Day 13 - John & Richard

We bade goodbye to our excellent hosts and set off for the Washington National Air and Space Museum, taking in the White House from a number of enticing angles as well as many other famous monuments and buildings in Washington.  Those familiar with Washington might have been a little surprised when we drove straight past the museum itself, but their surprise wore off as it became clear that there was another museum near the airport which was supposed to be more fun.  We excitedly entered the exhibit-filled exhibition.  Each exhibit exhibited existential essentials so excitedly we exercised extra examination of exhibitionists.  Ralph Allwood told us that he had had bad experiences taking choir tours to museums, but said that this museum was so special he felt he had to take us there, and asked if we could please try to enjoy it.  When we entered the museum, certain members of the choir commented that it had really lived up to its reputation: it was simply full of air and space.  Annoyingly, there were all these aeroplanes and rockets blocking the view.  The choir rose well to Ralph's challenge to enjoy ourselves: John Gowers and James Harkness embarked on a two and a half hour tour of the building with a Vietnam War Air Force veteran, and several members of the choir enjoyed the fantastic simulators: some, including David Goode took it in turns to crash a plane, despite the woman in charge frantically urging them to be careful; one has to wonder whether she was more concerned for the virtual choir members or for the virtual plane they were destroying.  Nevertheless, it was a true Wright Brothers experience.  A number of interesting objects were purchased at the museum shop.  Ralph Allwood bought the shop's entire supply of helicopter toys 'for the junior choral course, obviously'.

The choir managed to pull off an impressive rendition of 'Under the Sea' on the coach, which was at least as good as our performance at Roxbury Latin, despite Adam 'Will you please shut up lads!?' Berman's frequent moans of intolerance.  At the airport, we bade goodbye to the dying luggage boys, who were taking their last exhausted hauls of air through lungs crushed by the weight of too many bags.  We dropped off our suitcases - there were a few hasty repackings to get under BA's draconian 23kg limit - and headed to security.  We must thank James Harkness for drawing the harmfulness of X-rays to the attention of the queue forming behind him, and for demonstrating the alternative possibility of a 15-minute pat-down by security personnel.  Eugene Loh had to take a different plane as he was headed for California, so we all wished him goodbye: Tom Norrington's farewell was, as usual, world class - 'See you, Eugene: thanks for letting me borrow your nail-clippers'.  Max James did his best to bankrupt ice cream giant Ben & Jerry's, managing to secure a second scoop of ice cream during their '1 Free Scoop' day.  Rubin Patel chuckled to himself seeing an entire army of masseurs working like dogs to comfort Adam Berman.  John Gowers searched the branch of Blackwell's in vain for inspiration for his blossoming literary career, while his brother was turned down by Travelex trying to exchange $6.25 when the exchange fee was $3.00.   As we were about to board the plane, we were surprised to hear that students from a certain college in Cambridge were to board first: this college turned out to be a sixth form college based in St Neots.  The flight back was fairly uneventful: I am not even sure if Ralph Allwood observed any 'small discourtesies which [he] realized you simply don't see in America'.  James Harkness was furious that his headrest didn't fit the contours of his head as he would have liked: 'I just can't get my seat to fit - look at the recess in the headrest - the shoulder pads are too far forward'.  My thanks go out to him for pointing out how uncomfortable it was: I hadn't noticed.  The entertainment system did not work at first, much to the chagrin of the likes of Alex Chance and Georgiy Grigorev.  Alex Eager awoke from deep slumber to find that his screen had been playing the CBeebies channel for the past three hours.  Quintin Beer enjoyed the delights of being sandwiched between Ralph Allwood and David Goode, while for Campbell Donnelly, Jack Eastwood's chu-u-under and Harkness were ro$%&hnd aboat him.  The plane landed very cleanly, probably because the pilot didn't want to hear any more complaints from us.  Max James thanked the stewardesses, walked down the long corridor, pausing perhaps to look at the HSBC advertisements, and then got into the transit with the rest of us to the main building of Heathrow airport.  He casually strolled towards customs, and then came to Andrew Maynard with a surprised look on his face, declaring that he had lost his passport.  At last a scenario had arisen which Andrew couldn't sort out, so, muttering 'aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem' over and over to himself he passed the problem to Ralph Allwood.  No more was seen of Max; I only hope there's a Ben & Jerry's in Heathrow's 'Unwanted Arrivals' Section.  

