In the Morning

So here we are again. 4.45am. In the dark. And the cold. Trying to warm our instruments up, never mind keeping them warm. Yet it's not windy, it's not raining, it's as ideal as it can be, which has to be a first. As we stand there waiting, the cold becomes more apparent, now we are still. We shift slightly, adjusting our weight, wriggling our toes to stop them from going completely numb. Finally the baton lifts and we begin to play. Stiffly, as our fingers protest the movement and we struggle to get a note out, our instruments not just cool but cold. As our final notes ring out, bagpipes cut through the morning air. The parade has arrived. 

We stand and observe as there is a change of personnel and drills are performed. The opening address is made. The list of conflicts mentioned is long. Longer than you expect. The thought of the number of battles is galling. Then it is time for the laying of the wreaths. We play the piece through and then repeat it. And repeat it again. And again. By them time we are through we have lost count of the number of times we have played it right to the end. This is because there are so many wreaths. So many that wish to pay their respects. When the wreath laying started, it was dark. By the time it was finished, the sun has edged its way into the sky. The day has begun. 

In the crisp, early morning air, the notes of the last post ring out, welcoming the day. And then the minute silence. Apart from the squall of nearby birds, it is completely silent. No idle chatter, no phones going off, no music blaring. Actual silence, where you have room to think and remember. And so you do. 

The national anthems of Australia and New Zealand were sung, followed by the hymn Abide With Me. A choir led the way joined by those that have made the early morning journey to observe and participate. Then it was time for closing remarks followed by the final march as people separated and relaxed. The low hum of voices punctuated by laughter fills the park as friends bump into neighbours, who catch sight of old acquaintances. All the while, the sun continues to rise. 

Lest we forget. 

Three Extraordinary Journeys

Or just the one will do. So here we are in beautiful Tasmania, taking in the sights and sounds on this wonderful long Easter weekend. What more could you ask for? Well, now that I mention it, there is one little thing . . . 

As you no doubt know (I mean, I am constantly mentioning it) this weekend is the culmination of a couple of years work (and I'm not even exaggerating when I say that). It takes a whole lot of work to get almost an entire concert band on the other side of the country and to everyone who has been involved, a huge thank you doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact it's probably been a bit of a journey in itself (it certainly is a big enough undertaking) and you can see what is possible when you have a group of such wonderful people working together. 

That said travelling over there was definitely a bit of a journey. Have you ever been at the airport and seen those huge groups of people travelling together, basically looking like a party in-transit? It's slightly less of a party and more trying to keep track of everyone. Because even though we are all responsible adults (ahem) and it's really hard to miss a group of people moving en mass, chances are that someone at some point will go walkabout. I can safely say it wasn't me (for once). Apart from that it is a bit like a travelling party but more like the bit before when you're still getting ready (but if you're anything like my sister you already have the music pumping). That air of anticipation, that any number of fun and great things can happen, that you're going to have a good time. So next time you see that huge group of people at the airport, chatting, laughing and generally looking like they're having a great time, that's because they are. You also better hope that if they are on your flight they are nowhere near you because they are bound to continue the hi-jinks and laughter on the flight (but in a slightly more moderate fashion of course). 

And then, of course, is the whole reason why we are here. What we have been working towards for months. Years even. The performance itself. When you are finally sitting on that stage, looking out over a darkened auditorium, the bright lights shining in your eyes. When you can't see the audience but you can sense them, shielded by the light. That's when you pick up your instrument and play. And pray to the music gods that you don't trip over that run in bar 78. And all the practicing pays off as you fly through the bar. Yet while you're so busy congratulating yourself you fumble in the next bar, which not only have you never done but is also possibly the easiest bar in the entire history of music (well not literally but you get my point). So you concentrate and shut off that inner monologue. You concentrate on the music in front of you and the baton above you. You concentrate until there is nothing but the music. You are the music. And then the final notes ring out and you are done. It's always jarring and disorientating (a bit like pulling into your driveway with no memory of getting there but not as terrifying) but totally and completely worth it. There isn't much that can beat being completely carried away by the music. 

Huh. So I guess that's three extraordinary journeys after all.