It’s a funny old world. After having weddings flowing out of my ears over the last month and a half, (It’s the height of the wedding season), I was looking forward to a couple of weeks of relative peace and quiet. I have no weddings booked for next weekend and only one for the weekend afterwards. Hey! I forgot about the funerals, which obviously cannot be booked for weeks ahead.
I usually get about a couple of days notice, be it from church or from the local undertakers. This morning however it was not to be. At 9.45 am I was enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee when the phone rang. On picking it up I heard a rather worried voice at the other end, which said, “Are you doing anything this morning?” to which my response was “What time and where?”
It turned out that I was needed to play a funeral at Oakworth Crematorium at 11.30. Now I haven’t been to play a funeral at Oakworth Crematorium for about two and a half years, and my memrory of exactly where it was was a little rusty, so I asked for directions. These were duly supplied with the warning, “It’s supposed to take about 35 minutes to get there but we are giving ourselves an hour.”
I recall that the last time I played for a funeral here they had something which could hardly be called an organ. It had so many knobs, levers, buttons, bells, sound effects, drums, cymbals, drawbars tab stopsand flashing lights that I really didn’t know wether I was supposed to drive it or fly it! On talking to the Crematorium Manager I discovered that someone had donated it to the crematorium. It really wouldn’t have been out of place in a strip joint!
So a hasty breakfast followed. Music was collected, and a hymn book, and I headed to Oakworth.
On entering the crematorium the first thing I noticed was there was no organ! A quick scout around found me nothing but chairs and a catafalque, but no organ. I found the crematorium manager and he showed me that it had been moved into a little side room with curtains which hid it when they were drawn. “It’s on its last legs” he told me, “We’re getting another one from Morecambe on Thursday.”
I approached the beast with great trepidation and found that nearly everything on it had post-it notes affixed which said “Don’t use these they don’t work.” By trial and error I sussed out what did work, and had chance to have a play on the instrument before the coffin and the mourners arrived.
I only had one hymn to play, and as I started to play the hymn over, there was a loud “crack” from the innards of the instrument. On looking down I saw coils of acrid smoke rising from between the keys, as well as other coils of smoke rising from the back of the instrument. Only four verses to go before I have finished… dare I try and play all four verses before there was an electrical fire???
Well, I took my life into my hands and decided to try. Somehow I managed to get through the hymn before I half choked on the electrical burning smoke! I beat a hasty retreat after switching the thing off and disconnecting it from the mains!
Who said an organist’s life was dull and uneventful?
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