By Lillian Bradbury
Hundreds of two-legged creatures walking in a continuous line and trudging across fields in various states of dress. Some wearing long flowing gowns with flowers in their hair. Some wearing crisp white shirts beneath dinner jackets, a neat bow tied under their chin. Others sporting tweeds and trilbies and then, of course, the anorak and wellie brigade. There was even a tiara or two!
But it was not so much about what they were wearing; it was what they were carrying. Slung over their shoulders were straps holding folded canvas chairs. Under their arms… folded tables. From their backpacks could be heard the clink of bottles; full of refreshment. In their hands, they carried lanterns… of all shapes and sizes. Picnic baskets, golfing brollies, and crystal candelabras! And they were all smiling.
Even when the rain started… they were all smiling.
It was the last month of summer. A month inspiring reverence and admiration; supreme dignity and grandeur.
Majestic. Perfect for a quintessential English evening.
The sun was setting in a sultry haze as we claimed our space in the grounds of our local stately home; Castle Howard. The shimmering lake was the backdrop to the stage where the orchestra was already assembled and the musicians were tuning in to the penetrating sounds from the oboe.
Anticipation and excitement rippled through the audience as they scurried to secure their place for a much-loved musical extravaganza.
Everyone seated, tables were assembled and decorated.
Some with patriotic paper napkins; paper plates and plastic cups. Others with white damask cloths; matching napkins and crystal champagne flutes… these were the party-goers with the candelabras, of course. Then out came the red, white, and blue. Rows of bunting strung from every available point.
Union Jacks planted in every available receptacle, and… then up went the red, white, and blue umbrellas as my family and I huddled together to celebrate The Last Night of the Proms… in the pouring rain!
With our Union Jack printed napkins smoothed delicately over our knees, we dutifully ate our soggy cucumber sandwiches (with the crusts cut off, of course) and filled meringue nests with squirty cream, carefully popping a strawberry on top. The cork from our bottle of Bucks Fizz landed on a neighboring table; we raised our white plastic cups to their crystal champagne flutes and gave a simpering apology.
By now, the rain was winning the war over the umbrellas as it gushed over the tops and ran down the backs of our chairs, forming puddles for us to sit in. But we still smiled and waved our flags, singing along with the wonderful music of brass, harps, and strings.
The guest soprano, in her blue satin gown, sang brightly, with warmth, and we were spellbound. The nobility of the tenor held us almost breathless as he serenaded us with rich, dramatic arias from Puccini and Rossini.
When the Spitfire flew over, we rose to our feet and cheered for England, waving our flags frantically as the plane circled overhead, the pilot tilting the wings to the enthusiastic applause and cheers from the crowds. Tears of emotion were quickly washed away by the driving rain.
My brother took my hand, lifting me from my soggy seat, and we waltzed in the small area we had claimed. As the orchestra played, we squashed and squelched over the sodden grass to Mozart and Bach. It was magical.
Wagner and Verdi, Rachmaninov and Elgar, our enthusiasm and excitement mounted as the music led us on to an outpouring of patriotic energy. Sea shanties tantalized us and heightened our anticipation as we clapped non-stop to The Sailor’s Hornpipe. As with tradition, we slowly bobbed in unison with the orchestra until we were stilled by The Dam Busters March.
Melancholy swaying… our eyes raised to the darkened sky, we were transported back to earth with the catchy Colonel Bogey.
There could be no other ending than Pomp and Circumstance and a rousing, uplifting performance of Rule Britannia before the electrifying firework display. The rain stopped, and within seconds our faces were radiant with the glow and shimmer of falling lights from the sky. Fizzles and pops; crackles and whizzes.
And that was it for another year. We didn’t trudge back across muddy fields, heavy with rain-soaked clothes. We floated on waves of overtures and symphonies, fantasias and concertos, and even with soggy bottoms and frizzy hair, we all still smiled!
If Sir Henry Wood was looking down on us (along with the aliens), I’m sure he would be smiling too.
© 2024 Lillian Bradbury
SEO Page Description
“A Quintessential English Evening” by Lillian Bradbury is a beautifully evocative account of a truly British tradition—an open-air Last Night of the Proms concert at Castle Howard. A night of music, rain, and patriotic spirit, this story captures the charm, resilience, and joy of an English summer event, complete with fine music, Union Jacks, and unexpected downpours.
