My Paper Chase by Harold Evans

Author:Harold Evans [EVANS, HAROLD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316092074
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

When I’d met Sid Chaplin at the start of my editorship, the region had been sunk in gloom, and we’d wondered whether we could persuade someone to stage a spectacular celebration of its heritage—its art, architecture, and scenic beauty. In 1964 Tom Little, the Echo’s chief reporter (and music critic) in Newcastle, watched a son et lumière concert in the radiant white basilica at Vézelay, France, and in his review for the paper he wondered why we could not do the same in the much grander and more glorious setting of Durham Cathedral. Well, why not? I called in David Spark. “We’re going to have a son et lumière concert in Durham,” I told him, “and you’re going to organize it.”

Of course it meant borrowing the cathedral, and having the city of Durham amenable, and finding a writer and composer, and raising money for script and music, and finding a brilliant lighting engineer, and selling tickets, and praying that people would come. We started by seeking the blessing of Durham’s dean, the Very Reverend John Wild. He and his wife gave us lunch in the cathedral close, which David remembers was trout with a delicious sauce. I can never remember anything I eat, and on this occasion I was concentrating on not talking like an irreverent show business impresario. But the dean warmed to the proposal, the mayor of Durham City came in with enthusiasm, we persuaded Flora Robson to narrate, and we dragooned the cathedral choir and bell ringers, the Horden Colliery Band, and the Cornforth Men’s Choir.

The son et lumière we staged was the single most exciting and uplifting experience of my time in Darlington, a magical marriage of North East enterprise and artistry to reflect the splendors of human faith and endeavor. You could hear the intake of breath among the crowds as the lighting revealed the hidden beauties of the interior of the cathedral and the pageant of nine hundred years unfolded: the translation of the remains of St. Cuthbert from Holy Island, the start of building on the rock, the battle at Neville’s Cross, Charles I praying alone on his way to London, a murderer seeking sanctuary hammering on the great doors, the entry of miners’ bands to dramatize the role of the common folk as well as that of the ambitious princes and clerics.

When it was over, we were able to give the cathedral the profit of around £70,000 at today’s values. It was agreed that most of the money should go to pay for the installation of permanent floodlighting. In the years since, I’ve never been able to look on that glorious heritage of the cathedral shining in the night without a rush of exultation and gratitude.

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