Evensong in Haarlem

Choral Evensong in the St. Bavo Church in Haarlem

It is odd to walk into a big church and then see an aeroplane parked in front of the choir! Many churches in Holland unfortunately have lost their original function. There may still be services on Sundays, but the buildings are also used for events and exhibitions.

100 years ago on August 31 the then 21 year old Fokker flew over Haarlem in his homebuilt aeroplane the Spin. The day after he flew three times around this church. In celebration of this centennial there have been festivities in the Market Square and the Bavo church (which is in the middle of the market square) for a week or so.

Coming to Haarlem to sing Evensong, it is rather a shock to see the church changed into a museum. After the Reformation the altars were removed from the originally Roman Catholic churches , together with many other things. In English cathedrals, and not just in England of course, the altar and the choir of the church are the most important parts and worship and services concentrate there. In the big churches in Holland, as can be found in Leiden, Haarlem and Amsterdam for example, and which became protestant places of worship after the Reformation, the choir is hardly used and often closed off. The organ is mostly on the west wall opposite the choir, and for worship and services the nave is used with people often facing the organ with their backs to the choir, depending on where the pulpit is situated. Sometimes the choir is also used for services, as it is smaller and the congregation is shrinking. And it is easier and cheaper to heat the choir, another reason to close it off. In Zaltbommel the choir is completely closed off and used for meetings, social gatherings after church and as a winter church. It is not normally open to visitors of the church.

Today – Sunday 28^th  - the Spin, a very fragile looking aeroplane with an open wooden seat just for one person, was placed just between nave and choir of the Bavo church. Around the choir was an exhibition area with models of aeroplanes. The church looked like a market place. I suppose it was often used as a covered market place during the Middle Ages. At least, that is what many paintings suggest. However, when we started rehearsing, people had to leave the church and some peace returned.

The place for the choir is often under the organ, with its back towards it, and that is where we sat. Acoustically this is not the best place and it was never intended for a choir.

The Evensong was an echo of our week in Ely and a reunion for some of the ECS members who sang there. It was good to sing again as many of us suffered from severe withdrawal symptoms after a full week of singing in a beautiful English cathedral. We sang well, I think. Jackson's "Justorum Animae" sounded ethereal, as we sang it under the crossing of nave, transepts and choir, which is a much better place for the choir. We seem to get the hang of it, and so at last we can make music and don't just frantically count!

One Evensong crawler coming all the way form beyond Utrecht, wrote a very nice comment in his blog.

The title of this blog entry made me smile: Elegant evensong by assorted Anglicans. Quite witty. But this choir fan was not the only one who had enjoyed the Evensong.

This was our music list:

Introit: Justorum animae (Gabriel Jackson)
Procession hymn: O Worship the King (NEH 433)
Preces (Michael Walsh)
Psalm 136 (Jonathan Bielby)
Canticles: Evening Service in E minor (William S. Lloyd Webber)
Lesser Litany, Lord’s Prayer, Collects (Michael Walsh)
Anthems: Christ whose glory fills the skies (Harold Darke) & Litany to the Holy Spirit (Peter Hurford)
Closing hymn: How Shall I Sing that Majesty (NEH 699/373)
Organ voluntary: Voluntary in A minor for Double Organ (William Croft)

Conductor: Martin van Bleek
Organ: James Pollard

Afterwards some of us relaxed over drinks in a cafe on the Market Square. Others still had a long way to travel by train to get home. Those evensongs are a real joy. It is such a blessing to be able to sing with such a choir and in wonderful places of worship. There is the prospect of singing in Malta, and who would not like that!

A good day all in all.

The Muller organ of the BAVO is world famous. Built in 1738, it was played by G.F. Händel in 1740 and ’50, who travelled to Haarlem especially for this purpose, and in 1766 the ten-year-old Mozart was on the organ.  It looks magnificent. So the postludium or voluntary was worth listening to.

Some frescoes in the church are still intact and have been restored to its former glory.

