The members of the choir are seasoned tourists who take the rough and the smooth with the same shrug of the shoulders. They were unusually aroused however at the prospect of performing in Scarborough, at ‘The Spa’. Childhood memories perhaps, being on the same stage as Max Jaffa, who knows. The disappointment was thus the more poignant when things didn’t turn out as expected. Thankfully, the best was yet to come – Elizabeth’s pick of the 2003/4 concerts the following evening at Helmsley.
A weekend of contrasts. The cool fading formality of Scarborough’s south shore and Spa Complex and the intimate warmth of The Helmsley Arts Centre. The austere forensic concert compere and the stand-up comic. A trek across North Yorkshire and brief encounters in the spa lift.
The medicinal quality of the local Scarborough water was first claimed by Elizabeth Farrow in 1626 and ‘taking the waters’ subsequently became popular with the gentry. Anne Bronte of Haworth retired here and died in 1849, buried in St Mary’s Churchyard on the hill overlooking the harbour. The development of Scarborough as a seaside resort began with the opening of the railway in the 1850’s. The spa thus expanded, with the addition of a concert hall (1858, destroyed by fire and rebuilt in 1880) and restaurant (1886). Originally owned by ‘The Cliff Company’, both the Spa Cliff bridge (for £22,500 in 1951) and The Spa Complex (for £110,000 in 1957) were purchased by Scarborough Council. A three million pound restoration of the Spa Grand Hall was opened in 1981. The Spa Cliff bridge was known locally as the ‘Penny Bridge’, the amount charged for its use. The toll booths have been dismantled and are now unused.
The choir’s appointment in the Grand Hall was for 9:45 pm after The Rotarians had dined. If the last thing they wanted was to do at that time was to listen to a male voice choir, they can be forgiven, as frankly, we were rubbish. Camp followers thought the first half was the best especially the livelier numbers. One of them, who will remain nameless, described ‘Calm is the Sea’ as wincingly flat. It was not totally our fault. The late start, a flat piano too far from the choir, basses too far from the baritones (normally to be welcomed), the dry hot atmosphere and a large empty space which gobbled up our sound all conspired to limit the performance quality. I could only hear myself, Ray Birkenshaw and Allen Hicks. Together we made a fine trio, but that wasn’t quite the point.
The interval included a stout party singing the new Rotarian Anthem, which she did twice, with relish. The audience needed something to applaud.
The high point was the short journey home – ascending in the lift as many an evening-suited spa-goer would have done in the past. Rows of bright lights illuminated the gaudy promenade arcades, sparing the calm dark sea and ghostly waves. Row by row as we rose, the lights went out.
The waters were then taken – New Mill style.
It’s a fair way to Helmsley across N. Yorkshire, one of England’s biggest counties and the one with the fewest people. The journey was relieved by ‘Wartime Weekend on the Railway’, a celebration of life in Pickering and surrounding districts during World War 2. We didn’t see the parades of the Home Guard, the evacuees, or the Land Army girls. But we did see policemen in funny hats carrying air raid warden helmets.
And men in uniform – John Rotchell’s wife Delia has always been a sucker for a man in uniform; well, John was in The Boys Brigade. A woman swung along the street wearing stockings with vertiginous seams, not entirely oblivious of the frisson she induced in men of a certain age. Circling spotty slick teenage boys, handbag mountains, girls bopping (1) and going for a pee in twos. And not-so-forbidden glimpses of suspenders and stocking tops.
Helmsley is a market town and home to the remains of a twelfth century castle. A sacked royalist stronghold during The Civil War, it was bought by a London goldsmith, Sir Charles Duncombe in 1687. His nephew abandoned it, employing Vanbrugh and Wakefield to build nearby Duncombe ParkÓ. The Duncombes were created Lords Feversham in 1826 and a statue of the second Lord stands in the market Square. We saw the statue and the inside of an Italian restaurant, but not much else.
The gig was in the ‘Arts Centre’, formerly a Quaker meeting house. It’s capacity is around 140.
Stephanie Hellawell was with us again, but sadly her fondest admirer, Edgar, wasn’t. She sang about seven numbers, three from from ‘Les Miserables’ and ‘West Side Story’, finishing with a jazzy piece. Brilliant. Apparently Stephanie is an adept at breathing for singing. The choir were not aware of this at the time of the concert and wouldn’t have noticed anyway seeing as she was pointing the other way. They could have imagined it though.
Graham compered incomparably, disarmingly candid about the previous night’s clientele. Were there any rotarians in the Arts Centre?
The camp followers occupied the first three rows. Big mistake. But they were fulsome in their praise despite being aware of who was singing and who wasn’t and who was putting their back into it.
The concert was an outstanding success. Confident and relaxed, we didn’t let history get in the way. To put it simply – super venue, a well organised event, singing of top quality and an enthusiastic audience.
A weekend of contrasts. Differences to learn from.a term derived from the jazz style be-bop which was in the local 1950s/60’s vernacular.
