Sheldonian -- 1998

By Meggie R.

On Thursday, December 17, 1998, we went to the beautiful Sheldonian Theatre, in Oxford, to see:

"The Coming of Christmas, with the Oxford singers, and Dame Judi Dench and Michael Williams, in the Presence of HRH The Princess Royal." (Princess Anne.)

This night, she was "Judi." Not Jean Pargetter, not Filumena, not Mrs. Brown. There was a hush, and everyone stood up as the Princess was ushered in; we sat down, and then stood up again as the first line of "God save the Queen" was played, then sat again, and then stood up and clapped as Dame Judi and Michael came in and sat in chairs just below our low balcony, about 15 feet away. Michael wore a black suit and white shirt, and when he read, he wore horn-rimmed glasses. Judi wore a black suit with a gathered skirt which flared out as she walked; a white collarless blouse, black stockings, and black heels. Small gold earrings, several gold rings and bracelets, and her "square" watch. No nail polish, and her hair was her perfect little "Jean" cap.

The harpist, the singers, and the soloist were magnificent, but I watched Judi and Michael nearly every moment. Once in a while Michael would lean over and say something to Judi, and she would turn and smile the sweetest smile as she'd listen to him and then reply. The readings were wonderful, of course; most of them were reverent Christmas poems, and Judi and Michael read them to perfection, bringing out so much *more* than was actually written on the page.

There were also two humorous readings, which they obviously delighted in reading. During Michael's reading of the "Presents" scene from "A Child's Christmas in Wales," Judi laughed many times - I could see her shoulders start to shake with mirth, and then she would just let go; as Michael read about the "rasping vests, the crocheted nose-bags, the most un-ducklike sound, and the dazzling sky-blue sheep," she threw up her hands, clapped, and tilted her head back, laughing with abandon, as we have seen her do in the "South Bank" program. There was something about the *way* Michael read it that made it so funny - funnier than the actual *words* on the page!

Judi then read the classic "Twelve Days of Christmas," the supposed thank-you notes from the young "Emily," who is receiving all these gifts of geese, swans, rings, lords, milkmaids, etc. (This was interspersed with the choral introduction of *each* gift as it arrived, complete with a hilarious melodic presentation of the "six socking great geese laying eggs all over the doorstep!")

Emily is so sweet and loving at first, " Dearest Edward, you do think of the most original presents!" and then she becomes progressively less enchanted by the menagerie. "The whole house seems to be full of birds, to say nothing of what they leave behind them." And then, "As I write this, ten disgusting old men are prancing all over, and taking inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids!" Finally, on day eleven, she is absolutely in tears, as she writes "Edward, you know I DETEST bagpipes! At least Mummy has been spared this last outrage; they had to take her away this afternoon in an ambulance! I hope you're satisfied." All through this, Michael was smiling, bemused, and obviously captivated by his lovely wife. Then Michael stood up, and was "G. Creep, solicitor-at-Law," gruffly chiding Edward for sending "The entire percussion section of the Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra to poor Emily's front door." (He took liberties with the original work by putting Oxford into the script.)

The only thing better than Dame Judi, is Dame Judi and Sir Michael together! They are wonderful.

During intermission, we strolled around outside the beautiful theatre, past the Bodleian Library, through the Bridge of Sighs, and I felt I was in a wonderful dream, experiencing all this, with Judi and Michael waiting inside for me. Eventually, we were summoned back into the building by the tolling of a "school bell" of the "Hear Ye" variety! So quaint! So British!

This program was sponsored by a charity called the Home Farm Trust, which provides group homes for learning disabled individuals. In the programme, there is much information about the trust, and several of the group homes. In the biographies of Judi and Michael, which appear in the programme also, it states that *both* Dame Judi and Michael are Patrons of this trust, which I thought significant. At the end of the Christmas program Judi and Michael read alternately the lovely words to "Children Learn What They Live," and also the "Beatitudes of the Mentally Handicapped" - so lovingly that their care and concern for these individuals is abundantly clear.