Iconoclasm has destroyed so many church treasures. In Holland the protestants did not at all approve of organs or any other musical instrument in church services. They were considered  to be instruments of the devil by. Only the Word, the Bible, was important. The organs, however, were not destroyed as they did not belong to the churches, but to the cities. The organists were employed and paid by the city and were supposed to give recitals regularly, also on Sundays, but not during the services. So the beautiful pipe organs were left untouched. For those who speak Dutch, there is a very interesting site explaining the conflict between the religious and local authorities about the church organs.

I wonder why the Canticles, the Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittis, were also banned by the protestants, as well as the chanted Psalms. The latter were replaced by the most dreadful rhymed paraphrases of the biblical psalm texts. The song of Mary and the song of Simeon, respectively the Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittis, are literal quotations from the Bible. But it was all to "popish" for the protestants, especially the Calvinists. The Lutherans have kept more of the Roman Catholic elements of the liturgy. It would be a very fascinating study why the protestants in the Netherlands were so radical, but I suppose that has been done already.

In the morning I sang in my regular church choir in The Hague . The congregation really welcomed the choir after a two month absence. A quick drive home to cook an very easy meal before leaving for Haarlem.

Just before I left for Haarlem I was invited to join a nephew and his wife on Monday night for a concert in the famous Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, an unexpected treat. No Anglican chant this time, but Wagner, Strauss  and Sjostakovitsj.

The day before, on Saturday, we organised the Open Day of the cultural institution of our small town, where a selection of the courses, concerts and lectures we have on offer this coming season was presented to interested possible "customers". It was an opportunity to meet some of the course leaders and teachers, and admire the work of students who had taken part in creative and/or art courses. We did not get as many interested future "students" as we expected, but that might have been due to the inclement weather. It was pouring down all day long, and even the shopping centre remained very quiet for a Saturday. 

Ely en Brahms

A video of the Brahms, the only German anthem we, the ECS (European Cathedral Singers), sang in Ely. James, the organist that day, did the recording and used my photo's to create this video. It was a surprise for me, but I think it is quite a good video. I did not really like the Brahms, but I think it sounded a lot better than I had thought it would. There were 29 of us. Some years we only have 20 or 22 singers, so we had a rather big choir this year.

Flowers and Music

A nice weekend, fortunately not without company.

Friday evening my neighbour and I went to see the floats which were ready for the flower parade on Saturday. The auction halls are just down the road, and the weather forecast for Saturday was for rain and more rain. The halls are huge, and after Aalsmeer which is world famous, they are the biggest flower auction halls in Holland. They are covered, so we could admire the flowers well protected from the elements. Of course during the parade the floats carry people: flower queens and maidens, brass-bands, clowns and whatever. But the flowers are the most important thing. The imagination of the people designing the floats is amazing. It seemed that every one taking part in the parade had been awarded a prize, be it bronze, silver or gold. And rightly so, for all the private cars and trucks, as well as the floats were beautiful in their own way. I could not choose between them, although I liked some colour schemes better than others.  But that is a matter of personal choice. Every visitor went home with a big, long stemmed rose, which is now taking pride of place in the living room.

Zaltbommel

Another and totally different outing was on Saturday night. I had not seen my organist friend for at least seven weeks, during which time he had given recitals in France and Switzerland and I had gone to England to sing in Ely Cathedral the day he came back from his five week tour. On Saturday evening he gave a recital in Zaltbommel, in a big church which has a beautiful pipe organ. The church is remarkable as frescoes from before iconoclasm are still vaguely visible in several places. Although the church is dedicated to St. Maarten (St. Martin?), three of the remaining frescoes depict St. Christopher. A website for the church is in the process of being built and does as yet not give any information about its history or the pipe organ. But another website gives detailed information about musical life in the area. It contains a dairy of the recitals, and each individual programme is given in detail. For each composer listed – and for some organists - , there are links to specific websites.  One of the compositions my friend played that evening was the Passagaglia in d-moll by Dietrich Buxtehude (1637-1707).

It is a joyful organ piece. The You Tube recording I have chosen is interesting because it is played on the well-known De Swart-van Hagerbeer organ in the "Hooglandse Kerk" in Leyden, the Netherlands, which I am so familiar with. It was a joy to be at the recital, and to meet many friends and acquaintances. Six of us, including the organist, had drinks in a cafe afterwards, the only one in this sleepy town which was still open, so we could catch up on what we had been doing during the summer so far. I was not back home till after midnight, as it takes at least an hour and 15 minutes by car to get to Zaltbommel. But it was well worth it and a very enjoyable evening indeed.

