Pictures
Top: Cover of the new compilation Francis Jackson CD
Middle right: Cover of recital programme from 15th June 1954
Bottom right: The sweet wrapper the young DV Bell received from Germani

Forty three years ago, Evensong on Monday at York Minster was usually with music for choir and organ. As a student, I would wait - at quarter to four - by the entrance to the choir for Mr F J to appear. There would be people for the service and frequently someone for the organ loft, but always present were the watchful vergers; Mr Pierce, somewhat authoritarian, Seth, a dry leg-puller and Mr Bell, always very friendly and encouraging. "I thought it was Mr Jackson playing the organ," he would say, when he knew that you had been doing your best!

On one occasion, in June 1954, this was the setting for an unforgettable sequel. It was the first York Festival after the Hitler war and as part of such, a series of organ recitals had been arranged. Fernando Germani was to play on the following day at 5.30 and it was my guess that he would be seen after the Monday Evensong and shown to the loft for a private rehearsal. I was right.

Protocol pointed to my silent exit. The nearest place to the Italian for me was a distant seat in the deserted nave. And what a seat. In that far off June, the late afternoon sun bathed the Minster in ethereal light. Outside was busy and warm, but within, an unreality pervaded the cool vastness - history in stone, space and light. The Vatican organist explored the tonal palette in terms of Roger Ducasse and Durufle; it all proceeded and time became an unknown measure.

During the evening, I was noticed in my solitude by a surprised Mr F J, "Well now, you're still here." He took me aloft to the 'presence' and I was asked to be escort and to turn the pages on the following day. Leaving the Minster with Signor Germani, we talked along Bootham and I seem to remember asking him about the recordings in Westminster Cathedral, particularly the piece by a Spanish composer, Eduardo Torres, entitled 'Saetas'.

At a later date, Germani sent me the piece; this, I think, being typical of his kindness to a young, passing enthusiast. The day dawned fine and sunny. Evensong came and went in a light of other worldliness and the Minster glowed in evening tones.

Now, at the organ, the adrenalin flowed for the page assistant, who asked the question, "Is there anything you would like to tell me about the turnings?" "No," came the reply. "I shall not look at the music. It is there today, because I play in the Minster."

At the appointed moment, the diminutive organist began to play and soon lifted himself bodily from the bench to accomplish the pedal solo in the Toccata in F.

The playing throughout was rhythmically alive. Registration of J S B's deathbed prelude was, by restriction, in romantic dress, with a subtle recipe of colour for the solo line.

It was, of course, the French pieces, which excited the page turner. Thank goodness, the Italian maestro was without need of my flustered ministrations!

Evocative handling of the Roger Ducasse opening, with its rocking movement, soon gave way to the most eruptive fire of the middle section. The piece closed with the hushed magic of Minster cobwebs.

Suddenly, and finally we were presented with a downright barbarous execution of the Durufle Toccata. The little man drew blood from this hideously splendid canvas. It could have been a vision of the Bastille dungeons. Germani remained still throughout; he played with high distinction - the printed music and the student page turner were always redundant.

The great Italian organist of the Vatican said, "Would you like a sweet?" I didn't refuse. Alas! I ate the sweet, but the paper holds a memory.

My grateful thanks to Dr Francis Jackson - 'Mr' at the time of the story. He made this and dozens of other similar occasions possible.