Friends reunited in song for one last joyous night making music

I was well-versed in the disciplines of formal singing from a young age, joining my church choir as a primary-school child and learning how to blend and harmonise with others at my mother’s knee - quite literally: it was she who had taken me along.
Reading music was something to which I quickly became accustomed (though, sadly, not so accomplished; my theoretical knowledge is far from exemplary, and sight-reading has never been - if you’ll indulge the term - my forte…).
Almost without realising it, I developed a passion for choir singing during those tender childhood years, and, thanks to the brilliant tutelage at the hands of Ron Thompson, church organist at the time, I learned to love sacred music: its rich, haunting, vibrant essence took root within my soul and has never left; it has the power to move me to tears, on occasion - a somewhat awkward experience for fellow choir members, I’ll warrant. My penchant for choral singing was nurtured in a different way through my adolescent years, when a talented candidate successfully applied for the teaching position at my secondary school that had been occupied by the same rather terrifying and traditional music teacher for what may have been decades.
This new recruit transformed the department, inspiring singers and instrumentalists alike with her vivacious energy and varied interests.
Suddenly, orchestras and choirs were springing up with alacrity, every lunchtime filled with the (mostly) joyful sound of youngsters honing their craft in the capacious and welcoming music room.
This was a different sort of singing, though: far more relaxed, with a repertoire that covered everything from the ill-advised Michael Jackson’s Bad (I still shudder to visualise our whole-school assembly performance of this should-not-be-a-choir song) to the close harmonies of the utterly Rutterly John Rutter, who became a firm favourite (my choir performed one of his pieces during the signing of the register when my husband and I were married; sadly, we had moved into a side room, and were unable to hear it being sung).
Following my departure from that school, I joined a Sixth Form at another local establishment, and was introduced to the strictures of its decisively more formal senior school choir and chamber choir. By this time, however, I was beginning to feel that my voice was changing - and not in ways I relished. Those soaring treble top notes were no longer so attainable; a mellifluous sound was no longer so effortless: I began to feel like a fraud.
At about the same time, I auditioned for our county youth choir, and was unsuccessful. It was the first vocal rejection I had ever had, and I was crushed.
When I moved on to university, this imposter syndrome - to employ a modern phrase - got the better of me, and I shrank away from trying out for the establishment’s choir, whose briefly-glimpsed presence was imposing. I satisfied myself with singing along to the radio and the odd bout of karaoke during term-time, and raising my voice at church services when I returned home in the holidays.
It wasn’t until my final year that I plucked up the courage to audition for the summer musical production - and was thrilled to be accepted. Heartened, I also joined the campus Gospel Choir, enjoying a short but happy season with this joyful and expressive ensemble.
After graduation, back at home and rudderless, my mum persuaded me to help out with a choir of which she had been a member for some years. It consisted of a group of confident singers with years of experience between them, and was led by a wonderful character who - thankfully - was willing to grant me entry. Initially, my motivation had been to assist with a challenging Christmas carol that my mum and I knew and loved well, but I enjoyed the experience so much that I stayed.
That choir went through several metamorphoses, under different musical directors (one of which, happily and unexpectedly, was that dynamic teacher at my secondary school). My best friend signed up to the choir a couple of years after me, and it became an important part of our lives and our friendship, witnessing us form strong bonds with the now vastly-reduced members. My friend and I made the unanimous decision to leave a few years ago, wishing to explore more secular musical aspirations (a four-part girl band - sweet spot of our Friday nights), but we always lamented the cessation of those idyllic Monday evenings, which we each considered a highlight of our week.
Recently, whilst reminiscing together about those halcyon days, unapologetically desperate to recreate the magic, we were moved - despite the hiatus of several years - to contact our choir friends to plead for one last concert. To our utter delight, all except two of the crew were enthused by the proposal, and within days we had managed to secure a date, time, venue and programme for a charitable concert in my church at 7pm on Saturday, December 9. I can’t wait to sing alongside those lovely people again, sure that the years will peel away and fill us with the joy of music-making once more.
Hope to see you there!