The Wedding - The woes of a musician

I should start by saying that weddings do not fill me with great joy. I have had some where I played a leading role, several as a guest and many as a menial musician, paid to entertain the masses by providing music to fight by.

A good friend had decided to take the giant leap and asked me if I would provide the organ backing for the main event as the organist who regularly played in the church had claimed sickness although the event was some three months ahead.

The organ installed in the church was a Hammond C3, an animal with which I am very familiar so with a degree of reluctance I agreed. The programme featured the Arrival of the Queen of Sheba instead of the more traditional Bridal Chorus and the usual recessional Mendelssohn ( also known as the Retreat of the Vanquished). Sadly, I was unaware that I was to be joined by the choir from the school where my friend was a teacher and three members of the school orchestra, two recorders and a violin. That was the first indication of the forthcoming shambles.

In support of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Handel I unsuccessfully searched the back rooms of the building for the orchestra only to find the officiating vicar imbibing religious zeal from a hip flask. Rather unsteadily, he denied all knowledge of the whereabouts of the demon recorder assault team. Continuing the search, fruitless apart from the Lady Who Did The Flowers. LWDTF remarked that the vicar only had a drink now and then to be sociable but sometimes became so sociable that he would fall over.

Returning to the main body of the church, I discovered the orchestra and choir assembled ready for Showtime. A swift chat seemed to be advisable and warned them that under no circumstance were

they to add their talents to either the arrival of the bride or to the recessional. Also, no smirking, giggles, making faces, farting or any action designed to lower the tone of the ceremony.

The bride was late. Of course she was late. The bridegroom fidgeted nervously and even from a distance, I could see that the vicar's eyes were glazed and that he had a silly smile on his face. At last, the signal came and I launched into the Queen of Sheba. Mistake number one. The bride's father, being a former serving officer, decided that their pace had to match the hundred-and -twenty beats per minute. The bride was obliged to almost run to keep up and arrived totally out of breath.

The first part of the ceremony was straightforward enough until it came to the bit where anyone with objections is permitted to speak. There was a long delay. The reverend gentleman looked confused then looked down at the prayer book. To our great surprise, he then repeated the question, realised his mistake and mumbled an apology. The bride stifled a giggle, her father looked horrified and her mother started crying.

The vicar, now considerably unsteady suggested that we “Take a little break and do the hymn” The hymn was the 23^rd psalm and as we started, I realised that although I was playing in F, the two recorders appeared to be playing in C. The violin was wavering between B and C#.

The choir joined in half a bar adrift. Luckily, the Hammond is a powerful beast and

managed to drown the competition and bring the piece to a somewhat messy conclusion.

The remainder of the ceremony proceeded relatively smoothly if the giggles from the bride, the sobs of her mother and the sniggers from the choir were to be ignored as the vicar solemnly intoned the various marital obligations of husband and wife .

As the couple went to sign the register, my friend looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. At last, cranking the Hammond up to full throttle, the bride and groom left the church to the unadulterated strains of the Wedding March.

As I said previously, I'm not very fond of weddings.