Finally, we sang together - "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful." Judi, Michael, and I. (Oh, yes, and the rest of the chorus and audience, as well ! )

Of course there was the presentation of the flowers, the three lovely arrangements on the table were presented to Judi, Michael, and the conductor. They carried them out graciously, to tremendous applause, and a standing ovation, then they returned to wave and smile one more time. Judi and Michael then also clapped, motioning to indicate that they were appreciating the performance of all the singers and musicians. The Princess was escorted out, then Judi and Michael walked out, and it was over. It was an absolutely beautiful Christmas program, made all the more special by the presence and the participation of Judi and Michael. As we made our way back to our car, it began to snow! A perfect ending to a perfect evening.

A Special Thank You to Meggie R. for sharing her experiences with us.

The Twelve Days of Christmas 
by John Julius Norwich
Read by Dame Judi Dench at the Sheldonian Theatre, Oxford,
December 17, 1998

          25th December

          My dearest darling,
          That partridge in that lovely little pear tree! What an enchanting, romantic, poetic
          present!  Bless you and thank you.

          Your deeply loving Emily...

          26th December

          My darling Edward,
          You do think of the most original presents; whoever thought of sending anybody 
          three French hens?  Do they really come all the way from France? It's a pity we have 
          no chicken coops, but I expect we'll find some. Thank you anyway, they're heaven.

          Your loving Emily...

          28th December

          Dearest Edward,
          What a surprise - four calling birds arrived this morning. They are very sweet - even 
          if they do call rather loudly - they make telephoning impossible. But I expect they'll 
          calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway, I'm very grateful - of 
          course I am.

          Love from Emily...

          29th December

          Dearest Edward,
          The postman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for each finger, 
          and all fitting perfectly. A really lovely present - lovelier in a way than the
          birds, which do take rather a lot of  looking after. The four that arrived yesterday 
          are still making a terrible row, and I'm afraid none of us got much sleep last night. 
          Mummy says she wants to use the rings to 'wring' their necks, she's only
          joking, I think; though I know what she means. But I love the rings. Bless you.

          Love Emily

          30th December

          Dear Edward,
          Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning, it certainly 
          wasn't six socking great geese laying eggs all over the doorstep. Frankly, I had rather 
          hoped you had stopped sending me birds - we have no room for them and they have 
          already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but - let's call a halt, shall we?

          Love Emily

          31st December

          Edward,
          I thought I said no more birds, but this morning I woke to find no less than seven 
          swans all trying to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather not think what happened 
          to the goldfish.   The whole house seems to be full of birds - to say nothing of what 
          they leave behind them.  Please, please STOP...

          Your Emily

          1st January

          Frankly, I think I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight milkmaids - AND their 
          cows? Is this some kind of a joke? If so I'm afraid I don't find it very amusing.

          Emily...

          2nd January

          Look here Edward, this has gone far enough. You say you're sending me nine ladies 
          dancing; all I can say is that judging from the way they dance, they're certainly
          not ladies. The village just isn't accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless hussies 
          with nothing on but their lipstick cavorting round the green - and it's Mummy and I 
          who get blamed.  If you value our friendship - which I do less and less - kindly stop 
          this ridiculous behaviour at once.

          Emily...

          3rd January

          As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing about all over what used to 
          be the garden - before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it; and several
          of them, I notice, are taking inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile 
          the neighbours are trying to have us evicted. I shall never speak to you again.

          Emily

          4th January

          This is the last straw. You know I detest bagpipes. The place has now become 
          something between a menagerie and a madhouse and a man from the Council has 
          just declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mummy has been spared this last outrage; 
          they took her away this afternoon in an ambulance. I hope you're satisfied...

          (spoken by Michael Williams)

          5th January

          Sir, Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with the arrival 
          on her premises at half-past-seven this morning of the entire percussion section of the 
          Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra and several of their friends she has no course left open 
          to her but to seek an injunction to prevent your importuning her further.

          I am, sir, Yours faithfully

          G. Creep, Solicitor-at-Law