Showing posts with label Robert Jackson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Jackson. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 November 2025

That terrible vestry meeting

 That terrible vestry meeting

i.m. Robert Jackson (1840-1914)

1. Before the meeting

(to Robert Jackson's tune for 'A lift on the way' by Edwin Waugh)


For leading the Oldham choir his portrait in oils

is in the town gallery, displayed on the walls;

his other choir, St Peter's, his father and he

successively will have served a Jackson century.

A Jackson century!

A Jackson century!

When Tom and Bob will have played a Jackson century!


For hymns he created new tunes by the score;

one pamphlet has fifty, another boasts of more,

named after midland towns, and southern on sea --

the high points in the Jackson century.

A Jackson century!

A Jackson century!

When Tom and Bob will have played a Jackson century!


His songs in the dialect of his Lancashire,

by Lancashire Burns, Edwin Waugh, do you hear?

'A lift on the way' is praised cheerily:

a touch of earth in the Jackson century.

A Jackson century!

A Jackson century!

When Tom and Bob will have played a Jackson century!

2. The meeting

The congregation's thanks

to the choir for services,

proposed by Mr Green,

told of lack of unity;

the seconding also

looked back to the glory days,

recalled the choir's old fame

Oldham-wide, Lancashire-wide,

the days when people came

drawn by music to the church.

Then Mrs Martland told

how, an old attender, she

had noted worsening, 

hymns as slow as funerals, 

the awful music why

no one in her family

would come to church with her.

Motion carried in the end.

Reporters please ignore --

it's a parish matter. 

SPLASH!

The Oldham standard filled

columns with the vestry row.

3. After the meeting

Who knows how Robert Jackson spent the night?

Widowed two years, so I suppose alone.

Late equinoctial was the dawn's first light. 

Who reflected on what they'd said and done?


By end May he'd resigned as organist.

The choir resigned in solidarity.

Press reports from the next year still exist:

functions were lost then back, apparently,


then stroke, speech lost, paralysed legs and side.

No hymns, no songs, no oratorio.

On Sunday the twelfth of July he died,

a broken no-man, nothing left to know.


His great age, some said. Really? Seventy-four?

Apologies won't cover words that killed.

Twenty-three days before the First World War.

The Jackson century seven years unfilled.


==========================================

Robert Jackson was organist of St Peter's church, Oldham, from 1868 to 1913. He first came to my attention through my interest in hymn tunes named after places. You may recall my words to Jackson's tune 'Trentham'.

I wrote the present poem sequence for a reading organised by Love Mill Road in Cambridge, on the theme of 'Transformation'.

Thanks to Gallery Oldham and Oldham Local Studies and Archives for letting me see relevant materials. 

See YouTube for me performing this work, accompanied in the sung bit by Mike Cole; and for Robert Jackson's song with its original Edwin Waugh words, sung by members of the Edwin Waugh Society in an arrangement by Jim Molyneux.

Tuesday, 19 January 2021

Poems to hymn tunes: 'Trentham' and 'Little Cornard'

 

SAM HUGHES (1824-1898)

(To the tune 'Trentham'  .  Acknowledging 'A lament for Sam Hughes: the last great ophicleidist' by Trevor Herbert  )

Trentham where he was born,
Three Mile Cross where he died,
these framed the triumphs of his breath:
he played the ophicleide.

Fanfares, chromatic runs --
he played not only these,
but gentle phrases softly breathed
to bands' strong harmonies.

He could have stayed in Wales,
grown Welsh, you say, secure
in comfort and admirers' love,
a champion and more.

He could have learned the new
smart-prized euphonium,
cheaper and easier, and lived
rich with well-earned income.

Footnote to Trentham's tune.
Not Wales, nor progress, he.
Your prose undims his instrument.
He died in penury.


LITTLE CORNARD

(to the tune ‘Little Cornard’)


Sing of a breaking world!
Nations to strive and part,
points of the compass spin,
nothing is found at heart,
and what you mean by south and north
and west and east has lost its worth.

Sing of a breaking myth!
Dragon on dragon fight!
How did the tale arise,
shouts in a Suffolk night?
No dragon-real time’s known to be,
not even fifteenth century.

Sing of a breaking rule!
Derailment injuries,
horrible grandeur fail,
nothing of that in these:
van bearing matter for a drain
smashed with a level crossing train.

Sing of a breaking sea!
Deep, deep and deep their call,
waves that are high for waves,
boats and a hard landfall.
Our voices falter praying for
all those in peril on the shore.


I mentioned in my blog post on Boxing Day 2019 that I had a Google Maps list of British Isles places with hymn tunes named after them.  The Places of Poetry map, where I'd posted some of my work, was re-opened briefly for posting in October 2020, and I nipped in and put these two poems of mine on it. 

But henceforth my ignorance shows.  I'd like to know why Robert Jackson, a church organist in Oldham, chose to name a hymn tune after Trentham in Staffordshire, some fifty miles away.  Similarly about Martin Shaw and Little Cornard in Suffolk.  Come on, Aidan, you're a librarian.  There's a wealth of published material about these chaps, especially Martin Shaw.  Have a look.