Halloween 2010 Episode 3: Cherubim and Seraphim

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL.  ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.  

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

Thursday Oct 27^th  St Mocheomoc’s Metropolitan Cathedral Hall 8.17pm

It was just another wet Thursday night in Kilcathclyde.

The choir of St Mocheomoc’s Cathedral were gathered at the Cathedral Hall for their usual weekly rehearsal.

Shug Grant, St Mocheomoc’s Director of Music was presiding over tonight’s practice. Chris Smith, the principal organist was putting the choir through their paces with his wild and wacky vocal warm-ups.

Chris seemed to have an endless supply of tongue twisters and riddles, and the choir spent many happy, but useless hours practicing these.

The choir were on their 18^th warm up of the evening, a new and updated version of “I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit, and on the slitted sheet I sit”

They raced up and down the scales, getting progressively faster with each key change.

 “Ha! Ah – one – more – time!” yelled Chris.

“I’m not the fig plucker,

Nor the fig plucker’s son

But I’ll pluck figs

Til the fig plucker comes”

Shug drummed the fingers of his left hand on the top of the piano impatiently and looked pointedly at his watch. There was only 12 minutes of rehearsal time left and they still hadn’t learned any of the 37 pieces required for the upcoming Papal Mass auditions which were only three weeks away.

 “Thank you Chris!” he grabbed his opportunity to interrupt as the tall organist took a swig of his triple strength latte.

“Ok everyone, let’s open our ‘Hymns For Tims’ at Page 2843 and sing Amazing Grapes.”

“Can I just say something?” came a voice from the sopranos.

Shug closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Yes, Bonnie Belle?” He exhaled loudly.

“I just wondered, where’s Ina?” said BoBe.

Ina Mallarkey was the usual choir conductor, despised by all, especially Shug, but for once he actually wished she were here tonight. She knew exactly how to handle Chris and BoBe for that matter.

“Oh, Ina...” said Shug, shrugging his shoulders, “she’s back in the Kilcathclyde Infirmary. Still in a coma unfortunately and in a critical condition. She was praying at the shrine to St Hawmaw in St Mochamoi’s when she was trampled underfoot by a crowd of 752 fanatical Danish pilgrims who were rushing to venerate his relics.” He sounded unconcerned.

“Awwww....” intoned the choir in unison.

“Anyway” continued Shug, “Amazing Grapes.“ He raised his left hand to begin conducting.

“Can I just say something else” enquired BoBe innocently.

“Dohhhhhhh” groaned the choir.

 “Yes BoBe?” said Shug, his jaw tightening.

“Is it not time to go Shug? After all, it’s 8.28pm.  We always finish at 8.28....”

“Nooooo!” yelled Shug frustrated. Sometimes he’d rather eat his own intestines than endure this drivel every Thursday.

“Yes, I know” he placated “but.....please wait everyone, I have a letter I must read to you about the auditions for the Papal mass from Father Farq.”

“Oooooooh!” chorused the choir.

“My dear brothers and sisters in music.” Shug began to read, “As you all know, Pope Quivox LXXXVI is coming to the Kilcathclyde Toy Story Theme Park in March next year and it is with great pride that I announce that I, Right Reverend Sean Gilhooley Farquhar, Director of Music for the whole of Scotland, have been commissioned to compose all the music for the mass” Shug raised an eyebrow. He took a deep breath and continued...

“As befits this great commission, I ask, no, I DEMAND, that anyone who wishes to participate in the massed choir for this holy occasion must be prepared to do things MY way, or it’s the highway.....” Shug shook his head as he read on....

“With this in mind, I enclose a 643 page choir booklet containing all the music for the upcoming auditions which will take place in three weeks time at a secret location.”

Numpties need not apply.

Yours in the name of the wee man,

Father (I’m just one of the boys) Farq

P.S. Any complaints about anything, do not contact me. Direct them to my assistant Phyllis McLachlan. E-mail her at toots10@gobble.co.uk”

Shug looked glum. The parish priest at St Mocheomoc, Gabriel Campbell had explicitly instructed Shug to make sure that the choir succeeded in its quest to sing for the Holy Father.

“What’s wrong?” asked Chris, concerned for his friend.

“Oh. This.” Shug waved Farq’s letter in Chris’ direction. “What should I do?”

“I know!” said Chris brightly.

“Altogether now.....Ah – one – two – three!

And with that the choristers joined in gaily, swaying from side to side in time to the arpeggios.

“Mrs Hunt had a country cut front in the front of her country cut pettycoat.”

Shug smiled wanly. “Bravo Chris.....” he said forlornly.

©2010 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.