West Quantoxhead

	Detail of the pins on the barrel

The little church of St Etheldreda stands in a lovely field on the outskirts of the village of West Quantoxhead. I don't think it is particularly old and would probably not have bothered to visit it (especially as it appears to be kept locked) had a friend not arranged for me to see and film the unusual method that the good people adopted to cope with the fact that they didn't have an organist!

I am very grateful to Nicky, the vicar, for allowing me to film in the church, and to Patrick who showed me the barrel organ and how it worked. I ended up having to pump the organ (and was not quite as out-of-shot as I had hoped) while he turned the gears to get the barrels rotating.

I think the congregation are to be congratulated for their public-spirited effort to preserve this wonderful instrument and if you do go to visit them - and find the church open - be sure to drop some paper into the collection box to show your appreciation. I understand that they intend to produce a CD of the organ's music and can't wait to get my hands on one!

There was an old man in our church, Mr. Owen, and one evening after church, a long time ago, at our house, at some after-church gathering, he recited this poem, which my father recorded, and many years later transcribed, and sent me a copy, which I probably still have somewhere. I have not found it on the internet, and thought I would put it down here, from memory, before it is lost forever. I can still hear his soft West Country accent whenever it comes to mind.

You're a stranger in this village,
Just taking a holiday?
And you'd like to see our church, sir?
Why, certainly, step this way.
I'll fetch the key in a moment,
It's hanging by the door,
Where I've hung it every Sunday,
For fifty years and more.

And what do you think of our organ?
We had it new this year.
It's the sweetest little organ
You could ever hope to hear.
Why, when it peals forth on Sundays,
And the choir beside it sings,
It makes me think of the angels,
With their harps and crowns and wings.

But dear me, I remember the singing
In days gone by,
When Zachary Strong was leader,
And nobody else would try,
He didn't know aught of metre,
But that didn't matter a bit,
For if the tune was too long for the words
He'd pucker it in to fit.

We hadn't organs in those days,
Harmoniums? bless you, no.
For what did we want with music
If the words were read out, slow,
Why, as for gallivanting through hymns
Like choirs do,
We shouldn't have thought it reverent
To sing more than two lines through.

Let's see, 'twas nigh to Christmas
We lost old Zachary Strong,
And we had no-one to lead us
And were always singing wrong.
So we thought it providential
The next year, Samuel Cox
Came home from California
And brought his musical box.

It had tunes in by the dozen,
Common and long and short,
And one or two eights and sixes,
And a few peculiar sort.
It wanted understanding,
Like other things, you know,
But when it once got started,
My! Didn't the singing go!

The parson was delighted,
And thought no end of Cox,
For the church was fairly crowded
To hear that musical box.
Of course, it went wrong sometimes,
And queer mistakes we had,
But with careful regulating
It really wasn't bad.

Once we forgot the metre
To a hundred and ninety nine,
And the tune had something over
At the end of every line.
And once when we tried an anthem
And were getting on, just about,
We had to stop in the middle,
'Cause the musical box gave out.

And I shall never forget it,
One anniversary day,
When the works inside got twisted
And we couldn't make it play.
But just before the sermon,
What did the critter do,
But start at the very beginning
And play everything it knew.

'Twas very aggravating,
But the end was coming soon,
For Samuel Cox got married
And we set a special tune,
But when the bride and bridegroom
Came marching in, so fine,
The music somehow started
And struck up 'Auld Lang Syne'.

It made the bride so angry,
But that, sir, wasn't all,
For when the sermon ended,
It played 'Dead March in Saul'.
And then we got discouraged.
It really was no good.
So Samuel took it to pieces
And used it for firewood.

Oh yes, we're proud of our organ.
There's not one like it around,
And if you searched all England
You couldn't improve its sound.
But when I think of the old days,
And of poor old Samuel Cox,
I'd give the grandest organ,
Just to hear that musical box.

Courtesy of John Cooper