Saturday: Chattanooga-Atlanta-London
The parking lot at the Salvation Army Citadel on Moore Road looked like a yard sale
as the members of Jericho Brass struggled to get way too much stuff onto a 43-passenger
chartered bus. It was a sunny but cool Saturday afternoon, and expectations were high.
The group had been working for over a year to raise funds and save for personal expenses.
Plane tickets were purchased, passports updated, film and cameras made ready, and instruments
carefully polished. The little bit of surplus cash had been distributed as "pocket" money.
The mystery of "pounds and pence" had been thoroughly discussed but little understood. Now,
the departure day was here--Jericho Brass was headed for
England! The first "Hands Across the
Sea" tour was officially under way. Every square foot of space on the bus seemed to be occupied
by a horn, a suitcase, or a body. Those bodies were especially "fluffy" as a result of the
burgers Major Street fixed prior to departure.
The trip down I-75 gave time for each individual to reflect on the upcoming week and his or her individual expectations. We were going as performers, tourists, and ambassadors from the people of Chattanooga. A few had never flown before, much less across the North Atlantic. Many were planning to spend two nights in the homes of people they had never met. All knew we were going to play brass band music for the people who invented brass bands. What a challenge for a novice group like ours! What a wonderful opportunity this was to learn, to make new friends, and to create life-long memories. Included in our itinerary were some of the most notable cities in the history of Western culture: York , Oxford, and, as a finale, London.
A brand new Boeing 777 waited at the end of the ramp. After overcoming some serious problems with the size of our tuba cases, the group began to board. We all found the seat that would be our uncomfortable perch for the next nine hours. Lucky ones had an aisle, the less fortunate endured a cramped center seat. Wonder of wonders, we all had a little private TV in the back of the seat to the front! It had games, music, movies, and a map which automatically traced our route as we left friendly and familiar Atlanta for the 4200-mile run to "Jolly Old." Most of the toys lost their appeal very quickly, and our rear ends became numb and number. A few were able to sleep, however fitfully, while the Delta attendants kept us plied with snacks, water, wash cloths, and kind words. Hey, mom, are we there yet?
Sunday: London-Huddersfield-Dubcross
As we crossed over Ireland, dawn began to break. The sun brightened, and so did our spirits.
At this point, we were all ready to GET OFF THE *?!*# PLANE and to breathe a little fresh air.
Upon landing, we did the "foot's asleep" shuffle over to the next hurdle: Customs! Would they
find my passport in order? Will they ask me any questions that have tricky answers? Will they
put me in jail? Have me shot as a spy?!? Oh Lord, please let me...oh, never mind. Customs is a
piece of cake. Why was I worried?
A few instruments suffered from the crossing, and there were some repair issues to take up with the fine folks at Delta. One bag failed to appear (It did, finally, about four days later) so at least one member lived with borrowed, bought, and makeshift clothes for the start of the trip. At least all players, horns, and music did arrive in reasonably good order.
Bernard waited in the drive with a beautiful Mercedes-Benz bus (a "coach" he called it.) He was to be our tour guide, driver, teller of Yorkshire tales, and counselor on all things British. He was also to become our friend (except when he interrupted a needed nap with a 145-decibel announcement over the coach PA system!) But where is the bus door? There it is, on the other side! Safely on board, we made our turns onto the motor way (my God! He's on the wrong side of the... never mind) and the adventure really began. A gray and drizzly day began to clear some as we made our way toward Huddersfield and our first stop.
The bus seats were a lot like the airplane seats, but at least we did have some scenery. London suburbs and industrial parks gave way to English countryside, and those who stayed awake caught an occasional glimpse of a farmhouse or building that looked positively Medieval! Off to the left, we actually saw through the mist the faint outline of Windsor Castle. If the Queen was at home, she failed to wave big enough for us to see. Bernard cruised northward smoothly and soon made a stop for breakfast. That was an interesting challenge! What is that stuff? How much is a pound again? Oh, boy...Cheerios! Try this, it is not that bad. This is the strangest tasting coffee. Wonder if they have Egg McMuffins? Why do they serve so much tea? What...no grits?