March and Oxburgh

We had one day off during our week in Ely, and lo and behold, it rained. We had sweated away in the choir school during the first two days, but on Thursday it was another matter. Some of us took the train to Cambridge, some stayed at Ely to explore whatever there was to explore, to do some shopping, or just to relax and prepare for the next three days of singing. I had been to Cambridge several times, and although it is always a delight to be there, I would rather go during term time to be able to go to Evensong in one of the chapels. Besides, I reckoned that now I had a chance to see several interesting villages in the area, and I might never have that chance again. Cambridge would have to wait. So with a friend we set off for March. March isn't at all interesting although at one time it was famous for its railway junction. But just south of March is the St. Wendreda. The church is world famous for its magnificent double-hammer beam roof and together with 120 carved angels it is regarded as one of the best of its kind. John Betjeman described the church as "worth cycling 40 miles in a head wind to see".

At first we missed it and ended up in the town centre. So we turned back and it was just as well we did. The church is not particularly exciting, except for its roof which is truly magnificent. Apart from the carved angels at the end of the beams, the angels along the walls all have different musical instruments. It was quite a challenge to photograph them, so we both ended up lying on our backs in the middle of the floor, fortunately carpeted. Kneelers make wonderful head rests, I discovered.

The double hammer beam roof construction was built between 1470 and 1520. The beams are adorned with 118 angels, in addition to saints and apostles. There are angels' wings on the wall posts, wings on the hammers and wings on the tops of the tie-beams.  

A winged St. Caecilia?

Another odd feature is the tower which has a path through its base. There are different stories about this path. Simon Jenkins in his book "England's Thousand Best Churches", suggests that it is a processional path to avoid celebrants having to use the public road. In the church however there is an information panel claiming that the tower was built over a public footpath. Of course rights of way are sacrosanct in England. But why build a tower exactly there? So the archway at the base of the tower remains a mystery. I did not stop to take a picture of it, as the rain was coming down quite heavily.
Via country lanes we set off for Oxburgh Hall, in Oxborough, Norfolk. On our way we came across and stopped at a little church in a field near West Dereham, in contrast to East Dereham which is a market town, a hamlet if there ever was one. This is what the website says about the church.

St Andrews is a church with a growing congregation and has a Sunday service each week. It is a rural parish in a village of 360 people. The church is sited on a hill with views over the fens to Ely in the south.
St Andrews is a grade one listed round towered church. Considered by English Heritage to be one of the finest medieval churches in England. It has a nave and chancel largely unchanged since the perpendicular windows were fitted in the 15th century. Its round ironstone conglomerate tower is one of the stoutest in England and has a newly conserved Tudor brick octagonal top.
The chancel has some fine marble memorials and a magnificent statue of Sir Richard Soames carved by Singleton. The nave and chancel roof was replaced in 1902 after the old roof collapsed. The Porch has a fine brick gable and with the North Nave windows was restored in 2011
St Andrews has a light airy feel and is truly a place suitable for the glory of God

We walked round it and admired the very unusual tower. And peered through the windows. But contrary to the walls of Jericho, the church doors did not open. Walking around it did not help. I must admit we could have obtained a key, as there was a note on the door telling us where to find it. But we had other plans. We took some pictures but the one on their website is perhaps the best as the light on the gravestones is so beautiful.

When we were there it was dry, but only just, so my pictures are rather dull. What fascinated me were the peculiar slatted windows in the octagonal top of the round tower. And seeing a blocked up door at the back of the church, I wondered about its history. No answers so far.

Gravestones at the foot of the tower

The next stop was Oxburgh Hall, now a National Trust property. CastleUKnet provides the following information:

Originally it was a 13th century fortified manor house, founded by the de Weyland family. In 1482, King Edward IV, granted Sir Edmund Bedingfeld a license to crenellate and he founded a brick quadrangular fortress, encased by a wide moat. Flanking the north range, is a magnificent unaltered three storey gatehouse, which is also flanked on the front angles by high octagonal towers. The hall was damaged during the Civil War and its two storey ranges were extensively rearranged and given Victorian Gothic decoration, in the 18th and 19th century.

