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Lady Thatcher played out to the sounds of Europe Lady Thatcher played out to the sounds of Europe
(5 months later)
Like the majority of British politicians of all parties, Margaret Thatcher was not particularly interested in music. One never saw her at concerts the way one frequently saw Edward Heath. She liked the opera a bit, but not as much as John and Norma Major did, and perhaps she enjoyed the opera as much for the exclusivity and the company of rich people as for the art form itself. I once interviewed her, in Kiev of all places, about music. She told me that Handel, one of whose operas she was about to attend, was one of her favourites — "all those marvellous tunes". But I didn't really believe it.Like the majority of British politicians of all parties, Margaret Thatcher was not particularly interested in music. One never saw her at concerts the way one frequently saw Edward Heath. She liked the opera a bit, but not as much as John and Norma Major did, and perhaps she enjoyed the opera as much for the exclusivity and the company of rich people as for the art form itself. I once interviewed her, in Kiev of all places, about music. She told me that Handel, one of whose operas she was about to attend, was one of her favourites — "all those marvellous tunes". But I didn't really believe it.
Yet at St Paul's on Wednesday, Lady Thatcher went out to the sound of music nevertheless. It was a programme she was said to have chosen herself, though one slightly suspects in most respects it was chosen for her to approve, rather than representing her own keenest personal tastes, as the hymns and readings surely did. But it was a good selection all the same.Yet at St Paul's on Wednesday, Lady Thatcher went out to the sound of music nevertheless. It was a programme she was said to have chosen herself, though one slightly suspects in most respects it was chosen for her to approve, rather than representing her own keenest personal tastes, as the hymns and readings surely did. But it was a good selection all the same.
It started and finished with English music, and that was surely very deliberate. Before the coffin made its first dramatic appearance, the west doors thrown open and the cathedral suddenly open to the London air, organists played English music from the day before yesterday — the Conservative party's comfort zone — music by composers who were born in the Victorian era but died after the Great War — John Ireland, Herbert Howells, Elgar, Stanford, Parry, the newly fashionable Frank Bridge and the public school socialist Ralph Vaughan Williams. It felt like a list drawn up by a Thatcherite fogey like Roger Scruton or Simon Heffer. The latter looked a treat in a top hat with his morning coat.It started and finished with English music, and that was surely very deliberate. Before the coffin made its first dramatic appearance, the west doors thrown open and the cathedral suddenly open to the London air, organists played English music from the day before yesterday — the Conservative party's comfort zone — music by composers who were born in the Victorian era but died after the Great War — John Ireland, Herbert Howells, Elgar, Stanford, Parry, the newly fashionable Frank Bridge and the public school socialist Ralph Vaughan Williams. It felt like a list drawn up by a Thatcherite fogey like Roger Scruton or Simon Heffer. The latter looked a treat in a top hat with his morning coat.
At the end, after the lessons, the hymns and the prayers — which were standard stuff — there was Elgar, in the form of William Harris's arrangement of Nimrod, one of the most emotionally powerful pieces of music ever written and, for some, an anthem of love of England. Nimrod's status as the quintessentially English piece of music, deep understated passions held manfully in check until the irresistible — and brilliantly brief — climax is unshakeable now, though it was written more as a statement of friendship for Elgar's editor, and nothing more. Quite a statement, all the same. And well orchestrated.At the end, after the lessons, the hymns and the prayers — which were standard stuff — there was Elgar, in the form of William Harris's arrangement of Nimrod, one of the most emotionally powerful pieces of music ever written and, for some, an anthem of love of England. Nimrod's status as the quintessentially English piece of music, deep understated passions held manfully in check until the irresistible — and brilliantly brief — climax is unshakeable now, though it was written more as a statement of friendship for Elgar's editor, and nothing more. Quite a statement, all the same. And well orchestrated.
Music with Scottish or Irish associations did not get a look in, which probably reflected Thatcher's prejudices pretty accurately. Nor was there anything out of left-field — like Elton John's appearance at Princess Diana's funeral in 1997 — which was a pity. But Thatcher was far too conventional for that.Music with Scottish or Irish associations did not get a look in, which probably reflected Thatcher's prejudices pretty accurately. Nor was there anything out of left-field — like Elton John's appearance at Princess Diana's funeral in 1997 — which was a pity. But Thatcher was far too conventional for that.
European music played an unexpectedly important role for Europe's Mrs No, No, No, which was a real surprise. A deathbed conversion to Europe? Unlikely. Nevertheless the choir, with one woman in an all male line-up — Thatcher would surely have identified with that — sang part of Brahms's German Requiem, bringing some good Protestant counterpoint to the occasion, but still surprising for the funeral of the prime minister who so viscerally disapproved of German unification. Thatcher never had much time for France either, but the lovely modulations of the In Paradisum from Fauré's Requiem were another reminder that the Europeans have a lot of the best tunes.European music played an unexpectedly important role for Europe's Mrs No, No, No, which was a real surprise. A deathbed conversion to Europe? Unlikely. Nevertheless the choir, with one woman in an all male line-up — Thatcher would surely have identified with that — sang part of Brahms's German Requiem, bringing some good Protestant counterpoint to the occasion, but still surprising for the funeral of the prime minister who so viscerally disapproved of German unification. Thatcher never had much time for France either, but the lovely modulations of the In Paradisum from Fauré's Requiem were another reminder that the Europeans have a lot of the best tunes.
Actually being there, sitting two-thirds of the way back in the cathedral nave rather than watching it on television, you hear the planned musical programme across vast distances. But you also hear it against a background of other distant and more unplanned sounds. When the doors were thrown open, the organ music vied with solemn marches from unseen military bands playing Beethoven and Chopin out on Ludgate Hill and, above all, with the tolling of the bells – it all felt a bit like a piece by Charles Ives, in which everything gets superimposed on everything else.Actually being there, sitting two-thirds of the way back in the cathedral nave rather than watching it on television, you hear the planned musical programme across vast distances. But you also hear it against a background of other distant and more unplanned sounds. When the doors were thrown open, the organ music vied with solemn marches from unseen military bands playing Beethoven and Chopin out on Ludgate Hill and, above all, with the tolling of the bells – it all felt a bit like a piece by Charles Ives, in which everything gets superimposed on everything else.
When you are there, it is the little details that stick in the mind rather than the big, skillfully edited or cleverly deconstructed picture. And as the coffin was borne out of the cathedral, the most compelling of all sounds was not the organ or the singing or even the ripple of applause from out on the street, clearly audible inside, it was the strict clump and crunch of the coffin party's military boots as they carried Lady Thatcher out into the sunlight of history for one final journey.When you are there, it is the little details that stick in the mind rather than the big, skillfully edited or cleverly deconstructed picture. And as the coffin was borne out of the cathedral, the most compelling of all sounds was not the organ or the singing or even the ripple of applause from out on the street, clearly audible inside, it was the strict clump and crunch of the coffin party's military boots as they carried Lady Thatcher out into the sunlight of history for one final journey.
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