Back on the coach, we moved northward, enjoying the changing and still green English countryside. Many members enjoyed the backside of their eyelids, and some snored loudly enough to amuse others. Finally, Bernard turned off the motorway and set off to the west on some impossibly narrow roads. At one point he proudly announced that we were passing through the village of his birth. Most of the buildings were built of stone or brick, and many were already old when Chattanooga was founded. The construction had the appearance of permanance. Everything appeared to be old, but never shoddy or lightly built. Across stone-fenced fields, we saw many scenes that could grace a picture calendar. England is in a northern clime, but fields looked green, rich and fertile even in late fall.
We climbed through the town of Huddersfield to the top of a ridge and turned into the lot of the Hilton. What a welcome sight! A bed! A shower! The welcoming committee from our host band (Elland Silver) stood under a banner announcing Jericho's arrival. Just how sweet and welcoming these people really were would become very evident over the next few days. They saw to it that there were no glitches, no disappointments, and many laughs awaiting our novice band. Even with their 125-year history of banding, they greeted us as equals.
Setting foot on historic West Yorkshire soil for the first time, most did the expected thing: they took a nap! After all, it had been over 24 hours since Moore Road, and fatigue was catching up. Some went for a brief walk among the cottages and pubs above the hotel and found the view down into Elland and the Calder Valley well worth the effort. There was little time for much of anything, as we had a gig: the members of the Dubcross Band Club were waiting. Out of overstuffed bags came the navy blazers, the gray pants, and some slightly wrinkled white shirts. Everyone was running on nervous energy and caffeine as we enjoyed a filling supper in the dining room.
Back on the bus and onto the road! Our guide pointed out many historic sights which we would have enjoyed more had it been light enough to see. (Darkness came by five PM.) Through several tiny villages we drove, including one which appeared in Brassed Off, the bandsman's Gone With the Wind. When Bernard finally parked, we were perched in a tiny lot above a dark alley leading to what was obviously the local "hot spot"...the historic Dubcross Band Club! What a place it was: half rehearsal hall, half bar. On that evening, one half was enjoying more activity than the other. (A hint: there was very little rehearsing going on.) A rowdy crowd welcomed us, brew in one hand, cigarette in the other. To make us feel at home, a large Rebel flag was tacked above our stage. We were all amused, but still appreciated the sentiment.
Time to play! Fatigue, nerves, a smoky hall, a cramped stage, and travel tension not withstanding, we played our first concert in England. Jericho Brass had played better, and we had played worse. Those attending clapped and cheered as if we were champions of Albert Hall (though we sounded a little more like Robert Hall.) We taught Yorkshiremen how to speak "southern," delighted them with a piccolo solo, assisted in prize drawings, and-all considered-did ourselves proud. Some "rebels" even managed to sample a local malt beverage or two. We came through the door as strangers from far away. We left as musical comrades, with an invitation to perform under our "smashing" banner at the local Whitsunday celebration in the near future.
Back at the hotel, there was very little socializing. We were whipped! Time for bed.
Monday: Leeds-Elland-Brighouse
Breakfast was an adventure. Bacon certainly did not look like bacon. The cereals were strange
but tasty. And that coffee! One individual even had the guts to try a bite of
"haggis." This
strange Scottish dish actually appeared on the breakfast bar! Ingredients vary from region to
region, but the fact that they consist mostly of various organ meats boiled with oatmeal in a
sheep's stomach give a hint to its taste. The less adventurous stuck to toast and tea. The
British don't seem to care for low-fat anything, and we all rediscovered how wonderful real
butter and jam could taste.
By this time, many of us (creatures of habit we are) had established a favorite seat on the coach. Most reoccupied those seats as we set off for the Royal Armory at the great factory city of Leeds. This was a fairly new attraction, a museum really, that housed a wonderful collection of arms and armor from Roman times up to the current era. Of particular interest was a four-story tower completely "decorated" on the inside with sinister looking weapons of all description: swords, bayonets, pikes, axes, helmets, and muskets. They were so artfully arranged that they almost looked like wreaths or floral arrangements (with really big thorns!) We also marveled at the beautiful jousting armor from the late Renaissance. Some pieces were designed to cover not only the knight, but his horse as well. The Armory also offered our first chance to do a very typical American thing-buy trinkets and souvenirs.
