Nine lessons and carols at Kings College Chapel on Christmas Eve – would I recommend it for the Never Too Late List?

Most people will have heard carols from King’s at some point over the years either on CD at home as part of their Christmas Eve tradition or on the radio or TV.  The choir have voices like angels, the lessons remind us of the true meaning of Christmas and the service, invented at the college in 1918, is now inextricably associated with Christmas for many people both at home and abroad.  To get into the service by reservation you have to be part of the college great and the good (I spotted Mary Beard while I was there) or hold an important civic position, for example the mayor, though this is probably beyond most of us.  For a common or garden grunt such as me it meant a six a.m. start, over an hour’s drive and close to six hours of queuing. The chances of getting a good seat when you get in is very random (as I said in a earlier post, I was relatively lucky), the lighting is pants in much of the nave so it must be very hard even with reasonable eyesight to read the words to the carols, and the lessons themselves, whether by a young chorister or by the Provost can’t be heard very well at all.  It’s a beautiful building and most of the joy of being there is sitting in the quiet before the service begins, looking at the architectural splendour and musing on its history – there are still the remnants of graffiti left by Parliament soldiers during the Civil War on the north and south walls for instance.  And in more contemporary times the college has produced some notable alumni such as Robert Walpole, the first Prime Minister of Great Britain, E. M. Forster, the novelist, John Maynard Keynes, the Economist and Alan Turing, the mathematician, all or most of whom must have attended services in the chapel at some point, though not necessarily the Nine Lessons and Carols. 

Am I glad I did it? Yes I suppose so, mainly because of the strong association with Christmas Eve and having listened to it on the radio so many times.

Would I do it again?  No  But for some this was their third time and someone else had driven all the way from Manchester to attend.

Would I recommend it to others? Probably not.  Listen to the service on the radio and then, if you want to see the chapel itself, especially the altar and Ruben’s painting, go to a normal service.

Never too Late Mark? Two and a half out of five.

Nine lessons and carols at King's College Chapel on Christmas Eve, part 4

All of a sudden at about one forty-five the queue took a surge forward and there was a mad moment of disorganisation and chaos as everyone grabbed bags, chairs, brollies and moved to follow the flow.  The excitement level palpably rose.  A minute later another surge forward and we realised that at long last the doors must be open and the long wait would soon be over.  Rucksacks, large bags and brollies are not allowed into the chapel and these were jettisoned, with remarkably little concern into the care of the porter who stood, walk-talky in hand beneath the central arch of the Gibb’s building.  The KC porters are a fine lot, patient and good humoured.  The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped as the sun began to go down but we knew in a few minutes we would be out of the elements and into the calm of one of the most beautiful and iconic buildings in England.  Six hundred people sitting under a fifteenth century fan vault roof beneath the gaze of saints who had looked down at so many other congregations over the centuries and we would all rise together to hear the Bible’s lessons of Christmas. And as I passed through the open doors and into the heart of the nave I raised my eyes from the stone steps up which I had walked and my first thought was….. bugger, what a lot of people. 

I was remarkably lucky.  Given my place in the queue there was no chance of a seat in front of the early renaissance rood screen in full view of the altar, but, funnelled down the side of the nave by the staff, I was directed to seats immediately behind the screen, and, the front row was still free.  Taking the seat on  the far end of the row, at ninety degrees to the screen I could see down into the candle-lit choir stalls and if I leaned forward a little, I could catch a glimpse of Ruben’s The Adoration of the Magi. But, for most other people, seated down the nave in the dark and on either side of the screen, it must have been almost impossible to see the words on the carol sheet, the choir or the altar.  The lessons themselves could hardly be heard from where I was sitting so I guess there was no chance for anyone sitting at the back. 