The Bedingfields were Catholics, which accounts for the priest hole which visitors can slide down into. I wasn't so brave, but my friend was. I didn't mind sliding in so much, but thought the crawling out might pose a problem!  How awful to be cooped up here for even weeks on end. The castle is interesting, but so are the beautiful formal gardens around it, the moat and the little stream. Amazing to see a man reading a newspaper in front of one of the remarkably big and light windows. The castle is still lived in and by the looks of it, it can be no hardship living there, apart from being peered at by lots of visitors during the opening hours. So only part of it is open to the public, but that part is well worth seeing.

Pictures taken on a sunny day in August 2005

There is a restaurant as well which had stopped serving lunch by the time we arrived so that we had to make do with scones and toasted teacakes. The chapel with the most beautiful altarpiece was also closed when we emerged from the house. No one told us it would close half an hour before the house did.

Oxborough village itself boasts a church which was partly destroyed and hasn't been restored. The tower and part of the nave just collapsed in 1948. But in the part that remains, among which the Bedingfield Chapel, there is an unusual terracotta altarpiece and choir screen, the likes of which I had never seen before. We did not explore it this time, but I had done so a few years earlier when I was in the area.

Bedingfield Chapel

The restaurant opposite the entrance to the Hall had gone out of business and was boarded up – not our lucky day for restaurants apparently - , so we made our way back to Ely to end a very rewarding day with a pub meal.

Ely

Singing in the choir stalls in any British Cathedral is a blessing, but some cathedrals are better than others and Ely is one of the better ones. I had been to Ely before, but not as a singer, as someone who belongs.  Why does anyone want to spend a holiday cooped up in a hot and badly ventilated choir school, practising all day, to sing Evensong six evenings in a row? This year our choir is bigger than other years, 29-30 singers in all, and we all love what we are doing and are here of our own free will. Ely is just a small town, and besides the cathedral and the docks down at the riverside, not to mention Cromwell's house, there isn't much to see. So the groupies and fans travelling with us are rather disappointed. They can't travel to Cambridge every day. We, the choristers, are quite happy and content. There would not be much time to explore our surroundings anyway, and it is not what we have come for. Although we come from different countries and different church choirs, we are supposed to be united in this and sing with one voice, no matter what we are or do in our "normal" lives. And that takes concentration and effort.

Ely cathedral can be seen from afar, as it is built on the highest point of a former island in the marshlands, now the fens, flatter than Holland it seems. To me the land is uninteresting, but the cathedral is not. It is a mixture of old, older, oldest and newer, as so many cathedrals. The Octagon over the crossing of Nave and the North and South Transepts is amazing, God looking down on us from above. The nave has a Victorian roof, but the North and South Transepts have hammer beam roofs dating back from the 15^th century, adorned with wooden angels painted in very bright and basic colours, red, gold, blue, green and yellow. Some of our group don't even notice them till the middle of the week as they are so high up. Many churches in Norfolk and in Cambridgeshire have "angel" roofs, but not all of them are coloured. Some because the colour has faded through the centuries (Necton?), others because they were never painted in the first place.

Several years ago, the angels in Ely were as colourless as in many other churches, but they have been restored to their former glory. I think I prefer the unpainted version.

We have an ambitious music list, but the first and the last Evensong we usually sing something we know quite well. The first evening because we have only studied for half a day and haven't fully blended yet as a choir. Besides it would be discouraging if the first Evensong would not go well. The last Evensong we want to go out with a bang so that we feel happy and long to do it again next year. We forget the imperfections and mistakes we have made during the week and just rejoice and sing joyfully. The last Evensong is a mixture of happiness and sadness. When it is over, we all part and go our separate ways again. For me it feels like a balloon out of which the air is escaping all of a sudden and I am left with this uninteresting limp and useless piece of plastic or rubber, whatever.  It is wonderful if we are invited back, which is often the case. At least we have achieved what we came for. But our dream of being cathedral choristers, is over.