The group (minus a few who went to a music store) then did another very American thing. We went to the mall. There were stores that were very familiar in format if not in name: department stores, Christmas stores, electronic shops, card shops, shoe retailers. At the food court, several of us lined up to buy fish and chips. A few were bold enough to try that typical English dish with the "gravy" (or whatever that green stuff was?!?) Shoppers looked like shoppers in any mall in the USA, except the fashion and dress seemed to date from about 1982. Our bellies full and some gifts bought, we drove back to the music store to retrieve those who opted for that stop. Some were successful there in finding some great brass band music and CDs at give-away prices.
Visiting someone's home for an overnight stay is sometimes awkward at best. Planning a 2-day stay with someone you have never met can be a real challenge. What will their home be like? What will they serve to eat? What are the bathroom priorities? Will they be responsible enough to get me where I am supposed to be on time? Those questions and others stimulated some to just stay at the Hilton for a couple of extra nights. The rest of us went to the Elland Sliver band rehearsal hall to meet our fates.
The Elland Band Hall is a place that makes up in history and tradition what it lacks in plushness. The building itself is a tiny structure located next to a boarded-up woolen mill, circa 1900. On the other side is a vacant lot that appeared to be sub-divided into small garden plots (cabbages and turnips still in evidence.) All about the painted block walls are photographs, plaques, banners won in competition, and other memorabilia from Elland's 125 years of brass band history. Black and white photos of their recently deceased director were intermingled with concert posters. We practiced with reverence, knowing that many had occupied these chairs before us.
The worries about our hosts proved to be completely needless. After our short practice session and some wonderful tea and cookies (biscuits, as they are called there), we lined up to meet our hosts. The next two days were filled with interesting experiences and some wonderful times for the "home stay" group. We were more than "housed"; we were adopted! For months afterwards, we were able to entertain each other with anecdotes regarding what we did, what we ate, how late we stayed up, and how hard we laughed. Some adopting families sat local records for malt beverages consumed during a two-day period.
There was time for a quick supper, and it was off to the Brighouse Salvation Army hall for a joint concert with the Elland Youth Band. (Here is a key as to how these little town bands get to be so good. They treat youth band like we do baseball or soccer in this country. Kids grow into it.) We were pleased to enter a rather large hall, complete with balcony and a place for instruments. We were also excited to meet Mr. Derrick Broadbent, a composer/arranger of considerable note in brass band circles. He would later conduct us in his rendition of Floral Dance. (Following our concert, Maestro Broadbent asked if "Jericho Brass would fancy their own march?" The implications of this comment were realized several months later: Jericho received a hand-written manuscript to a new march called Southern Star.) Another brass band "star," Dr. Roy Newsome, was also in attendance and offered many compliments.
The Elland Youth Band was wonderful and set a high mark for Jericho to reach. Of particular note was a 12-year old cornet soloist who brought down the house with some "plunger" solos in a true Dixieland style. Jericho took the stage and set toes tapping with several selections. Once again, our piccolo solo was unique and much appreciated. Without being prompted, the crowd clapped along as we ripped through Rocky Top. The lovely wife of the Mayor of Calderdale was in attendance and graced us with warm applause after each piece. Richard, our director's son, continued to make the most of his birthday--which seemed to go on all week. He was getting gifts at every turn! (Jericho members actually celebrated three birthdays while on tour.) Our band also enjoyed the services of a loaned E-flat cornet player, as our regular soprano was unable to make the trip.
While on tour, several of us (males, mostly) noted a particular phenomenon which may or may not be coincidental. British towns seem to find the best looking girl in the community and then they make her play fluglehorn. This seemed to be the case in each band we heard, including the Elland Youth Band. If there is a scientific, rational, or musical reason for this, it is lost on us. Someone should certainly do a study. A beautiful instrument well played by a beautiful girl makes a very appealing combination.
