Diminished Seventh

Today

One's life turns so much on tiny decisions made at unmemorable times in our lives and sometimes one can't help wondering where other paths might have led. Like the diminished seventh - the "Clapham Junction" of music, there are times when things could lead anywhere. This morning, while listening to a piece played by David Munro's Early Music Consort, I found myself thinking about my involvement in early music.

In My Day

Browsing the local paper in Worthing, one day back in 1969, I noticed an article featuring a local early music ensemble named Musica Antiqua of Worthing. There was a picture of the group and a description of their activities. I didn't buy the paper but memorised the name of the music director - Mike Uridge. This was an uncommon name and there was only one in the book. I wrote to the address and offered my services as an experienced early music soprano. I was politely turned down - they were at full complement.

I forgot about it and got on with my studenty life. A few weeks later, early (well, early if you're a student) on a Sunday morning there came a knock at the door of our student house in Station Road. Nobody else seemed to be stirring so I hastily scrambled into some sort of kaftan and opened the door. There stood a very respectable middle aged couple, dressed as though they'd just come from church. I clutched the bosom of my kaftan, hoping that it was actually covering my bosom and waited. They explained that they were from Musica Antiqua and would like to speak to Julia Dixon as they now had a vacancy in the choir. I introduced myself and agreed to go to their house a few days later for an audition. This I did, so impressing them with my sight-reading skills that I was immediately invited to join. 

They later told me that they'd initially turned me down because my immaculate italic script in the letter made them think that I was an elderly person and it was only because of an unexpected resignation of  a soprano that desperation drove them to seek me out. My semi-clothed and youthful appearance at my front door had been quite a surprise

The group comprised about ten people at the time - some instrumentalists, some singers, some both. Mike Uridge, an accountant in real life, turned out to be a small eager man who had a large and growing collection of medieval  wind instruments. He had a passion for early music and made arrangement of pieces to suit our forces. At various times we had about 30 wind instruments, including sackbuts, cornetts, rackets, an instrument made out of a Swiss mountain goat's horns, and every conceivable type of recorder from deep bass to the "gartleinflotlein" (a word Mike so much liked saying that he introduced the instrument into everything possible), spinet, cello, violin, viols and drums. Mike would take a huge purpose-made suitcase onto stage and place it open on a table from where he would grab instruments as needed.

During my time we progressed from giving free performances in nursing homes to full-blown concerts. We participated in the Brighton Festival, sang in Coventry Cathedral, provided the entertainment for medieval banquets, and made two records.

I eventually left regretfully when the move to Eastbourne made weekly travel to Worthing too difficult and costly.

I lost contact with Mike for many years. When I met him again, nearly twenty-five years later, I discovered that he had become quite an authority on medieval instruments. I also discovered that Musiqua Antiqua had split over the question of whether to go professional or not.

"Supposing", I said to Paul "that I'd still been with them and we had gone professional - what would my life be now?" Different, that much is certain, and maybe our music would be played on Radio three as well as David Munro's.