Thomas Gibson Duncan – A Personal Appreciation
Thomas Gibson Duncan – A Personal Appreciation
I first met Tom Duncan in the autumn term of 1973, when I turned up in St Andrews as a 17 year-old undergraduate, bright eyed and bushy tailed (one of Tom’s favourite phrases), full of wonder in this exciting new place, naive beyond belief, ready to learn about French literature, English literature and, because it looked an interesting subject, Medieval History. More importantly, I came to St Andrews to sing. Armed with a strong bass voice and no musical qualifications of any sort, I was ready to take on the world. Having got into St Salvator’s Chapel Choir (under the renowned but tedious direction of Professor Cedric Thorpe Davie) and the Renaissance Group (directed by Professor Douglas Gifford, who correctly identified me as unable to sight read but: “you’ve got a good voice so you’d better join us!”), I was told that I must sing in the Holy Trinity Augmented Choir (not the snappiest of titles) and should sing to Tom Duncan. Who was this man? An English lecturer at the university, specialising in middle to late medieval English and Anglo-Saxon, organist at Holy Trinity Church, organist for the Renaissance Group and figure of awe as conductor of the afore-mentioned Augmented Choir.
Born in the west of Scotland, educated at Glasgow and Oxford Universities, Thomas G Duncan was, by 1973, established in the English department at St Andrews, eleven years after his appointment, aged 36, with a young family and living in a magnificent but chilly house in Donaldson Gardens. Now, 50 years later, we are celebrating his life, and I am writing about a man who became a special friend and mentor, and whose death in August 2023, aged 86, closed a major chapter in my life.
Tom was the first person ever to invite me to sing solo with a choir and orchestra. Quite early in my undergraduate time at St Andrews, he asked me to sing the bass solos in Handel’s Messiah in Holy Trinity Church. Both of us were, to a certain extent, personae non gratae to the Music Department at the university. As an English lecturer, and although a seriously fine organist, Tom was not considered ‘one of us’ by some in the Music Department. Similarly, I had nothing directly to do with the department, and was overlooked whenever solos were needed in choral concerts. Tom had no such scruples and had no hesitation in using me as a soloist. I was travelling fortnightly to Glasgow for singing lessons at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and was clear that I wanted this to be my profession, and it was Tom Duncan who was the first to give me a chance to fulfil my dreams. Soon he asked me to sing in Vaughan Williams Mass in G Minor as bass soloist, and from then on, as an undergraduate at the university, I sang bass solos for him. This continued for the rest of my professional life, as I often came back to St Andrews to sing with the Augmented Choir as soloist, now more often in the larger Younger Hall, singing many more Messiahs, as well as Bach and Haydn, probably his favourite two choral composers (and whose music will be heard in the commemorative concert on November 3rd). We even sang Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis and Brahms Requiem together, two works outside Tom’s comfort zone, but thrilling nonetheless.
He was a brilliant choir trainer, demanding clear articulation and fine tuning, and he managed to inspire amateur singers of all ages to perform to a level they could not have imagined. The gradual stripping off of outer garments during choir practice on Friday nights in St Andrews Church, as Tom became more excited and agitated in rehearsal, is a memory many of us will never forget. The winding down process every Friday entailed carloads of us zooming off to the Grange outside the town for pints and whisky macs, and Tom at the bar holding forth.
He was very good at holding forth, and I have enjoyed many an evening over the last 50 years trying to get the better of him in debate, but usually failing. It must be said that our political views were at variance, but that didn’t stop vigorous discussion. He had the advantage over most of us, of huge erudition, and always seemed to have an example of his line of thinking to prove his point. “The fact of the matter is this”, he used to say, meaning “I’m right, and you’re wrong!” Then he would come up with some obscure reference, known only to himself, and possibly invented by himself, to win the debate, and we mere mortals were left floundering! He and his wife Ann produced two splendid daughters, Julie and Hazel, and it was a huge matter of pride to him that they both turned into fine musicians, on flute and violin. Sadly, the marriage broke down but he always was close to the girls and their children, even though they lived some distance away. He managed to find some measure of happiness through further relationships, and his last years were spent in the company of Klara Pollmann, President of the University of Tübingen, and a Latin scholar of note.
After formally retiring from the English Department in 2003, he continued to work in the world of medieval English, and his Penguin Classics, ‘Medieval English Lyrics (1200-1400)’ and ‘Late Medieval English Lyrics and Carols (1400-1530)’, are accepted as the definitive books on the subject (although again, not titles to set the heart racing!). He taught thousands of students over a 40 year span, demonstrating a love for his subject and a talent for making it interesting, and his lectures were always packed, not only with English students. He wore his erudition easily, realising that not every student was as passionate as himself for his subject, a skill that many an academic would be well advised to learn!
I was proud to know him and proud to call him friend!
