heart out

Today

I'm getting ready for my annual visit to Cropthorne. What could be better than a few days in a beautiful spot, among friends, singing some of the World's most ravishing music?

Paul usually comes along for the ride, and spends his time relaxing in the gardens or visiting the local preserved railway.

I've been appointed the official archive-keeper (how interesting it is, to realise how accurately people observe you!) and have spent the last few days bringing the records up to date.

In My Day

I realise that I've been going to Cropthorne for 17 years. Now this isn't a publicly advertised event, something that appears in your junk mail or even on the more specialised ads connected with musical or choir groups. It's strictly invitation only. So I'd never heard of the Laetare Singers. It was at a rehearsal of a madrigal group to which I belonged that my friend Neill slipped me a piece of paper which was the invitation to join this event. He said nothing more about it and I assumed that it was open to all. I applied to go. It was only for four days and surely Paul could cope without me.

A couple of days later I received a call from a lady called Barbara Johnson. She sounded a bit schoolmistressy and began to question me about my credentials for joining the group. Did I sight-read? Was I in a choir already? I thought she was going to ask me about my social background and genealogy. Clearly you had to be someone special to join this lot. I began to despair of being good enough. Eventually I said desperately, "I'm a friend of Neill's." "Ah, well," said Barbara, as if I'd said "open sesame", "That's fine - we look forward to meeting you."

On the day in question I set off alone and found the spot without too much difficulty. Cropthorne is a lovely Worcestershire village near Pershore and Holland House, a Jacobean house, sits on the banks of the Avon in restful gardens.

There were about thirty people there, most of them over sixty in age and I felt very much the youngest. I only knew Neill and his wife. Barbara turned out to be an elderly lady with the appearance and demeanour of Queen Victoria and she ruled over the cultural, social and moral aspects of the event with smiling inflexibility. We were led by a conductor called Peter Johnson and I learnt many things and was given an opportunity to show that I could still hit a top "C".

There was also an evening where the group put on a more home-grown, light-hearted entertainment and my penchant for dressing up and acting foolishly was quickly identified and harnessed for a Cropthorne version of Macbeth.

Since that time, strangers have become friends and I have now become one of the over-sixties. "Laetare" means "rejoice" and that's exactly what I intend to do.