Here is our music list for the week:

Monday 1 August:

Office Hymn 208

Preces: Heathcote Statham

Psalms 6, 7, 8

Canticles: Walmisley in D minor

Anthem: The Lord hath been mindful – S.S. Wesley (from Ascribe unto the Lord)

Tuesday 2 August:

Office Hymn 209

Preces: Michael Walsh

Psalms 12, 13, 14 (omitting vv 5-8)

Canticles: Sumsion in A

Anthem: Geistliches Lied – Johannes Brahms

Wednesday 3 August:

Office Hymn210

Preces: Michael Walsh

Psalm 18

Canticles: St. Andrew’s Service – Peter Aston

Anthem: Hail gladdening light – Charles Wood

Thursday 4 August:

Free day

Friday 5 August (Eve of Transfiguration in Lady Chapel):

Office Hymn 323

Preces: Smith 5 part

Psalms: 99 & 110

Canticles: Purcell in G minor

Anthem: Justorum animae – Gabriel Jackson

Saturday 6 August (Transfiguration):

Office hymn 323

Preces: Rose

Psalm 72

Canticles: William S. Lloyd Webber in E minor

Anthem: Christ whose glory fills the sky – Harold Darke

Hymn: NEH 178

Sunday 7  August (Eucharist):

Darke in F

Motet: Salvator Mundi – Thomas Tallis

Hymns: NEH 393, Sing Praise 259, Common Praise 170, NEH 286

Sunday 7 August (Choral Evensong):

Office Hymn 202

Preces: Rose

Psalm 86

Canticles: Noble in B minor

Anthem: Cantique de Jean Racine – Gabriel Fauré

Hymn: NEH 431

I love most of the music, but the chanted psalms are my favourite. Although chanting seems so easy, it isn't at all. The psalms can't be sung well without really taking in the words, the meaning. They are sung alternatively by the decani and the cantores. Also the words of the Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittis, respectively the songs of praise of Maria, and of Simeon when Jesus was presented in the Temple, move me every time. They are wonderful, whatever music they are set to, and fill me with joy. It doesn't matter at all if there are people attending the service or not, it is our own hymn to God, I think, giving ourselves in God's hands for safekeeping during the night at the end of the day.

The high altar from the choir stalls

I took many pictures inside the cathedral, but it is better to visit the splendid website of Ely Cathedral, which, besides a lot of useful information, also offers virtual tours of the exterior and interior of this awe inspiring building..

Two services formed an extra challenge this time. The first one was the service on Friday in the Lady Chapel, as we could not hear each other at all, and the anthem, Justorum Animae by Gabriel Jackson, was not easy either, but very effective in the chapel, where it must have sounded ethereal due to the acoustics. But it was all very different from singing in the choir stalls.

And the Sunday Eucharist in the nave is always a challenge. The choir usually feels rather exposed, and although by that time we know the ropes of processing and the rituals at Evensong, the Eucharist and processing on Sunday is different in each cathedral. So I at least, feel rather tense and it is a relief when all goes well and we do not do make any faux pas. But this tension often affects our singing, which it did indeed. Again, we can't hear each other very well, which is a disadvantage.

My B&B was in a small village just outside Ely, in Witchford. A former farmhouse again, the pigsties or stables had been converted into en suite bedrooms and were separate from the house where breakfast was served in the oldest part of it. The wooden beams in the dining room were impressive, and it was a nice and spacious room, contrary to my bedroom. Although everything was right, a good bed, clean floors, piping hot water and a very powerful shower, there was only one straight backed chair in what was supposed to be a double room. When I saw the size of the rooms, I took a double room because I wanted a bit of space, but it did not really serve my purpose. For an 8-day stay the room was very cramped, with pegs on the wall instead of a wardrobe – hangers kept sliding off - , and a wee chest with just two usable drawers. The farm was quite hidden from the road and reached by a potholed, private lane, which was a bit tricky at night. As was avoiding the many rabbits. Fellow singers in town complained of street noise in their accommodation. I woke up early because of respectively - although not necessarily in that order - a goose honking under my window, a pheasant making the most terrible noise, and pelting rain. I got up  - at 4.30 in the morning – and was rewarded by seeing the most perfect double rainbow I have ever seen, very brightly coloured. Lacking a wide angle lens, I could not photograph the complete rainbow, unfortunately. It is amazing that at home the noise of nearby traffic on the motorway and of planes beginning their landing right over my house, do not really disturb me any longer. But in that absolutely quiet B&B, in the middle of fields, feathered creatures could, as well as a braying donkey.