Tuesday: York-Elland
The next morning dawned cool and rainy. Fortified with a good host family or hotel breakfast, we
set out for a day touring the ancient and noble city of York. Romans, Vikings, Celts, and
English kings had all walked the streets of this pivotal walled city, and its
cathedral rivals
Westminster in London for beauty, sheer size, and historical significance. Cameras at the ready,
we pressed on through a clearing morning. The walls surrounding the town provided a great
walking trail as some JB members strolled the entire circle. Others climbed the hill to the
great cathedral and enjoyed a detailed tour. This church was started in the 1300s and features
some of the largest and most beautiful stained glass windows in the world. At least one member
toured the British Railroad Museum, where many historic steam engines are housed. Several visited
a Viking excavation and saw a diorama of York as it looked some 1200 years ago. The Viking tour
even included smells one might have enjoyed (or avoided) in 850 AD. A bit of lunch, a stroll
through the "Shambles," and it was time to go. This experience was one of several where our tour
master's prediction came true: this trip will help you make a list of places you want to go
back to. York is certainly one of these places.
On the bus back to Elland, some caught a glimpse of reconstructed signal towers along beside the motorway. These stone towers were originally constructed in the Middle Ages (or earlier) and offered a spot to build a huge bonfire which could be seen for many miles--at least as far as the next tower. Think of a very primitive cell phone/microwave tower.
Showered, changed, and fed, we were off to St. Mary's Church in Elland and our joint concert with the Elland Sliver Band. This church, built in 1900, was perhaps the coldest building on earth at that particular moment. We were all wishing we had an overcoat and warm boots as part of our uniform. Everyone fought for a seat near a heat vent. It was here that we noticed another interesting British banding tradition. The Elland Band has a traveling uniform and a concert uniform. It was very clear that band members go to the concert in the traveling uniform, change to the concert uniform to play, then change back into the traveler to go home. And change they did! All modesty aside, males and females shucked clothes and made the changes right in the warm-up room, open-mouthed Jericho members not withstanding. We all saw enough British undergarments to last a lifetime. The reality of the situation is that these people have lived side-by-side and played music side-by-side for generations. They are all "family." Really, everyone's BVDs look pretty much the same.
The Mayor and his wife were both in attendance on this evening. We played first and delivered perhaps our best concert of the trip. Once again, Tennessee Salute was a favorite, and Chattanooga Choo-Choo brought forth much applause. We practiced together how to say "yo' mama 'n 'em," confusing some and amusing others. The Elland Band followed and demonstrated why English people love brass bands. Their sound was mature, mellow, rich, and infused with much color and dynamic contrast. Plaques and banners were exchanged, and we elicited a collective gasp from the Elland Band and from the audience with our promise of a 2000-pound contribution to their travel fund for "Hands Across the Sea--The Rebuttal."
Wednesday: Calderdale-Oxford
The next morning, it was time to give our wonderful hosts a goodbye hug. We were wearing our
concert uniforms and, despite a rainy and overcast day, looked as spiffy as we could. It was off
to officially meet the Mayor and Mayoress of Calderdale. A rather modern, politically fabricated
institution, Calderdale is named after the River Calder, an historic waterway running through
this particular valley. Nine townships, including Elland, Huddersfield, and Halifax, are
included in the political entity. Their town hall, located in
Halifax, is a rather grand
neoclassical structure designed by the same architect who designed the
Houses of Parliament in
London. We all waited patiently in the central hall for the Mayor to make his entrance. He did
shortly and looked splendid with his seven-pound gold necklace about his neck. We learned that
this particular bauble was not actually his, but went with the job--a symbol of his office. He
and his lovely wife graciously accepted our small gifts, then entertained us with a tour of the
building, some wonderful historical tidbits about the area, and some excellent refreshments. We
saw the official guest book, complete with the Queen's signature, sat in the chair built for the
Prince of Wales, and even had a nice group photo made in the council chamber. The Keeper of the
Door showed us the official town mace, an impressive scepter-like wand that the Queen held while
sitting for official business. Young Richard was presented with a late birthday gift: a
basketball (just the thing for a kid who was going to be cooped up on a bus or in a hotel for
the next several days.) He and the Mayor did go a little "one on one."
At the previous evening's concert, the Mayoress had attended. She mentioned to the audience that we were coming for a visit to the town hall. She went on to joke that if our playing was not too "keen" (as she put it) that we would not be allowed any tea. The performance must have been good enough, for the tea was excellent.
