Howard
Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a little boy. He was scrawny thin, crossed eyed, had weedy arms, freckles and curly ginger hair. Even worse, instead of a proper boys’ name, his parents thought it an absolute hoot to call him Howard. His whole family was musical, and everyone sang and played something. His Mum was ex-Halle orchestra and encouraged Howard towards the violin – and singing.
He loved music and sang in the choir at St James the Greater where he and the other trebles told smutty jokes during the sermon every Sunday. As his testicles were the size of ball bearings and had no fixed abode, he was actually quite good - once he sang the ‘Greater Love’ solo and everyone clapped. Except his mum, who cried like a baby. He was very proud of being the chap who lit the candles at each pew end. It meant having to run up and down the nave just before kick off, looking important. His choir made an LP (that’s a record, umm, flat black plastic disk – oh, forget it) and they took a team photo for the back of the sleeve.
They said “make sure you come on Sunday with black shoes”. He forgot.
He played the violin rather well and the piano extremely badly. Instead of playing rugger at school, he carried his violin-shaped violin case around. Other boys, most with black hair and good solid names, thought this was pretty hilarious, but he got a couple of grade eights and scraped into music college, so yah boo sucks to them. Later, his priorities became beer, fags and girls (in that order), so he abandoned music college and went to work in hotels where he spent a lot of time with beer, fags and girls (in that order). He bought a motorbike, a cheap puzzle ring and a massive trench coat. He officially became a dude.
Soon he met the love of his life across a crowded restaurant. They married and had a baby. He got a proper job running some Woolies shops (general retailer, low end, cheap, very popular – oh, forget it). Later, he joined the ‘Thame Singers’ and as his testicles had now a) found a permanent home and b) proved themselves magnificently, he sang bass. He sat between a Protestant vicar and a Catholic nutter. It was enjoyable, but awfully serious - far too many Psalms and far too little smut. He helped run the choir and when the MD retired, he worked hard to save it from fizzling out. It’s still thriving today. He left Woolworths slightly before it went bust and moved to Thomas Cook - who he left slightly before it went bust and moved to Barclays - who he left a couple of years ago.. (of course, your choice where you bank…)
Twenty years later, he moved to Rutland and tried out for the Harborough Singers. His audition was a Psalm, so he smashed it. He sat between Jim and Murky, both aficionados of good quality smut, so he fitted right in. He was working for Thomas Cook (mass market travel firm, airline – oh, forget it) and now in his forties, life had changed. Gone were the freckles and ginger curls, gone was most of the beer and all the fags, daughter all grown up and left home, wife in good job, no more moving about. He officially became a ‘responsible bloke’.
Almost twenty years on again, he wishes he had a bit more hair, of any colour at all. Delightedly retired, he relishes daily the fact that he will never again have to sit in board meetings (face-to-face physical interactions – oh, forget it), or design operational business processes that no-one uses. He prefers generous bouts of ‘unsupervised loafing’ – a phrase on loan from someone he admires terribly. Even the violin has been restored to active duty, much to Julia’s rather nervous, semi-loyal delight.
And now of course, the loss of regular singing is.. well, a bit of a bugger actually. He loves the Harborough Singers and how it’s nailed together. It feels like an extended family, but without all the sodding birthdays (bonus) and with far fewer drama’s (double bonus). He loves sitting at the back, growling along a bit behind everyone else, bass smut fully restored along with mandatory tenor-bating. Truth is (don’t let on), he loves the way we sing together, passion for the music blending so well with good friendships, terrible jokes and the fresh excitement of new singers, new music, new direction and new cake recipes.
Like many of us, Howard has found the last couple of years quite tough – a proper rollercoaster. He was as rocked as anyone by the exit of the previous MD. Many many sleepless nights, much angst and soul searching, but eventually, convinced they’d made the right change for the succession and long terms success of the choir. He was also delighted at new widespread ‘inner brightness’ as the choir escaped its woe’s and perils in sunny Mallorca in Summer 2019. He is chuffed to bits with the new musical direction from the baton d’Charlie but hopes not to be auditioned too soon – unless of course, it’s a Psalm. The concert in Lyddington last October (magnitude, melody, Andrew’s magnificent organ – oh, never mind) was a blast wasn’t it? He feels the efforts made by so many of the choir over the last 2 or 3 years were made worth it in that single evening.
And then Covid. Proper rollercoaster? You betya. But here’s my message; hang on in there you lot. All we hear about is the difficulties of singing, aerosols, droplets, virus doom & gloom. Remember what it’s like to sing together, rehearsing or performing – doesn’t really matter, it will return and when it does, believe me, I’ll be right at the front of the queue (that is, unless I’m late, as usual). In the meantime, I’ll have to content myself with officially now being a rather pompous old git. Life eh!