Nine lessons and carols at King's College Chapel on Christmas Eve, part 3

As I passed through the gateway into Kings College the porter smiled and handed me a piece of paper which gave me guidelines to queuing.  It was just after eight a.m., I had walked the three quarters of a mile to King’s Parade from where I had left my car in Richmond Road which is just far enough out of the city centre to have no parking restrictions or meters.  It was still raining, the sandwiches, flask, extra layers and other things I had considered might be useful and stuck in my rucksack were heavier than I would have liked but as I joined the end of the line and did a quick tally I reckoned I was about ninetieth in place.  I nodded and smiled to myself, proud I had crow-barred myself out of bed; with two hundred seats in front of the chancel screen and four hundred behind I might even be lucky enough to get a seat which would give me a wonderful view of the triptych and choir.   Dropping my rucksack and camping stool on the ground I contemplated the hours that stretched ahead of me and considered my plan.  At nine o’clock I would have coffee, at eleven a round of sandwiches and a trip to the loo and at midday a bar of chocolate.   I prepared for myself a little series of milestones which would help see the hours through. Steadily the line grew, my feet got cold despite the walking boots and as the rain came and went I resorted to wrapping myself in the waterproof backed picnic blanket I had brought along.  I drank my coffee and ate my cheese and tomato sandwiches.  Texts of Christmas wishes came in and texts of Christmas wishes went out.  And slowly, as people chatted and exchanged bits of interest about themselves a sense of resolve and camaraderie built up bolstered by the fact that by now the porters were turning people away.  We had become a successful and happy little bunch of folk who had one thing in common; we were guaranteed a seat at the service.  Places were saved in the queue while people went to fetch coffee, to answer the call of nature (no need really for my flask, sandwiches or bog-in-a-bag since the coffee shop was opened in the KC common room).  I timed my loo breaks just right to avoid the queues. At midday the Kings Singers arrived and serenaded us in the rain, just after which a small troop of youngsters from Kings College prep school in capes and top hats appeared out of a door in the Gibb’s Building and then disappeared through the chapel door.  Our spirits rose as we heard the distant sounds of music and singing filter across the quad to where we were standing.   Just before one o’clock, interested to know how far down the queue I was, I wandered up to the front.  I realised then, that what I had naively assumed was the head of the line was in fact nowhere near.  As I turned the corner of Gibb’s building I saw in front of me a line three times as long as the one in which I had been ensconced for the last five hours. A line with at least three hundred other people patiently queuing.  My shoulders drooped as I realised in reality how far down the line I actually was, even more so when I learned that people had been standing in line since three o’clock the previous afternoon, a whole twenty four hours before the service started.  I saw myself destined for some camping chair deep in the far dark recesses of the nave.              

Nine lessons and carols at King's College Chapel on Christmas Eve, part 2

As the rain ricocheted off the surface of the A14 and I listened to the pleas of the traffic reporter not to attempt anything but the most important of journeys I mused on the merits of choosing this particular year to strike this particular adventure off my very particular never-too-late list.  At six a.m. as the alarm went off on my iphone, I had lain in the enveloping warmth and comfort of my bed tucked tightly into a ball and listened to the rain drumming on the velux window.  I had closed my eyes and swore at myself for remembering to charge up my mobile phone.  With no alarm I had no doubt that I would have missed the narrow window of opportunity which would give me just enough time to pull on my layers of fleece and water proof, make my sandwiches and head out of the door.  If you were not inside the quad at Kings by nine at the latest it wasn’t likely you’d get in to the service.  I had over an hour’s drive and at least five or six hours of queuing.   I lay there, pushing it to the limit and considered the trade-offs.  An hour’s driving across rain sodden and possibly flooded countryside and then the long minutes ticking by getting increasingly damp and bored.  The other option was to hit the shops for some last minute compulsive purchasing and a nice lunch at Zizzi whilst enjoying a couple of glasses of wine.  As I rolled over in bed I clearly felt the weight of the angels on one shoulder and Old Nick on the other.  It was sorely tempting to stick my head under the covers and convince myself I would do it next year instead.  It was warm, it was dark, it was nearly Christmas. But because of that very fact, something, somewhere, prodded my sense of motivation and achievement and 40 minutes later I found myself out on the dark road, almost with the world to myself, pleased I had made the effort.    Nine lessons and Carols at Kings College Chapel on Christmas Eve, about to get a very big tick.  And as the miles passed, as the rain got harder and the dawn creaked over the horizon in front of me I forged on fuelled with chocolate and coffee.  Here I was, alone, on another adventure.