For almost 1000 years, the village of Oxford has been one of the most important cities of learning in the world. The average IQ of the town was about to suffer, as Jericho was on its way! A four-hour trip down the motorway and a brief lunch stop, and we were on the outskirts of that famous town, ready to enjoy what it offered. Much of Oxford falls into the category of "quaint," with centuries old buildings at every corner. Playing tourist would have to wait, however, as we had one more performance to play. We checked into our hotel, made a brief exploratory run up the main street, then dressed for the concert. Our hotel (perhaps the nicest of the trip) had prepared a wonderful meal for us, which we unfortunately had little time to enjoy. Gobbling what we could, we convinced them to save our dessert until later that evening. It was back on our bus and to the Oxford Salvation Army for our last concert of the trip.
After a couple of wrong turns, Bernard finally spotted a Salvationist waving enthusiastically to indicate "Here we are!" We parked and began to move ourselves into the building to play for the quickly growing audience. (By this time, we were experts at unloading our equipment and setting up to play.) The program had to be delayed for a few minutes while we waited on a busload of folks from a nearby town. (To make a bus excursion to hear the Jericho Brass was certainly a leap of faith for some of those people.) The local Salvation Army band played first, entertained us with some vocal numbers, and even provided a short comedy routine. Their group was a little reluctant to play for fear of being "shown up." Considering their limited instrumentation, they did an excellent job. Jericho took the stage and elicited much enthusiastic applause for our efforts. The "speak southern" bit caused some hearty laughter and even more stares of non-comprehension. After all, this was Oxford, and those trifling with the Queen's English do so at some considerable risk.
Largely a Salvationist crowd, this audience seemed to have a greater appreciation and understanding of many of our selections. There was certainly a warm familiarity with the musical literature of the Army. We were no longer in the heart of brass band country, but we were in the center of Salvation Army mission work in England. There was perhaps less understanding of the musicianship than in previous concerts, but more love for the music itself. The vast array of brass music available to the Army bands was only made available to non-SA groups within the last few years. We hope we performed those selections in the proper spirit and attitude.
One interesting trade was proposed during the concert. It was suggested by the local Citadel bandmaster that we swap our one drummer for their two. We declined, as that would have been akin to trading a shiny, new BMW sports car for two 1961 Rambler station wagons. We kept ours, and they were stuck with theirs.
Thursday: Oxford-London
Weather assisted in making the next day one of the most enjoyable of the trip. We had bright
sunshine, 55 degrees, and most of the day to see what we could of Oxford. Some of our group took
a bus tour, some headed immediately for the antique shops, and others struck out on foot to see
the sights. Highlights included a climb up to the steeple of an 800-year-old church, several
open-air markets, an art museum, and a close-up look at many of the dozens of colleges which
make up the town. A few Jericho members even got to see the original of the painting that
inspired one of our favorite arrangements,
The Light of the World.
We all managed to
assemble at least a small shopping bag. The spring-like weather encouraged strolling over the
canals and waterways that crisscross the town. There seemed to be beautiful courtyards and
historic views on every corner.
After lunch, we were back on the bus and headed for London, where we would wrap up "Hands Across the Sea." With no more performances scheduled, we were free to become strictly sight-seers, buyers of trinkets, and snappers of photographs. The blazers and ties were packed away for the duration, and the jeans and walking shoes came out.
The London hotel turned out to be very nice and was situated just a couple of blocks from the subway station ("mind the gap.") After checking in, we assembled in the café in the basement for the dinner we had ordered two days previous while we were still in Halifax. No one seemed to remember what he/she had ordered, but it all turned out to be very tasty. It was an interesting spectacle: Asian and Hispanic waiters serving Tennessee hillbillies in a South Seas theme restaurant in the basement of a London hotel! What seasoned travelers we had become in just a week.
Friday: Westminster-The Tower
The next day it was off to see two of the most significant buildings in all of England. The
morning was to be spent at Westminster Abbey where the kings and queens of England have been
crowned, married, and buried for many centuries. The afternoon was given over to a tour of the
Tower of London. Here royalty keep their crown jewels, and lop off the heads of those incurring
their wrath (at least, they used to.)
