On Wings Of Song

A conflict of interests puts young George in a quandary.

GEORGE KIDD was seventeen, and had two passions in life. Football and music. Even George admitted that, although football was great, it was limited. Music, on the other hand, covered a variety of styles.

George could see the virtue in pop music at the same time as responding with fascination to the works of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Even Rodney couldn’t do that, and he was a professional musician. For him the pop charts were almost entirely a closed book, although he did try, for the sake of his pupils.

When Rodney – or Mr Taylor, as George thought of him – asked if he fancied joining the tenor section of Kildartie Singers, George was not all that keen.

He didn’t like to suggest that the choir was made up of older people, but there was no-one his age at all.

Even Hannah Martin hadn’t joined, and her mother was a founder member.

“The thing is, George,” Rodney said, “you’re a tenor. And you will find, if you progress anywhere in the choral world, that tenors are extremely thin on the ground.

“I know you sing in the school choir, and you have other commitments, but you would be doing me a huge favour if you would consider coming in for specific events.”

“I thought, if you joined a choir, you had to be at practice every week.”

“Ideally, yes. But I’m in charge of this choir so I can change the rules. That’s another great advantage of being a tenor. You get special consideration.”

George looked a little smug till Rodney continued.

“What that actually means is also up to me. I can give you leeway as to rehearsal, but you’d have to prove to me that I’m not taking too big a risk.

“You would have to know your way round the music and be able to blend with the others before I could be sure you wouldn’t be a liability. Am I making myself clear?”

He looked at George over the tops of his glasses to emphasise the gravity of what he was saying. George nodded. “Studying Higher Music doesn’t make you Superman,” Rodney said, “but I’d be grateful for your co-operation for the spring concert. It would be good for your own experience, not to mention your CV!” George brightened. “OK, Mr Taylor.” “See you Monday, then, George.”

Which was how George Kidd became an ad hoc member of Kildartie Singers.

It was unfortunate, then, that Kildartie Football Club was invited to play at a tournament in Sillowburn the very day of the Kildartie Singers Spring Concert.

The club had several very competent players, so it wasn’t imperative that he attend the tournament, but even so, George was aghast at the conflict of interests.

Then he thought about it for a few moments.

“It’ll be all right, Mum,” he said, once the initial panic subsided. “I’ll be back in time for the concert.”

George’s mother was no singer, but she knew enough about concerts to know that it was inadvisable to miss the final rehearsal on the afternoon of the same day.

“I thought there was going to be an orchestra? And someone was going to record the concert?” George nodded. “Some of the senior instrumentalists are going to play. Mr Taylor said someone was going to be setting up recording equipment.”

“They’ll all be at the afternoon rehearsal?”

“Yeah. That’s when the guy doing the recording gets to test the balance, and the only time the choir gets to sing with the orchestra before the concert.”

She looked at her son thoughtfully.

“That goes for you, too, doesn’t it?”

George’s expression went from cheerful to bleak in four seconds.

“Well done, George,” Lizzie said to the boy at the end of the concert, when everyone was milling about. “You make a difference to the tenors. They’re all good, but you make them sound more powerful without your voice standing out.”

The boy beamed. “Did you enjoy it, George?”

“I did,” he said, sounding surprised. “It was great.”

Hannah Martin stood beside her mother, having heard the concert from the back row of the audience.

“Better than football?” she asked slyly. George lifted his chin. “Sometimes.”

“It’s a pity when things collide,” Lizzie said, “but that’s life, isn’t it.” George sighed. “That’s what Mum said.”

More next week.