London and Provincial Music

I very rarely travel north. I usually work in the corridor between Northampton and Eastbourne, with London in the middle. Only very rarely do I venture to the East Midlands, partly because the transport links to that region have been vandalised completely, and partly because there is rarely anything to make anyone venture there in the first place.

The one great exception to this is when I make a trip up to Nottingham or Ilkeston to hear Ilkeston Brass, which I have now done for four consecutive years. This band is well worth the effort to go to hear, even if it is impossible to find a railway line which points in roughly the right direction, meaning we are stuck on road tortoises. Not only that, but these don’t even go in any sensible direction either. To get from Northampton to Nottingham, you have to go down to Milton Keynes, wait for two hours, and then go back up again. This is in the 21st century in what purports to be a developed nation.

The two hour wait in Milton Keynes is hardly unpleasant on a perfect summer day such as today, as it gives time for a stroll around Willen Lake. This is one of the beauty spots, in what I believe is one of the two best places in Great Britain to live. One of these is Marylebone in London, where you have Regent’s Park as your back garden, walking access to Wigmore Hall, and are only a very short bus ride from Euston, St. Pancras and King’s Cross, from which you can get virtually anywhere. The other is Willen in Milton Keynes, which has the lake as its focal point, and which is on a path between the busiest coach terminal outside London, and a railway station from which the trains only take just over half an hour to reach London. Most travel from Milton Keynes is easy, and travel within the city is a quarter of the price of London bus travel.

Today, I use the enforced wait as an opportunity to hear again the music of Chopin, in this his 200th anniversary year, in the city where Adrian Boynton did such a fantastic job of helping us celebrate on March 1st. The road tortoises are at least running on time today, and the journey north is completed on schedule.

The Arboretum Park in Nottingham is an exceptionally good one, except for the fact that the public conveniences are closed unless there is an event on. The nearest ones are a fifteen minute walk away, and it beggars belief that this is allowed to go on in the premier park of a major city. On a more positive note, Nottingham is proving that streets can be used for something useful by providing a tram link between the park north of the city and the railway station. If only the railway station had some trains running to the places I need to go I would be able to use it.

The bandstand here is an exceptionally fine one, and it becomes obvious as soon as Ilkeston Brass begin to play that the sound is going to be thrown out nicely towards the listening spectators. Talking of the spectators, I do have to say that this was one of the most respectful and civilized crowds I have ever heard. No morons yapping at the top of their voices while the band is playing, no idiots kicking footballs at peoples’ heads, and no disruption whatsoever to the event. Apparently it has not always been as today, although hopefully this venue has now turned the corner.

Ilkeston Brass is a known quantity after all these years, but it still delivers a solid and varied programme. The solos “Solitaire” and “Misty” are well known melodious pieces, and the rest of the programme combines traditional brass band fare with the more contemporary material which is creeping in. The two pieces by Holst are especially welcome, a fine composer from England gracing a perfect English summer day. Mr. Dave Jones is still the best MD with the microphone, combining a deep musical knowledge with a laid back and dry humour. All in all, an excellent three hours which I doubt I could have bettered elsewhere.

The road tortoises even manage to get me home without incident, and one big advantage of this trip over the one to Ilkeston in September is that it is still light when I leave Milton Keynes. As the coach heads north, there is the most perfect round sun setting to our left. This has been the English summer at its absolute best, so a huge thank you once again to Ilkeston Brass.

And so the village fete month of June draws to a close. It is an illusion, of course, but time does seem to pass so much more quickly during the months of light and sunshine than in the dreary off season, and it seems like only yesterday that I was heading down to Courteenhall for the first village fete.

There is one more church fete to come, next week at Great Billing, but June is always the month where we can most savour the traditional atmosphere of one of the most positive sides of our troubled nation. Even village and church fetes vary considerably in quality, and the one at St. George’s Church in Toddington is clearly one of the best. The atmosphere is right, all of the facilities are here, and the band plays for a decent amount of time. It is well worth the long and difficult trip.

Toddington village will never win any accessibility awards. Although it is the next village to Harlington, which still proudly boasts a main line railway station, the connection between the two is a deathtrap of a main road with no pavement, and a grass verge which in parts is so overgrown with brambles and thorns you are forced to walk in the road. Not only that, but the omnibus service which is so necessary here is sparse in the extreme. There is only one bus every two hours. Going back, the last bus of the day leaves at 15:58. Not great news when the fete is due to finish at 16:00.

I have long since given up expecting to find even the smallest modicum of sanity in anything which involves British transport, and there is certainly none to be found here. This is not an isolated farmhouse in the Scottish Highlands, neither is it a lighthouse stuck out in the sea miles from the nearest dirt track. Toddington is a very large and populous village, very close to not only Harlington station but also to Luton, Dunstable and even Leighton Buzzard. There should be plentiful buses running in all directions throughout the day, even if Toddington is not worthy of a light electric rail connection to Harlington and even to Linslade, where the station called ‘Leighton Buzzard’ just happens to be.