And then of course there is the day off in the middle of the week, which is worthy of a separate post.

Two weeks in Albion

As soon as I see the proverbial white cliffs slowly disappear, homesickness for England sets in. This is not getting any better when I reach the mainland, the industrial wasteland which lies at the other side of the Channel, the docks at Dunkerque. Nothing here reminds anyone of the heroic acts of the second World War. We cross railway tracks on which I have never seen a train, go round roundabouts which seem to lead nowhere, see barriers and containers in an utterly flat landscape.  The route to the Netherlands is not much better. Especially in France there are no landmarks to be seen from the motorway. Between Antwerp and Breda we now drive along a never ending grey concrete wall, hiding the fast train from car drivers, as well as any interesting church spires, wooded areas or anything which gives one an idea where one is. It is like driving through a nightmare, in which I seem to make no progress and expect to drive on forever without reaching my destination.

I have been in England these past two weeks, unfortunately with sporadic access to internet and hardly ever a cell phone signal strong enough to do much at all. So no blogging. The main aim was to sing Evensong for a week in Ely Cathedral. But before doing that I visited some friends in Norfolk. So here is an account of the various stages of my holiday.

NORFOLK

My B&B in Norfolk, hidden in a very quiet village, is wonderful. I have my own little bungalow, with everything one could need or wish for, and more. Norfolk is unspoilt by tourism, at least away from the coastal villages and towns. I love its rolling landscape with the winding country lanes, very narrow in places, dipping down unexpectedly into hollows, going through spinney's and old woodland, emerging again on top of a hill with wide views of the countryside. You could easily get lost among those country lanes. There are many small villages, road signs pointing in all directions, but they seem to be hidden by the hedges bordering the roads. Those hedges harbour a lot of wildlife: badgers, porcupines, small mammals, voles; birds nest there. It is a paradise for butterflies as well. Higher up there are birds of prey, owls, many songbirds, tits, finches, gold finches, greenfinches, bullfinches, all the ones hardly found any more in the urban area in Holland where I live.It is the end of July and harvest time. The corn is ripe, although of poor quality because of the drought. The yellow a happy contrast with the bright red poppies lacing the fields. Many fields are being ploughed, showing a wonderful crumbly texture of rose coloured soil, a treasure trove for birds.

In the evening light, the stones of a church on a hill change into pure gold. The sunsets are fascinating, and I feel I am driving through fairyland. The roads wind around churches which seem to be built in the middle of nowhere. They used to be open during the daytime, but unfortunately many are now closed because of theft. But contrary to the Netherlands where the churches are almost always closed, at least here there is a notice on most doors telling interested visitors where they can obtain a key to the church. Some of the smaller churches are very interesting and in many cases their history goes back towards the 14^th century. Especially in Norfolk, I find the churches fascinating. Some have round spires, many are built of flint, and some have the most wonderful roofs, hammer beam roofs, the ends decorated with wooden angels. The Norfolk Churches site is fantastic. It also lists all the round tower churches in Norfolk separately. The church in Swaffham has a most interesting history, and a splendid double hammer beam roof with angels. One of our former curates, a friend, is now the rector of Langham and seven other parish churches. He lives in the most gorgeous flint stone rectory, his study looking out towards the church next door, the most wonderful view I can imagine.

The number of big estates in Norfolk is amazing. I only notice them because of the long and often crumbling brick walls along the road, the boundaries of the properties, vast stretches of land; and the grand entrance gates, ornate cast iron ones, most decorative, supported by strong brick pillars, heroic lions on top, showing the moss covered coat of arms of their owners. The boarded up gatehouses, guarding the roads with blinded eyes, are witness to their decline. But I also see that walls are being repaired and rebuilt in places. The houses, if still intact, are hidden deep within the estates not visible from the road, tucked away somewhere, where we, a different species almost, can’t see them.

