Cathedrals: Norwich, York, Durham
It is one of the extraordinary anomalies of history that, on a planet which has been in existence for four and a half billion years, mankind has been thriving for only a little over 10,000 years. In that short time, civilisations have come and gone across the globe, mostly flickering, briefly shining and then fading away. In western Europe, after the fall of the Roman Empire in the fifth century AD, there occurred a period usually referred to as the Dark Ages. Modern scholarship has cast doubt on this general characterisation, but the lack of written material or great building projects allows us to judge that the phrase still holds good. The emigration of certain Germanic groups to the British Isles, followed by the arrival of the Vikings from Scandinavia in western Europe and Britain, initially destructive, but gradually settling and intermingling with the local tribes, coincided with the rapid spread of Christianity. This created a society and an environment which encouraged learning, the rediscovery of the older civilisations of Greece and Rome, and a desire to show their contemporaries that, with God’s help, they were here to stay. The Norman Conquest of England in 1066 very quickly led to a complete transformation of British society, dominated by a militaristic aristocracy of Norman, French-speaking conquerors. Castles were built, often using the foundations of old Roman towns and cities, and garrisons established control amazingly rapidly. At the same time, clever architects and engineers emerged, who wanted to demonstrate to the local inhabitants that this new aristocracy was completely in charge, driven by their belief that they were doing God’s will. What better way to demonstrate this ascendancy than by building huge churches and cathedrals, to the glory of God, and coincidentally to the glory of the Norman nobility?
This preamble is to try to explain the building in England from the late 11th century of the great cathedrals which still inspire awe and amazement, even today. In my last post, I wrote about Lincoln and Ely, and now, I am moving northwards to Yorkshire and eventually to Scotland.
Norwich Cathedral
Before I leave East Anglia, however, I want to draw your attention to Norwich, where I sang a couple of times in the marvellous cathedral there. The Norman Conquest, as I wrote above, resulted in a remarkably rapid transformation of previously sleepy Anglo-Saxon towns into large cities, and very quickly Norwich was one of the largest in England. The wool trade with continental Europe was hugely important, and soon a castle had been built and in 1096 the cathedral was begun. Completed by 1145, it is a remarkably beautiful building, faced with cream-coloured Caen limestone, and retaining a homogeneity of style rare in England. After damage by riots in 1272, it was partially rebuilt in the contemporary High Gothic style and possesses a series of bosses on the nave and cloister vaults unequalled in Europe.
Credit: Bill Smith
One of the joys of being a singer is that you get to perform in some of the finest buildings in the world, and usually you have enough time between rehearsals and performances to have a good look around. I found Norwich delightful, and when I went back to sing Brett Dean’s ‘Hamlet’ in 2017, I made a point of revisiting the cathedral. I recommend that you do likewise!
Were one to hitch a lift from a passing crow on its way north, one would fly over Lincoln again, and continue over the Humber Estuary. A small detour would allow one to look down on the delightful jewel that is Beverley Minster, one of the largest non-cathedral churches in England. Various buildings had been erected, primarily to act as a shrine for the remains of St John of Beverley, Bishop of York in the 8th century. The church we see now was started in 1311 in the Decorated Gothic style, and completed by the early 15th century, and it stands proud and tall, allowing light to flood in. I never sang professionally in Beverley, but two of our best friends got married there, back in the mists of time, so it sneaks into my list. I must have sung a hymn or two!
York Minister
Our mythical crow will have to stop at York on its journey north, as the great Minster still dominates the city, founded by the Romans, and one of the great walled fortifications in the north of England, sitting on the confluence of the rivers Ouse and Foss. Work on the Cathedral Church of St Peter was started in 1220 and completed in 1472. The word “Minster” refers to a church, established in the Anglo-Saxon Period, which had a missionary teaching function, and York’s cathedral is perhaps the best known of the Minsters in England. I have been going to York on and off throughout my life, but had not sung there until quite recently, and it didn’t disappoint as a performing venue. Indeed, standing at the crossing, and looking down the wonderful nave towards the great west window, completed in 1338/39, one is truly inspired to be able to make music in such a magnificent place. I was supposed to go back in 2020 to sing Haydn’s ‘Creation’, but a certain pesky virus intervened. I hope I get the chance to go back.
York Minster is the largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe, second only to Seville in the whole of Europe. However, size isn’t everything, and it is the beautiful proportions of York that attract me. Everything about the cathedral feels right, even the colour of the stone, which is a cream magnesian limestone, quarried in nearby Tadcaster, a small town also rightly famous for its wonderful beer. In fact, Tadcaster was brewing beer before the Minster was built and, to this day, there are three thriving breweries, perhaps the best being Samuel Smith’s, founded in 1758.
York’s perfection is perhaps also due to its position within the ancient walled city, somehow dominating yet also blending in with the surrounding streets. Yorkshire folk are noted for their independence of thought and single-mindedness in speech, and it is not entirely fanciful to imagine that some of this comes from their civic pride in the towns and cities of the huge county, perhaps reaching its apogee in the county town which gives its name to the whole county. The Archbishop of York is second only to Canterbury in the Anglican hierarchy, and the ancient city certainly punches above its weight. The industrial powerhouses of Leeds and Sheffield may dominate the Yorkshire economy, but York gives it its soul. With its Roman, Viking and Mediaeval heritage, it is one of the most attractive cities in Britain, and its university, with its rightly celebrated music department, is one of the finest.