We passed through customs, with some 18 year old members of B-Block choosing to negotiate the auto-customs service.  The woman running this was rather unhelpful, and I am not sure if they actually saved any time.  After we had collected our luggage, David Goode passed on a farewell from Ralph Allwood - Ralph was still in the depths of extraterritoriality with Max James.  He even added a few flustered words of his own to cheer us up after a long hard and ultimately extremely rewarding tour.  

And then we met you, if you are part of the collective body of parents who came so far at so ungodly an hour to pick most of us up from the airport.  I hope you have all enjoyed reading our posts!  Good luck to Catherine Picton-Turbervill in your new job from all of us on the blog team: maybe one day you will reach the heights of fame attained by your younger brother.  

Ad astra per aspera

Although you thought you'd ploughed thoroughly enough, hiccoughing through troughs of swill, we have to thank a number of people.  First of all, we should thank Ralph Allwood for being the driving force behind the choir, and for everything he has done to get the tour organized.  This tour is Ralph's last, and we feel we must congratulate him on having organized so many wonderful tours over the years he has been at Eton.  Secondly, we should thank David Goode, not only for all the hard work he has put in to accompany us, but also for the excellent work he has done looking after us while on tour and for everything he has done for music at Eton.  Thirdly, we must thank Andrew Maynard, for taking on a very difficult job looking after all of us on tour in addition to his duties as a member of the choir.  We must thank all of our sponsors for the tour, and particularly the members of the American Friends of Eton College, for everything you have done to make the tour possible, and for all our contacts and host families in the USA for everything you have done to make us feel welcome.  We must also thank everybody back at home, particularly Leila Clarke and Karen James, for the enormous amount of organizational work they have done and continue to do, not just for the tour but for many other aspects of life at Eton.  Last, and absolutely not least, let us all thank Philip and Laura Highy for their tireless and efficient work throughout this and other tours: you are amazing.

So thank you everyone, and goodbye from us!  May the swill fester for eternity!  

The Prize-Giving Ceremony

For readers with limited time a summary of the prizes and positions awarded is to be found in a separate post.


To deliver their speech, Quintin Beer and Edward Picton-Turbervill had to choose a very special location. Eventually it was decided that it would take place on U.S. Route 15, one of the original U.S. Highways dating back to 1926, a road as historic as the event itself. Our auditorium was mobile and fitted with an extra supply of warm air, which along with the blazing sun created a truly tropical experience.

(Apologies for that overdose of swill, particularly to Hugh Cross who may have allergies. Now let's get on with the transcript.)

Edward:                Hello Chaps, Quintin and I are delighted to be presenting the 2011 Eton College Chapel Choir Awards, sponsored by Woodberry Forest School, who have generously provided the prizes.

                                First up, a notorious young man, fresh from explorations of the Northern Lands, it’s our very own James Harkness. Given the presence of F Blockers, the nature of the incident that engendered the awards cannot be divulged. For his infamous tea time activities, James Harkness wins Best Interaction with an American Citizen.                   
                                                                    
Quintin:           Now, James is the exception that proves the rule when it comes to love-making. Behind every young couple, there is a puppeteer, manipulating the course of true love. George Wilders has proved himself a fertile bed of soil, on which the dandelion seeds of romance have fallen. We’ve all seen his marvelous work; James Picton-Turbervill at the “Mixer” and more importantly, Henry Seabright at Washington National Cathedral. Without George, our own Demetrius and Lysander would never have found true expression for their feelings. So, to George Wilders goes the award for Choir Matchmaker.

Edward:                Quintin, I think your stylist has done a great job today. What products did they use?

Quintin:               Well, Edward, that’s a very interesting question. The crucial ingredient in my routine is Loreal’s Max-Invigorating-Facial-Stimulo-Cranial-Hairshine-Conditioning-Nano Particle-anti-wrinkle-max-ma-mi-min-anti ageing cream with pearl extract, available to buy two for one at all good local stockists.