The land is surprising, rather empty of people, every village with its own big church, sometimes built of flint and pebbles. There is an abundance of flowers, often in pots flanking the front doors of the houses, and in hanging baskets, brimming over with colour. Fluffy, contented chickens cross the roads, chuckling, pecking around them trying to find some delicacy. I try not to hit the pheasants and the partridges with their chicks, already grown to almost their parents’ size. There seems to be a slower pace of life, but it may be an illusion. Cars all of a sudden seem to loom behind me, impatient to pass me on roads where that is well nigh impossible. Farmhouses have been tastily changed into luxury homes, barns into cottages rented out to tourists, outbuildings converted into B&B's, just as the annexe I stay in, a former stable in the grounds of a farmhouse. The grounds are still extensive, and my hostess has converted the fields into different garden rooms, with seats and garden furniture hidden in secluded places. There is a big wild flower meadow, there are chickens, there is a kitchen garden, an old water well, in short, it is a place full of surprises and hidden gems, a place with secret gardens. I love it immediately, even if it is difficult to find it in the dusk, when I come back from my friends' place in a village a 20-minute drive away. It is a inspiring drive along the lanes, the land so quiet and peaceful. I only see pheasants, rabbits, birds. The sky turning orange and bright red when the sun sets. It seems to me this is how life should be lived, peacefully drifting into the evening, the darkness of the night.

Although a lot of farming is still going on, here too life changes. But there are no ugly new estates. Old buildings are not demolished but renovated and put to another use. In the evening a friend hands me the special housing supplement of the weekend paper. It is full of the most elegant and enviable properties, old farmhouses tastefully converted, barns, Georgian mansions, all with a lot of land. The prices are staggering. How can there be so many rich people in a country in which taxes are as high as in Holland? Orchards, ornamental gardens, barns and outhouses, they all come in a package with a big house.

One of the places I visit with my friend is Pensthorpe Nature Reserve, a wonderful place where the Jordan family, the cereal makers, have turned former gravel pits into a bird sanctuary and where they promote ecologically sound farming methods. That includes planting hedges and giving 10% of each arable field to nature by surrounding it with wild flowers and shrubs. As the weather is rather cold, wet and windy, we opt for a guided tour with a "train", towed by a Landrover, and without any springs whatsoever. It goes around the periphery of the reserve, and we see many interesting things, especially as our guide talks non-stop and is a rich source of information. Besides he has an eagle eye and points out birds, nests and plants to us we would never have noticed otherwise. A few years ago I walked around the bird sanctuary, but it is too much effort for my friend now, so we enjoy lunch in the restaurant which serves lovely fresh and healthy food, and then go back, my friend for her afternoon rest, I to visit Holt, a very interesting and lively town. It is busier than usual, this being holiday time and not exactly the right weather for a day on the beach. Most houses here are of flint. I wonder how cold they will be in winter. It is an upper class town, with art galleries, antique shops, nice cafe's and restaurants and a very classy department store which offers a wide selection of desirable things. I love their kitchen department, with gimmicks and colourful spoons and ladles and sharp quality knives. Their food department is as good as Harrods', although smaller. The church is surrounded by an attractive, wooded churchyard. The interior is not remarkable, merely pleasant, the coloured glass in the windows Victorian.

My last Sunday in Norfolk my friend and I attend a service in a tiny country church in a hamlet north of East Dereham. We have to remove the cobwebs before we can sit in our designated pews. The sun slants through the windows. An organist tries to get as much sound as possible out of a keyboard placed in front of a small disused organ, the pipes slightly leaning towards each other. After the service and the obligatory weak cups of instant coffee granules at the back of the church, we drive to Great Massingham, a lovely village with three big ponds in the wide common, and, contrary to the Norfolk Churches Website, a lovely pub, the Dabbling Duck, where we have our Sunday lunch in rooms lined with books, before we part our ways and I set off for Ely, to begin my week of singing.