So, at last we were there-The Pavilion at Bournemouth; and there it was, the 4 manual Compton Theatre Pipe Organ, sitting on the stage, looking for all the world like the cockpit of a Jumbo Jet, bathed in spot and flood lights.
The last time I remember seeing it was in the early 50's as a young boy, standing on tiptoe, straining to see over the edge of the stage. I am sure that was the start of my love affair with the organ.
We were met by a man called Christian Knighton, who really lived up to his first name-he was so helpful, pleasant and patient.
For over 2 hours I played the organ and "rode" up and down on the platform. Down I went into the depths of the orchestra pit-very dark and gloomy (ask Hazel and Karen who both rode it with me) and then up, bathed in lights again.
A great time was had by all. Apprehension soon left me and confidence started to come. The sound was fantastic, but I felt that lots of time perhaps weeks, would be needed in order to get the most out of instrument and do it justice.
The organ was in excellent condition-thanks to the care and attention of the four men who look after it voluntarily. Thanks also to The Pavilion for providing the heating, lighting and the time.
All too soon the time has slipped by. Perhaps my mum had been looking down-who knows, because to my mother must go the thanks for taking me regularly to The Pavilion, even though money was very short after the war. She sparked off my interest in organs.
And so to lunch-Harry Ramsden's on the sea front-good company, good food, a glass of beer-what more could one ask?
A huge thank you to all who arranged the treat and kept quiet about it! Special thanks should go to Hazel, Gordon, Frank and Jeremy (who missed it being in darkest Africa). Thanks also to Tim (Hazel's other half) who drove Fay, Ann and me to Bournemouth.
Now I'm on the lookout for the following:
Calling high! gliding in a blue sonar symphony.
Up, up, bursting into the pure atmosphere from abounding depths below.
Drawing in 'sweet air' through triumphant spout!
with nature's ever trusting expectancy.
Salty glistening either side, as she moves on through the tidal stream
without path or pilot, 'a way which only Dauphine' know.
Testing time, fallible only by the nets, hanging like dreaded cobweb,
draped across the very walkway which echo with the ghosts of her fellow being.
Yet smiling, in her constancy, dauphine 'know us,' our transparent ever changing ways; lashing out at all who hurt.
Unlike us; silent eyes watch, and in her wisdom calm the very ions which shift around her.
Dear to us, for her playful, companionable ways;
gently guiding, yet smiling, conveying her praise!
Take us back, dear dauphine to that place in time,
where all was a peaceful attunement of our minds!