Edward:                Right, enough of the banter, we move on. Not since Tristan and Isolde has such passion sprouted between two young people. The relationship between our own flame haired hero and Washington Cathedral Girls’ Choir’s vast bosomed vessel of velvety temptation, Victoria, may yet be foiled by both Henry’s reluctance and the Atlantic Ocean. The fate of these star-crossed lovers hangs in the balance as we draw ever closer to Washington DC. The prize for Long Distance Relationship goes to Henry Seabright.

Quintin:               Moving on from these Freudian nightmares of Henry’s relationships, we reach now a sad story of unrequited love. Even George Wilders’ machinations could not overcome the language barrier between Nick Hampson and a certain Fraulein, whose name no one actually knows. Young love, wie lieblich, how sad. Nick Hampson wins the consolation prize for Least Successful Relationship.

Edward:                Don’t be disheartened F Blockers. Take hope from the example of Josh Cooter and Beth, who represent a truly magical couple.

Quintin:               Edward, let’s lighten the mood, shall we? Tell me about the Martha Stewart Show.

Edward:                Well, Quintin, for me the highlight of the show, having watched the footage, was a close up of John Clay wearing a truly unsettling expression of deep mistrust. The award for Most Curious Facial Expression goes to John Clay.

Quintin:               While we’re on the subject, I have some horrifying news Edward.

Edward:                Really? What is it?!

Quintin:               I can reveal that the show was built on a bed of lies. Laurence Booth-Clibborn is not the God-Son of Martha Stewart.

Edward:                Gasps

Quintin:               To Laurence Booth-Clibborn, not award is given. Laurence, come and collect The Plate of Shame!

Edward:                Now, Quintin, your hair wasn’t looking quite so good last Monday, was it? No, in fact you had to have your hair styled twice. For this, you win the award for Least TV Ready. You disgust me.

Quintin:               Well, Edward, whilst we’re on the subject of disgust, let me remind the bus of your immortal conversation starter. Did you or did you not bring up the subject of “Breast Infections” to a deeply unsuitable audience?

Edward:                I have no comment to make.

Quintin:               The prize for Best Conversation Starter goes to Edward Picton-Turbervill.

                                So while one of the Picton brothers is a despicable individual, the other is a bundle of sweetness and light.

Edward:                Admired by many, loved by all,

Quintin:               With a Hollywood haircut,

Edward:                And pearly white teeth,

Quintin:               The award for The Justin Bieber Look Alike

Edward:                Goes to… (pause)… James Picton-Turbervill!

                                The choir owes its image to a small number of civilized young gentlemen. Chief among these is, of course, Philip Hart, who, even when chundering massively, remained charming and delightful company. The prize for Most Urbane Choir Member goes to Philip Hart.

Quintin:               Continuing with the choir’s image, in order to offset George Wilders’ appalling dress sense, the choir ships in a consignment of Dandies each year. For his selection of silk cravats and marvelously coiffeured hair, Hamish McLaren wins Best Dressed.

Ed:                          Tom Norrington can’t get anywhere close to this award.

Quintin:               For his innovative approach to sub cassock clothing, Tom wins Best Undressed.

Edward:                From fops to fashion, Eugene, the masseur who mixes pleasure with pain, has really pushed the boat out this year, with his array of rubber golf shirts and three-quarter length shorts. One particular accessory caught the judges’ eyes. For his handbag, sorry, man-bag, Eugene Loh wins Most Progressive Fashion Accessory.

Edward:                Though it doesn’t do to judge a person’s character by their appearance, Quintin. Having said that, Scarratt looks like a moron and is in fact a moron.

Quintin:               Known now as the Choir Pinball, Rupert Scarratt wins the award for Choir Clown.

Edward:                We move now to official choir positions. The post of choir photographer has been hotly contested. James Harkness’ artistic photos of sign posts and his dedication to documenting events on tour, which extends so far as buying burgers simply to photograph them, have not been enough to win the award.

Quintin:               So, the award for Photo Journalist of the Year, for his gargantuan camera and accessories goes to Tim “Waldorf” Khoury.

Edward:                A man of many talents, the judges agonised over which award to give John Gowers ma KS MS MD QC PhD FRCO CBE (Keeper of Ontological Existentialism).

Quintin:               However, we have reached a decision. Despite his recent performance on the dance floor surrounded by a gaggle of transfixed girls, John is not made keeper of dancing.

Edward:                Instead, the judges chose to honour his miraculous achievements with the choir blog. At time of going to press, the blog has raised £65.19 and had 3849 views. Therefore, John is elevated to the prestigious position of Keeper of Swill.

Quintin:               Sadly no longer with us, Sam Jordan has burned the number of calories equivalent to the average monthly dietary requirements of an F Blocker. For this and his sterling work of leading the two choir runs, Sam wins Keeper of Fitness.

Ed:                          Doubtless Julian Hartley was deep in thought on that ill-fated run in Central Park. Whatever profound contemplations were passing through his head at the time, they resulted in a collision between him and a street –cleaner.

Quintin:               Julian Hartley wins the award for Most Pensive Runner.

Edward:                For his adventures on said run, Rupert Dower-Tylee winds the award for Close Encounter with a Bin.

                                We’d also like to award Joseph Boorman the award for Athletic Reluctance for his pathetic attempt on the New York run. Boorman, no need to stand up –we’ll spare you the exertion.

Quintin:               Speaking of being out of place, we’d like to award the prize for Being a D Blocker to the man with no mental health, (vice-keeper of swill) Richard Gowers.

                                Edward, you’re looking rather emaciated today. Have you eaten recently?

Edward:                No, Quintin. My brother and I have been unable to eat these two weeks, our budgets having been exhausted during the first evening in New York.

Quintin:               Ah yes, didn’t Egor take you to a rather expensive Steak House? I heard it was $75 for 30 grams of Wagyu Beef?

Edward:                Yes, and for that Egor Grigorev wins Most Inappropriate Restaurant Choice.

                                Moving on to the other half of our Russian, Daniel Parr wins the prize for Worst Pronunciation of Russian for generating ten minutes of confusion as to whether we should be buggering or boggering.

Quintin:               Which is it?

Edward:                Who knows. Who cares.

Quintin:               Well, Egor certainly doesn’t. Well done Daniel.

Edward:                Speaking of foreigners, Riccardo Conci, Ralph’s pocket Italian, is ever willing to pronounce Italian words for Ralph’s amusement.

Quintin:               Riccardo, say “Pasta” – everyone listen, everyone listen to Riccardo.

Edward:                P -aaa- sta

Quintin:               Guffaw

Edward:                Riccardo seems unable to understand the word Adagio. For his conducting of the Finzi, Riccardo wins Visonary Interpretation Award.

Quintin:               At the same time, Hugo was offering such worthwhile advice as…

Edward:                “Guys, can you just make it better”

Quintin:               “Just do more words”

Edward:                “Just make it more expressive”

Quintin:               Hugo Popplewell, direct descendant of Gerald Finzi, wins Vaguest Suggestions for Improvement.

Edward:                By contrast, Ludo Graham’s conducting was authoritative, confident and technically brilliant. The judges would like to name him Most Likely to Succeed Ralph.

Quintin:               Mr Maynard’s inimitable phrase “It’s very easy to get lost in the rain” is representative of the great care and attention he has devoted to a job that is not his own. Mr Maynard, despite being a mere malto, has seized control of the reins of power surreptitiously. Mr Maynard wins the award for Unofficial Tour Leader.

Edward:                Speaking of usurpation, Patel. Did you or did you not take a solo which rightfully belonged to someone else?

                                Rubin Patel protests

                                Not another word, Patel. The judges have decided to award you The Plate of Usurpation.

Quintin:               I can now reveal that the poor victim of Rubin’s scandalous crime is none other than my good friend Alex Robarts. He too is guilty of the serious crime of leading the youth of the choir astray. The first word of his solo was always… clouded in mystery. For this, he wins Most Non-Committal Vowel Sound.

Edward:                Not only has he been perverting F Block with his mouth shapes, but also he and Hugh Cross came close to ruining the concert at Roxbury Latin.

Quintin:               However, we forgave Hugh Cross on account of his delightful personality.

Edward:                To Hugh Cross is awarded Chirpiest F Blocker

Quintin:               He’s not in F Block

Edward:                What year is he in?

Quintin:               No one knows…

Edward:                Think of another prize

Quintin:               The prize for…

Edward:                Concert Saboteur

Quintin:               Yes, Concert Saboteur goes to Hugh Cross.

Edward:                What about Alex Tucker? What year is he in?

Quintin:               I think he’s in F Block.

Edward:                Unusual

Quintin:               What is?

Edward:                To have a bass in F Block.

Quintin:               Alex Tucker wins Treble with the Highest Testosterone Level

Edward:                Sticking with F Block, one member has made himself notorious. Conceivably the next Oliver Cromwell, Campbell Donnelly wins the prize for the person ‘Most likely to Spark Revolution’.

Quintin:               In connection to Campbell’s revolutionary tendencies, we’d like to give mention to Henry Stacey’s concealed weaponry. To Henry Stacey goes the prize for ‘Sharpest Finger Nails’.

Edward:                Quintin, have you ever climbed Everest?

Quintin:               No, but I have reached 2^nd Base with her.

Edward:                To Charlie Marshall goes the award for ‘Sister with the most amusing name’.

Quintin:               Have you ever noticed this year, Edward, that F block are supremely confident?

Edward:                Yes, Quintin, I’ve even heard Jack Eastwood answer Mr Allwood back and not be met with stony silence.

Quintin:               For his comebacks, Jack Eastwood wins the prize for F blocker most like a chipmunk.

Ed:                          There is one F blocker who is a breath of fresh air amongst the chippiness. For this, George Elliott wins the highly coveted prize Least Offensive F blocker.

Quintin:               But as we all know, you can’t have light without darkness. I think most of you can guess who this darkness might represent.  A man who is unafraid to voice his opinions, be they founded in fact or completely baseless. Adam, did you or did not accuse a group you term ‘The Red Necks’ of having no culture? Well anyway, Adam Berman wins the prize for Most Offensive.

Ed:                          Whilst Adam is unafraid to voice his opinions, Alex Chance is unable to do so. Alex has had a massive throat ulcer of dubious origin for the last 2 weeks, rendering his presence unnecessary.

Quintin:               The prize for Least Useful Choir Member goes to Alex Chance. Talking of ineptitude, we move to Josh Cooter, known for his generous donations to HIV charities.

Ed:                          Josh’s letter writing has gone down in History.

Quintin:               Edwawrd, would you read us Josh’s seminal work?

Ed:                          With pleasure, Quintin. The Woodbery Forest missive was written by Josh at that stupendously young age of 17. I consider it one of the finest extant examples of 21^st century letter writing.

                                “Dear Hosts. Since we left you we sang in Washington Cathedral and went to the zoo. Thank you for having us to stay. Josh.”

Quintin                Josh Cooter wins the prize for ‘Finest post card’

Ed:                          Max James is known for his endearing eagerness but could this be a result of performance enhancing drugs?

Quintin:               For obsessive work on a particularly huge gobstopper, Max wins the prize for Highest Blood Sugar Level.

                                Many of us have been lulled this last week by a charming collection of bedtime stories.

Ed:                          For Alex Eager’s reading of ‘Milk’, he wins the prize for Best Story Teller.

                                Ecky Thump, Quintin, we’ve forgotten the Highys!!!!

Quintin:               Oh yes, where would we be without our daily dose of Beerman and Curry?

Ed:                          Mr Highy, we’d like to award you with the prize for Most Humorous, with all the choir’s gratitude for your hard work organizing the tour.

Quintin:               Laura, we don’t know where we’d be without you. Thank you so much for all your hard work;  we really appreciate it.

Ed:                          I take great pleasure in awarding you the Picton Prize for General Excellence.

Quintin:               Now, last but by no means least, the two big dogs of the choir, Ralph and David.

Ed:                          Quintin, what are we going to give to Mr Goode?

Quintin:               Bah…bits and pieces

Ed:                          Quintin, that’s not good enough. You’re awful to work with. I’m leaving.

Quintin:               P-T, Please don’t leave without making a plan!!!!!

Ed:                          Could you just try and be more helpful, Quintin.

Quintin:               Fluster

Ed:                          Could you just hold Josh’s trousers for a moment please?

Quintin:               Fluster

Ed:                          That’s it, Quintin, Mr Goode wins the award for Most Flustered.

Quintin:               I bet Ralph’s not going to stand up.

Ed:                          Can anyone tell me a way to make him stand up?

Quitnin:               Name me one person who hasn’t stood up to accept their prize.

Ed:                          I’m sure he’s not going to stand up. Ralph wins the award for Most Effective Use of Reverse Psychology.

Quintin:               No, I don’t like that.

Excessive cheering...

Day 12 - PT ma

Being of an antisocial disposition, I rose particularly early this morning to avoid company in the horrendous communal showers at Woodberry Forest School. I thought that we'd left all that behind at prep school... Breakfast was held at the ungodly hour of 7.15, but the excitement of mixing cranberry juice with grapefruit juice more than made up for the strain of such an early start.

Despite a last minute flurry of activity as we searched for a certain suit (I shan't name names, lest I incite the wrath of the relevant parent, ruining the joyful reunion at Heathrow) and a certain boy (Daniel Parr seemed bemused by his own tardiness), we left punctually. It's a pity it's taken us two weeks to master that particular trick. Having narrowly missed the record time for 'numbering off', we set off for the old DC in hats the colour of Red Leicester (which made me feel oddly nostalgic) emblazoned with the Woodberry Forest logo.

There was splendid entertainment on the bus journey in the form of an awards ceremony, organized by the Keeper of choir and his organist lackey. Doubtless you're dying to know what prize your darling one was awarded, but you'll have to contain your intrigue for the moment - I'm told that all will be posted once the tour is over. Awards ranged from the 'prize for athletic reluctance' to 'most likely to spark revolution' and the spiel involved such diverse topics as Josh Cooter's trousers and Henry Stacey's fingernails.

However, the prevailing good mood on the bus soon turned sour as the temperature started to rise. B block, who can relied upon to provide an imaginative solution to any problem, were soon shirtlessly mouthing obscenities at the sun or, less proactively, attempting to assuage their suffering with the numbing embrace of sleep. Sadly, Mr Allwood's profoundly moving 'end of tour speech' was therefore greeted by a remarkably unreceptive audience. Not to worry if you missed it - I doubt it was the very last speech he's planning to make...

Rumor has it that Rubin Patel actually melted when he got too close to the engine whilst baggage-handling. The rest of us arrived safely back in Washington engaged in the quintessentially British pastime of weather-grumbling. We were greeted by Giles Howson OE, our undercover agent in the heart of America, who had arranged our visit to St Patrick's school.

Having pried Max James off the organ with a crowbar and issued a restraining order, we relaxed into our usual rehearsal regime in the deliciously cool whitewashed chapel. Suddenly, things were brought to an abrupt halt as a thought occurred to Ralph Allwood. "Is the plural of multitude 'multitude' or 'multitudes'?", he mused. Quick as a fox, Andrew Maynard replied "you said 'multitudes', so I'm sure that's correct". Any thoughts, readers? Do you know the answer? Do you care? Let us probe the innermost recesses of your mind by commenting below!

Just as we were engaged in some really saucy choralography, schoolchildren began to file into the church. Just for fun (we're a collection of spur-of-the-moment individuals), we put on a minute concert for them, only to find out after about twenty minutes of hard-core choral workout that they were there for a rehearsal with us. Eventually, it was explained to the choir that we would be performing with the St Patrick's choir that evening. Our 'calm and collected' facade dropped away when we realised that we were expected to sing in Zulu. That was most definitely not on Lawrence Booth-Clibborn's Martha Stewart list of languages.

The piece was a fascinating amalgam of 'Of the Father's Heart Begotten' and an African song, accompanied masterfully by Ludo Graham on the bongos. The partnership between the choirs worked superbly and we built to a truly thrilling climax, which would have been even more moving if anyone had understood the words.

We all dispersed to various corners of the city at this point for rest and relaxation with our host families, slightly like the disciples at Gethsemane. However, unlike them, we were raring to get to our next rendez-vous. The air was pregnant with tension as the choir reformed at dusk. Would Ralph's 'last concert as conductor of Eton College Choir whilst on a choir tour to the USA' be a success or a failure? If it went badly, could it spoil his 'last night as conductor of the Eton College Chapel Choir whilst on a choir tour to the USA'? Might it even ruin his 'last return plane journey from a choir tour in the USA as conductor of the Eton College Chapel Choir' or his 'last return to Ballards following an Eton College Chapel Choir tour to the USA'?

Thankfully, the concert was one of our finest - as veterans of the Martha Stewart show, we were not unnerved by the numerous TV cameras scattered about the place. In fact, the second basses sang with such gusto in the Lotti that a boy ran out of the church with his hands over his ears. The audience were splendid and Mr Allwood was on fine form. His introductions were, as always, well-received, which is hardly surprising since word has it that they were devised over twenty years ago and have been used ever since. 'Under the Sea' stayed rock steady and Incogs were on cracking form (a communal well-done to Hamish McLaren for his excellent work as deputy Incog these past weeks). Our choralography was dazzlingly brilliant; if we spent half as much time practising as we do pondering stagecraft, we'd probably sell enough CDs to fund the long-awaited choir tour to Bermuda.

We enjoyed a rambunctious reception afterwards, featuring blueberry muffins with ham, ginger cake
with turkey and an extraordinarily detailed description by Ralph of a picture of some cherry blossom. Despite the miraculous ratio of girls to boys, I don't think anyone offered anyone else a cup of tea. Where are your manners, choir members? It's possible that PT mi was offered one, as he spent the entire evening surrounded by hoards of banshees infected with Bieber-fever. No one was jealous. Not at all.

And so ends another day in Paradise. But our blissful existence is soon to be shattered; is that a serpent I see wrapped around the tree? Tomorrow, Gowers ma KS MS PhD MBE KOS and Gowers mi OS MS ARCO CBE VKOS will be dosing you liberally with all the slurry that's been fermenting for the last two weeks. Enjoy!

Day 12 - John

The choir left the idyllic grounds of Woodberry Forest School this morning and set out towards the nation's capital for the second time this tour.  I was with tears in our eyes that we bid goodbye to Wallace Hornady, Woodberry's diector of music, who encouraged us to email him with details of how our lives were going. 

Any passing truck driver looking into our bus on the way to Washington would have seen a sight that would perhaps have told him or her a great deal about the tour which was slowly drawing to a close: a quarter of the choir was asleep, and half of B block had taken their shirts off owing to the sweltering heat and the inadequacy of the bus's air conditioning.  Alex Eager found that insult had been added to injury: the backs of the seats were itchy.  On the journey, Quintin Beer and Edward Picton-Turbervill treated us to the 2011 College Chapel Choir tour awards ceremony, and I hope soon to put up a full list of the prizes awarded to all but one member of the choir: that choir member was Laurence Booth-Clibborn who is still in disgrace after tricking us all into believing that it was he, raher than his brother, who was Martha Stewart's godson. 

The boys in the party hastily removed themselves from the coach when it reached Washington, creating a little pool of sweat on the pavement.  We were greeted by Giles Howson OE, whom some of us had met at the reception after the service on Friday.  Giles took us to St Patrick's Episcopal Church at 4700 Whitehaven Parkway, where we tucked into the delicious packed lunches provided for us before launching into our final (sob) rehearsal of the tour.  Some members of the choir were rather taken aback when entirety of the attached school (with ages ranging from 5 to 14) started filing in and it became clear that they had come to listen to the rehearsal.  Ralph Allwood, after effecting a change in his language to make it suitable for such innocent ears, proposed that we put on a miniature concert for them, which we did.  We also took the opportunity to rehearse "Hope for Resolution," by Sean Ivory and Paul Caldwell with some of the boys and girls in ths school.  "Hope for Resolution" is a combination of a plainsong tune with a Zulu anti-apartheid song, so Laurence Booth-Clibborn can add Zulu next to 'Asian' in his list of languages the choir sings in.  Certainly, I have never sung in any language before which incorporates clucking sounds.  My congratulations go out to Ludo Graham for his excellent drumming skills, though I must share my commiserations with Campbell Donnelly who has apparently been learning percussion for longer and was disappointed not to be playing.  Some of the girls in the audience particlarly enjoyed William Walton's Jubilate Deo which was probably because it was the closest they had ever come to seeing Justin Bieber live in concert. 