Durham Cathedral
Another northern city famous for its cathedral and university is Durham, with perhaps the finest location of all the cathedral cities. Who can fail to be moved when getting off the train at Durham, by the fantastic view of the city over the valley of the River Wear. The castle, seat of the university, and the cathedral were both founded in the 11th century, and indeed, the cathedral is probably the most important Romanesque church in Britain, if not the world.
As we have seen elsewhere, the Norman Conquest of 1066 was the catalyst for an epidemic of church building, as Norman nobles, having been given great swathes of England as part of the deal for supporting William the Conqueror, established their power over the original Anglo-Saxon inhabitants. These nobles built castles to sustain their power, and churches to show their position was backed by God! On his appointment as Prince Bishop in 1080, William de St-Calais decided to build a magnificent cathedral to proclaim his own status and to provide a new and awe-inspiring repository for the bones of St Cuthbert, Bishop of Lindisfarne (685-687). The cult of St Cuthbert was already well-established and pilgrims from all over thronged to Durham to visit his shrine. William de St-Calais, realising the importance of the shrine, spared no expense in creating one of the biggest cathedrals in the early Mediaeval world, and its location atop a great cliff overlooking the River Wear, was, and still is now, actually thrilling to see. Built before the flourishing of the soaring Gothic style, the cathedral can appear heavy inside, with its solid columns and rounded arches, so different from the later glories of the pointed arches and light-filled magnificence of, for example, York and Lincoln, but its very solidity is the key to its fame and position as one of the great cathedrals. From outside, it appears immense and unbelievably grand, and somehow, the homogeneity of its design inside, lends it a quality of permanence and inevitability. Sculptors and engineers came from all over to work on the new building, and their influence spread far and wide. It is said that the masons and sculptors who built the wonderful Rosslyn Chapel near Edinburgh had worked on Durham cathedral. As well as the shrine of St Cuthbert, Durham also houses the remains of the great scholar, the Venerable Bede, (673-735), in the beautiful Galilee Chapel at the west end of the cathedral, added in the 1170s.
I only ever sang once in Durham, but I always like to visit when I can, as it never fails to inspire me. Like all the great mediaeval cathedrals of England, it has a long tradition of excellent music making, and along with the fine university located in Durham Castle, the town is a centre of intellectual and religious importance, with a world-wide reputation. If I hadn’t gone as an undergraduate to St Andrews University, Durham was next on my list.
We are now so near the Scottish border that it is perhaps time to have a look at the great Scottish churches and cathedrals I have sung in, beginning with my own home city, Edinburgh.
The separate history of religion in Scotland has given rise to a very different tradition of music making, compared to England, and we should perhaps have a quick look at that tradition, before looking at the buildings themselves.
In England, there has been a fairly continuous tradition of cathedrals having their own choir schools, where boys go to school beside the church, but also sing daily services, with more on a Sunday. The boys sing the treble part in music with several harmonic parts, and there are lay clerks (professional, usually adult male, singers) who sing the three lower voices, alto, tenor and bass. This tradition in England was flourishing before the Reformation, and Henry VIII’s creation of an Anglican church changed very little in terms of choral music.
In Scotland, on the other hand, the Protestant Reformation was much more severe, as Presbyterianism, a form of Calvinism, held sway. Music was discouraged, other than hymn singing, and indeed, some of the stricter churches looked on music and singing as the work of the Devil. Consequently, there is now no tradition of choir schools in Scotland, except for the Scottish Episcopal Cathedral of St Mary, in Edinburgh. The High Kirk of St Giles, in Edinburgh, often called a cathedral, but lacking a bishop and a cathedra (the bishop’s seat in a cathedral, whence comes the name), has a semi-professional choir, as does Glasgow Cathedral, but there are no choir boys or girls. Sadly, in most other Scottish churches, the tradition of wobbly-voiced older church members leading the hymn singing in church is the norm. The great old universities have highly trained undergraduate and graduate choirs, indeed the Chapel Choir of St Salvator’s Chapel in St Andrews is now superb. In my day, back in the early 70s, the Chapel Choir was reasonably good, but desperately over-trained by the then Professor of Music, Cedric Thorpe Davie. Singing was a chore and a bore, and I didn’t last long as a member. My training was in the Renaissance Group, a wonderful amorphous choir moulded in his own image by the eccentric Professor of Spanish, Douglas Gifford. (see part 1 of this article).
Despite the lack of a choir school tradition in Scotland, there still exist several magnificent buildings, mainly pre-Reformation, in which it is a pleasure to sing. The afore-mentioned St Giles’ and St Mary’s in Edinburgh, St Mungo’s in Glasgow, St Machar’s in Aberdeen and St Magnus in Kirkwall in Orkney are all places which have lovely acoustics for choral music, not forgetting the rather splendid cathedral in Dunblane. The wonderfully restored Collegiate Church of St Mary in Haddington, near Edinburgh, the longest parish church in Scotland, and completely transformed from a semi-ruin, in the 1970s, is the venue for many excellent concerts in the annual Lammermuir Festival (see various reviews for the EMR) and possesses a splendid acoustic, especially for unaccompanied choral music.
In the next part, I shall return to England, to continue my look at the cathedrals there, before embarking on a short visit to the continent of Europe.