Westminster Abbey is the history of England in one grand and remarkable building. This great church serves as the final resting place for kings, poets, statesmen, soldiers, and some whose deeds are lost to history. How interesting it was to discover that the actual throne where kings and queens are crowned is a roughly constructed chair covered by several centuries of graffiti. How strange to learn that Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great 18th century thinker, was buried standing up (so he would get a head start when called to heaven.) How odd to think that Charles Dickens refused to be buried in Westminster, and had to be ordered to comply by Queen Victoria. How fortunate it is that this landmark endured months of Nazi bombing and V-2 raids with minimal damage. This amazing structure made us all wish we had paid more attention during history class so we could keep all those Johns, Henrys, Richards, and Marys straight.
The afternoon began to turn cool and blustery. The bus deposited everyone on a busy street in the financial district. We had some vague instructions on how to find food and what time to reassemble on the same street corner. Within a couple of blocks we discovered several little cafes and interesting shops. Jericho had become very capable at finding food and drink, even in a strange land.
Our last official stop was perhaps the most famous--or infamous--castle in all of England. Now called "The Tower of London," the original keep was built by William the Conqueror shortly after he won the battle of Hastings in 1066 and proclaimed himself King of England. It was then the largest structure in all of England, and William added to its impressiveness by painting the whole thing white. For years it was called "the White Tower" and served as the royal residence. Over the next several decades it grew to become an impressive complex of towers, walls, and battlements. The Tower's military function has long been obsolete, but it still serves as a "must see" tourist stop as well as a safe place to keep and display the crown jewels. We all marveled at the impressive array of bejeweled crowns, scepters, rings, and other priceless ornaments as we cruised by on the moving walkway. (Wonder what William I used that walkway for?)
The Tower has its bone-chilling aspects as well. Brightly dressed Beefeaters still stroll by the very spot where dozens of the famous and notorious lost their heads-literally! We saw the room where the "little princes" were murdered, likely by their Uncle Richard III. (He was supposed to be "protecting" them.) We looked down upon the Prisoner's Gate, where the hopeless and condemned entered to face their fate. Their severed heads often appeared atop a sharp pike and remained there for the ravens to pick.
Romans had long ago picked the sight for Londinium, the small outpost that evolved into London. Their criterion was simple: this was the first spot where the Thames River narrowed enough to build a bridge. From the walkways around the Tower, we could see this famous river and the great Tower Bridge that crossed it. Increasing winds were tossing whitecaps on the river as we found shelter on our bus and headed back to the hotel.
Saturday: London Tourists
Our final day in London was a buffet of activities. Some made the trip to Windsor Castle, while
others went in the opposite direction to visit Greenwich and the Royal Observatory. We walked
to
Buckingham Palace, saw the famous
Parthenon
Marbles at the British Museum,, strolled through the
shopping and theatre districts, and photographed
Piccadilly Circus. The Horse Guards made an
inspiring parade as they took up their posts near
#10 Downing Street, and JB members were there
to watch. The local music stores were favorite destinations, and funny money was swapped for
mouthpieces, music, CDs, and other must-have items. More than one individual inspected the
inside of more than one pub as the afternoon grew late. Once again, we saw a lot but wished for
extra days to see even more.
Sunday: London-Atlanta-Home
Early the next morning, a tired, broke, and well traveled JB said our goodbye to Bernard,
boarded an
L-1011, and settled in for the marathon ride back to Atlanta. The trip actually took
longer then the west-east journey, as the plane has to fight the jet stream the whole way back.
We made the best of it and fell into a stupor that lasted until we touched down in
Atlanta.
Our bus rolled through the twilight and into the lot at the Moore Road Citadel to find a large and noisy welcoming committee. It was a rather wilted looking group that staggered off the bus and into the waiting arms of loved ones. Jericho had traveled almost 10,000 miles, played 100,000 notes (92.3% of which were correct) spent about $50,000 dollars, and returned with a cool million $$ in memories. We said a fond goodnight to fellow band members we knew much better after the experience, and scattered into the night and to our own beds.
Each individual returned to Chattanooga with specific memories. Our pictures looked much the same: churches, Big Ben, streets in Oxford, our bus, the mayor, Westminster, Bernard, the Elland Band Room, and Kathleen. All were in agreement that the trip was far too short, and that we missed too much not to go back in the future. No one asked for his money back.
What We Learned on our Thanksgiving Vacation:
If there were fundamental lessons to be learned from such a trip, we would agree that
these things are true: