The wandering organist

Completely off topic. But this is my page, so I can relax the rules if I wish. Here's the eulogy I wrote for Dad's funeral service : On joining the RAF To the nurses, to the care-workers, he was Edward. To family, to friends, and everyone, he was Ted. To the charities he volunteered for, he was Ted. RNLI, Cats Protection, RSPB, he helped or donated with equal enthusiasm, he was Ted. Ted came from a working-class family in the east end of London. Born in (officially) Shoreditch, his father was an upholsterer and his mother died not long after he was born. Leaving Elementary school, he started work and was called up when WWII started. In the RAF in Algeria, he told stories of the camp commander selling the food for the troops to local people and pocketing the money, leaving them with fresh fruit and figs to eat. The searchlights, which used silver ingots to provide the arc, remained unlit for reasons not entirely clear… After the war, he took advantage of

I am so lucky. Now that I have stopped wandering for the moment and roosted in St Botolph's, Heene, I discover that they applaud voluntaries, which is really sweet. It's lovely to feel appreciated, and I see so many posts in the online organ fora about people complaining that the voluntaries they play are criticised for being too long or loud. But the one I played last Sunday was a quiet one, Jehan Alain's Choral Cistercien (AWV62), and at the end was respectful silence, which said more than any applause could ever. I was quite touched.