After the rehearsal, we met our homestays and spent the afternoon with them in Washington before arriving back at the church at 6:30.  The choir sang remarkably well in the concert; we were pleased to see Ralph's once-in-a-blue-moon 'very well done' face after as many as three of the items.  After the concert, some of the 13 and 14 year old girls from St Patricks school had an opportunity, graciously provided by Rubin Patel to be photographed with Justin James Picton-Turbervill, and to flirt with a reluctant Tom Norrington.  Leaving this scene swiftly behind us, we headed to the reception, where we were treated to American cookies and a rather illicit-looking pink drink.  Ralph presented Giles Howson with a framed memento of the choir's visit, although he was himself unsure at first as to whether it was a photo of Eton College Chapel or one of some other chapel at the bottom right. 

And so concluded the choir's last full day of the 2011 tour.  I for one have thouroughly enjoyed myself even if I am now worn out by the dancing at Wodberry Forest School and all those sessions at their well equipped gym.  Stay tuned for our final foul-smelling stream of festering sewage tomorrow! 

 - John Gowers (newly appointed keeper of swill)

Day 11 - Quintin

It is a great honour and delight to have the opportunity to write the tour blog this evening. So far, the page has been formidable, so I hope I am up to the challenge.


This morning was idle. This was partly down to the late night everyone had yesterday. The so-called “Mixer”, indeed mixed elements of entertainment and boredom. For some (the less confident, I assume), this school dance only lasted 5 minutes, even with Rubin Patel and Henry Seabright dressing up “to take the piss”. Rubin’s attire consisted of a buttoned top button and the same glasses which Ed Picton-Turbervill sported on the Martha Stewart show, the shocking evidence of which can be found online. Whilst several members of the choir left the mixer early, I was greeted by an extraordinarily elated John Gowers with an energetic “Yeah!” when he arrived back at 11pm. Apparently, he was seen unashamedly demonstrating his dancing, an activity that influenced Daniel Parr as well, who was also spotted bopping earnestly. The night was a blow for poor James Picton-Turbervill, who was desperately relying on his resemblance to Teen Singing Sensation Justin Bieber in order to interest the girls, sadly to no avail.

Yesterday was also our first evening spending the night in boys’ rooms. For some, this meant squeezing a thin mattress between two full sized beds, whilst for others, due to their boys hosts neglect, this meant sleeping within centimeters of another choir member. Egor Grigorev and Henry Seabright, I apologise if my breath smells; I’m afraid there’s no more space in our room for me to sleep. A small Jack Eastwood was up until 1am last night, made more pitiful by his height, of course. His host only arrived back from Lacrosse (the most popular sport here) at 11pm, and, after explaining he had an English essay to write, proceeded to start to write it several times, but being continually distracted by his girlfriend on Skype. Having caught up on sleep, however, we had Brunch at 10.30 this morning, which, after consistent mornings of 7am wake ups, was a complete joy.

During our quick choir rehearsal, we were told to “Americanise” our encore, Under the Sea, in order to make the entire experience of performing it to an American audience all the less embarrassing. Nice logic Ralph. After this, the choir formed its sporadic scratch football team, the Angels, in order to play Woodberry Forest’ first XI. Charlie Marshall created some football chants, my favourite being Hark the Herald Angels Win. These were also shouted out by Hugh Cross, who, this morning, had complained that he was finding it difficult to sing. The match was a success by any standards. Whilst technically we won (on account of the policy “Next goal wins”), we graciously accepted the score 4-3 to the opposition. We contracted very few injuries, only one foul to George Wilders prompting our on-call nurse, Laura Highy, to rush to his rescue. Even more dramatic was a graze to Alex Eager’s knee. A more elaborate description will follow soon.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of further idle wanderings around Woodberry Forest. Rubin Patel, when asked what they thought of the school’s tuck shop, said he thought it was “nice and greasy”. Ed PT then chastised him, warning him he couldn’t speak about their national cuisine that way. Rubin then asked what the USA’s national cuisine was, to which Ed replied, “Fat”. No prejudice, of course.

Our concert this evening lay within the school’s compulsory chapel service on a Sunday evening. We were very nervous that the boys would be anxious to get away as soon as possible. However, the reception was brilliant and even prompted one student, (telling us later), to consider shouting “Sing some Britney” during the final applause. An evening pizza party concluded this, our last day at Woodberry Forest School.

I am grateful to be delivering the swill – I hope it has gone down well.

Quintin Beer