One Chance by Paul Potts Read Free Book Online

allowed anything we wanted on the menu, and as it was a steakhouse and not something our family could ordinarily afford, I was nervous about ordering anything expensive. Seeing my discomfort, Mr. Bussell told me to go for it. I ended up having (as did every other choir boy) a three-course meal of breaded mushrooms, rump steak, and ice cream for afters. We were given liqueur coffees at the end (minus the liqueur, of course), and felt thoroughly spoilt.
    Christmas was one of my favourite times of the year at Christ Church. The smallness of the church meant the smell of incense filled it quickly. Carols by candlelight meant that the soft light shimmered from our white surplices and made our blue cassocks contrast with the stark whiteness of the walls.
    I enjoyed singing the descants and being allowed to sing high and loud without getting into trouble for it. My favourite descant of them all was the one for “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” because it was fairly long and pretty high.
    The most special service of all was midnight mass on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t just because this service was held so late atnight and in the centre of Bristol, very close to the main clubbing area. (This resulted in plenty of drunks walking in; most of them harmless, happy drunks who overenthusiastically joined in the carols.) There was always a special atmosphere in the church on Christmas Eve. The smell of incense was particularly pungent, but it was balanced with the smell and light of the candles and the soft tones of the priest singing the responses. It was the only time of the year when the priest encouraged everyone to shake hands and wish each other “Happy Christmas.” In this service, we would have all the best carols with all the best descants.
    My other favourite time of year was around Easter. Passion-tide, the approach to Good Friday and Easter, was always very poignant. On Maundy Thursday, the day before Good Friday, the candles were extinguished and the altar stripped. It made things very eerie and made me feel quite alone. In contrast, Good Friday was a busy singing day at the church, so it was always one of my favourites.
    On alternate years, we would perform John Stainer’s Crucifixion and Theodore Dubois’s Seven Last Words of Christ . Each had its own attraction. Stainer’s work was fairly typical Victorian English music, with rousing choruses and a few good solos for the adults (alas, nothing for the boy trebles), whereas Dubois’s work, which I preferred, was more emotional.
    I enjoyed my time at Christ Church. I more or less got on with the other boys in the choir, which felt like a dream come true. This helped reassure me that my voice was my friend. It was only when I was singing that I felt I had no enemies, so I embraced it. The only problem was that I’d get so caught up in the music that I forgot about the rest of the choir. It didn’t matterhow many there were, be it the twenty-five others at Christ Church (including adult singers) or a massed choir at Bristol’s Colston Hall. I could always be heard.
    This would often get me into trouble with our choirmaster, Mr. Bussell. Sometimes I would come into the church for evensong and find myself summoned to Mr. Bussell in the organ loft. I’d have to spend the whole of evensong sitting in a chair by the huge historic organ. While it was fascinating to watch Mr. Bussell playing Widor’s Toccata at the end of the service, I much preferred singing back on the ground level. I was told to listen to the choir without me to hear how united it was. I would try to contain myself, but would find myself back up in the organ loft every six weeks or so, being given exactly the same lesson.
    Mr. Bussell was a jovial man with a good heart, though he wasn’t afraid of showing his displeasure. You could sometimes tell his mood by what he played as the recessional voluntary as we returned to the choir vestry. If it was Widor’s