We went to The Titanic Requiem, composed by Robin Gibb and his son RJ. while our youngest was in town, or more accurately, in village!
We didn’t know what to expect but knew we had special passes for the reception beforehand.
What to wear was the hot topic of conversation. Always a dilemma for the female of the species.
We tried the thrift shops but weren’t in the mood, plus the day was cold and we were wrapped up so slipping on items of clothing wasn’t really convenient. We ended up wearing what we already had in our wardrobes. The dress I chose needed to qualify for the space it had taken up in my suitcase a year ago!
We looked suitably dapper when the evening came,
and travelled by train.
My daughter and I were one of those well heeled ladies I always comment on when I see them swishing glamourously through the stations in a cloud of expensive perfume and a click of stiletto. They add a flourish to the otherwise drab habiliment of Victoria Station.
The three of us stood out and clicked splendidly!
We met some friends at The Albert, a lovely little pub on Victoria Street. It was raining intermittently so a taxi had been hailed by hubs to the delight of my youngest and my hair…
With our friends we walked to the Central Hall at Westminster which rubbed its historic shoulders with the Abbey, Big Ben and Parliament.
On the steps we were ushered in as guests and heard the doorman call out behind us,
“Anyone else not General Public, this way please!”
We talked and were spoken to by camera men as we waited in the queue. News was out that Robin Gibb was in hospital and was not going to make it this evening, everyone wanted our opinion on the turn of events.
This is show business after all and the concert was a fundraiser benefitting the RNLI.
I was asked by a member of our party what the building was when it wasn’t doing duty as a concert hall?
“A Methodist church,” I said. I’d looked it up online, I still had a child with me who knows how to ask questions to test my qualifications as her mentor.
“Look down there,” I added pointing to a cosy spot on the landing, “The Wesley Cafe.”
“Wesley?” my daughter queried with a gentle probe, did she have a camera too?
“John and Charles Wesley started the Methodist movement,” I answered with a laugh!
The rest of our party joined in and we continued admiring the details in the woodwork.
I tuned in to a conversation going on alongside us amongst the general public contingent.
“I hate those yellow patches of pavement with little raised dots in the cement that they’ve started putting at the curbs of the road.” I hadn’t noticed them but I pricked up my ears as the speaker continued,
“They bother my feet,” she ploughed on, “I can feel them right through the soles of my shoes.”
I caught myself looking down,
“I called the council and complained about them,” she said righteously, “and the folks at County Hall said they were so that the blind people, ‘sight impaired’ she called them, would be able to tell when they are approaching a traffic crossing.”
How clever I thought, I was riveted to her story,
“What blind people? I said down the phone, I don’t ever see any blind people round where I live!”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my lips and I glanced away to catch my daughter’s eye who had tuned in with me and was roaring uproariously inside…I could tell!
Later in the loos we both said,
“And they don’t ever see you either!”
After that amusing interlude on the stairs we were given our tickets and wristbands and shown to our seats. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra set up house on the stage and the lights were dimmed.
The first half of the concert featured music from the era of the Titanic, Peer Gynt Suite by Evard Grieg, and Enigma variations by Sir Edward Elgar, Asleep in the Deep by H.W. Petrie and Nearer, My God, To Thee by Lowell Mason, to name but a few.
After the intermission the RSVP voices filed in and The Titanic Requiem began.
This was an amazing piece of work and I have to admit I couldn’t help listening for hints of “Staying Alive,” “Jive Talking,” “It’s Only Love” or “I’ve gotta get a Message to You” but nope, it was utterly original and astounding.
We sat across from RJ, Dwina, Spencer, Adam, Melissa and Steven. We knew Robin had just lapsed into a coma and Barry and Linda had flown in from Florida to be by his side in hospital.
When the time came for the recorded performance of Robin singing, “Don’t Cry Alone” we all joined Dwina and cried!
Listen to it, you will too…
His family kept vigil at his bedside, played music and sang to him.
Robin has come out of his coma.
Let’s continue our prayers.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
No comments so far!
Leave a Comment