It was often a curious performance. Everybody sang as loud
as he could bawl; cheeks and elbows were at their utmost efforts, the
bassoon vying with the clarionet, the goose-stop of the clarionet with
the bassoon--it was Babel with the addition of the beasts. And they were
all so proud of their performance. It was the only part of the service
during which no one could sleep, said one of them with pride--and he was
right. No one could sleep through the terrible din. They were the most
important officials in the church, for did not the Psalms make it clear,
"The singers go before, and the minstrels" (which they understood to
mean ministers) "follow after"? And then--those anthems! They were
terrible inflictions. Every bumpkin had his favourite solo, and oh! the
murder, the profanation! "Some put their trust in charrots and some in
'orses," but they didn't "quite pat off the stephany," as one of the
singers remarked, meaning symphony. It was all very strange and curious.
Then followed the era of barrel-organs, the clerk's duty being to turn
the handle and start the singing. He was the only person who understood
its mechanism and how to change the barrels. Sometimes accidents
happened, as at Aston Church, Yorkshire, some time in the thirties. One
Sunday morning during the singing of a hymn the music came to a sudden
stop.
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