Sometimes, perhaps often, I forget to thank David for his leading the choir and the infectious sight of him dinging a tuning fork into his head to find that sympathy of tone, which in the time it takes grace to find his voice, calls out along with gestures unlimited. I used to work as a stage hand for a concert hall, so have had a soft heart for seeing a conductor at conduction for some years.

So David… I cornered you for thanks last time, but for those other occasions, many thanks! And while I have you, what is that power which you keep inside your briefcase? I am frightened to ask, sir, but I have eyes and they cannot help but see things. They have seen you arrive, quite from nowhere, and hustle your briefcase to its correct and proper place amongst the liturgical encyclopedias and torn sepia pages upstairs.

Then after the after-service coffees, my eyes have seen you collect the case and take it on your way with you, regular as a melody until, my eyes suspect, you round that corner down by the hawthorn. Then I wonder if you set the briefcase down, sit on top of it and that briefcase lifts you away in some theophanic glory cloud, off into the afternoon? As I say I am a bit frightened to ask.

I should reiterate, I have not seen this transportation in action, but if that’s not what’s going on with that briefcase, then it must be something else. Either way my eyes are on the case…

J Bowe