In the deprived and depraved world of twenty-first century Britain, Toddington is a challenge to get to. From Northampton, you need to take a train to Bletchley, then the slow stopper from Bletchley to Bedford, and finally a London-bound train from Bedford to Harlington. Then, you need to wait up to two hours for a road tortoise, otherwise known as an omnibus, to take you into Toddington. I needed to leave Northampton at 8:05 to be able to get here in time. I shan’t see home until 7:30 this evening, so this is a long and challenging day.

What is not challenging is the weather, as once again the sun is shining on this most welcoming and attractive of fetes. The village green is a picture in its own right, resplendent in colour , and the inspiring church casts a comforting shadow over the pleasing English scene. People have come to take simple pleasure in the day, an endearing trait for sure.

Talking of weather, I am reminded forcibly of the howler made by the BBC last year when they forecast extremely cold and even wet weather, and instead the sun shone as today. It was the band, would you believe, who reminded me of this. They had actually remembered me sitting there listening to them, hideously overdressed. Oh! Come on! Who remembers one isolated fan who they have never even met before? Well, unbelievably, they did.

Toddington Town Band is in the midst of one of their proudest moments. They are celebrating one hundred years of music making in a century which saw two world wars, the senseless destruction of our transport infrastructure (who said “Oh no! Can’t that boring git ever stop going on about his pet subject?”), and in 1955 the replacement of musical instruments with electric guitars as popular music began its seemingly irreversible descent into the darkest bowels of hell. Despite everything, the band has played on. I don’t expect to be on the green at St. George’s in 2110, and I doubt that many of today’s performers will be either. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, though, if we could all look down from a vantage point in spirit and see a new generation of bandsmen proudly celebrating Toddington 200?

I first discovered the Toddington Town Band scarcely over a year ago, on a June 14th Sunday when Northampton Bummer Clowncil took it upon themselves to cancel the band in Abington Park at the last minute. I ended up in Leighton Buzzard, drowned in sweat, dehydrated, breathing like air was going out of fashion after a three mile run to the railway station to save the day. I awaited the performance of the Toddington Town Band, more in hope than expectation.

When the sheets were handed out with the programme for the afternoon, I found that it included Bach, Schubert, Cavalleria Rusticana, and countless other highlights in an extremely well thought out and varied extravaganza of melody and meaning. The band proceeded to play the programme quite superbly, and made a huge impression on me. I was especially struck by the timing of the low instrument players, who provided the most wonderful harmonies at just the right moment. I put in a strong recommendation to Northampton Bummer Clowncil that this band be included in the 2010 programme for Abington Park, but the advice fell on stony ground (apologies to any stones who feel insulted by this remark.)

Toddington Town Band at the village fete is a slightly different animal, as the organisers of such events demand a light programme. It is apparent, though, as early as the second piece, that this is still going to be a quality performance. I am struck by the tone of the principal euphonium player, and the way he holds the perfect pitch of the note. Only hours of practice can produce this result. If I tried to play these passages, the note would vary wildly if it could even pitch it at all.

The Teas On The Green event the previous week was under serious consideration, as was the Heath Band event in Leighton Buzzard and the King’s Lynn Town Band in Hunstanton. In the end, I don’t regret going to Warwick by any means as it was a top quality event, but I can’t help wishing I could experience Teas On The Green to see what it is like. This is the event the band has total control over, so it would be the programme of their choice.

Today is a light programme played to a very high standard. The cornet section is weakened by the serious loss of the principal cornet, but is still competent. It is helped by a strong Eb cornet. The low instruments again capture my attention for much of the event, as the harmonies are superb once again.

I recommend the Toddington Town Band very highly indeed. Not only are they quality musicians, they are also an extremely helpful and friendly bunch of people. They are even kind enough to make sure I get back to Harlington without having to endure that awful walk from last year. They would have graced the bandstand in Abington Park perfectly in this their centenary year, but sadly it was not to be. I did do everything I could to try to make it happen, but sadly I have no control over the council. If only I did!

We are still less than a week past the longest day of the year, and as we leave Toddington the sun is still shining gloriously in the sky. The scene is still one to gladden the heart in our troubled nation. Yes, there are a lot of nasty people about, and a lot of disgraceful and totally unnecessary incidents. Yes, we are reeling from over half a century of gross mismanagement from politicians of both red and blue hue since the end of the last World War. Somehow, though, we are surviving despite ourselves.

What happens next is one of things which would cause bewilderment in the mind of a sane visitor to these shores, but to which we have become largely anaesthetised. Two trains are cancelled because of “lack of train crew.” Yes, really. I don’t suppose there is any point mentioning that the transport infrastructure, or at least what remains of it, is something of national importance and that every possible step must be taken to maintain its continuance? I am only lucky that there is another train to Bedford at just about the same time which has not been cancelled. Harlington is not the sort of place you would want to be stranded in for long.

Tomorrow promises much, and is one of the days of the year where there is abundant choice. I could have gone just about anywhere, but settle on Nottingham for the visit of Ilkeston Brass. Unlike Toddington, this is a band I have been hearing for many years, and know well. I certainly hope in time, though, that I will be able to say the same about the Toddington Town Band.