Copyright oggbashan December 2022
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
"Andrew? You can sing, can't you?"
"I'd rather he didn't," my wife Sheila said before I could answer. "Why, Judy?"
I was taking the two of them to the Church choir Friday evening practice. Judy's husband had taken their car to go to a conference at a hotel in the Sussex countryside. It was no problem to take Judy as well when I was driving Sheila to the choir practice.
The Church, choir and congregation were inviting all the villagers to a community singing of The Messiah just before Christmas.
"Sheila, you know we are short of proper basses. We have plenty of tenors and baritones, but our basses are really not true basses but bass-baritones. They can't reach the lower bass notes, at least not strongly enough to make an impact, but Andrew?"
Sheila sighed.
"When we were at school together and Andrew was a boy treble, yes, he could sing. He, like us, was in the school choir and in the Church choir. But when his voice broke, it just kept getting lower and lower. When he sings it is like a growling grizzly bear. I can't stand it so he doesn't sing unless I'm not around."
"Judy? I can't reach the higher notes of a bass line. I'm really a basso profundo, and apart from songs in Russian, there is virtually nothing I could sing."
"Can you demonstrate?"
"No Judy, not in the car. That would upset Sheila."
"It would, Judy. It is a terrible noise." Sheila said.
"OK. How about in a side room before the main choir starts rehearsing?" Just for me and a couple of committee members?"
"As long as you keep the door firmly shut, Judy." Sheila said. "You don't want to frighten the choir."
"Surely he's not that bad?
"You'll hear -- later and might regret it, Judy."
+++
When we arrived at the Church most of the choir greeted me by name. Why not? We were villagers and the choir was one third of the regular congregation. Almost all of them had been at the village school with the three of us.
While the choir had tea and chatted before starting the rehearsal Judy and two committee members, John and Mavis, took me into a room under the tower. There was an upright piano. I sung an aria from Boris Godunov. Judy and the others were impressed, not just with my singing but in the power with which I could produce the very low notes.
But when they asked me to sing some of the bass parts from the Messiah, I couldn't reach the higher parts of a bass. For them, I dropped an octave below the marked notes. They were visibly shaken by my performance.
"Andrew? I can see what Sheila means," Judy said. "You growl beautifully but when you drop an octave you would stand out among the choir's ensemble, especially with such a powerful voice."