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    The Choir School of St. Bede's
    The Choir School of St. Bede's
    The Choir School of St. Bede's
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    The Choir School of St. Bede's

    By Frederick Harrison

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    With Thirteen Illustrations By Emily A. Cook

    This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

    About the Publisher - iOnlineShopping.com :

    As a publisher, we focus on the preservation of historical literature. Many works of historical writers and scientists are available today as antiques only. iOnlineShopping.com newly publishes these books and contributes to the preservation of literature which has become rare and historical knowledge for the future.

     
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriOnlineShopping.com
    Release dateFeb 4, 2019
    ISBN9788832508857
    The Choir School of St. Bede's
    Author

    Frederick Harrison

    I am a retired U.S. Intelligence Officer with long service, initially as a U.S. Navy officer, in the National Security Agency, the Office of Naval Intelligence, and the Senior Intelligence Service of the Central Intelligence Agency. I've been writing virtually all of my adult life, beginning as editor and columnist for my college newspaper through many analytical studies and reports created during my service as an intelligence analyst. I began writing fiction less than ten years ago with a series of screenplays: dramas and romantic comedies. A prospective agent in Hollywood liked the script for my drama, An Opaque War, but recommended that I turn it into a novel, which he thought would be more readily salable. In doing that, I came up with a major plot twist that radically changed the relationship between the main characters, creating a high level of dramatic tension shared by creating a high level of dramatic tension shared by the reader who is aware of circumstances unknown to the book's characters. Upon completing the novel, I went back and rewrote the screenplay, which is currently in the script department of Sony Pictures.Since then, I have written four additional novels, the latest to be published in April 2012. While each one is independent, in the sense that they need not be read in order or are individually incomplete, they do have continuing characters who serve to carry forward my primary narrative which seeks to realistically portray the lives of people caught up in the rush of events driven by acquired intelligence and the concerns it engenders. These are both high and low level officials, Americans and foreigners, friends and enemies. In each of the novels, I have placed my characters in real world situations of which the reader will be aware: a terrorism threat in New York City, insurgencies in Pakistan and Afghanistan, piracy in Somalia, and partisan politics in Washington.I still reside in the Washington D.C. area and maintain contacts in the intelligence and law enforcement communities. The professionals I know, both active and retired, read and criticize my manuscripts and buy the published books to send to friends and relatives. Their approval is a great source of appreciation. I am offering An Opaque War, the first novel in my series, to the ebook generation at a token price in the hope of attracting a broader readership.

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      Book preview

      The Choir School of St. Bede's - Frederick Harrison

      The Choir School of St. Bede’s

      The Choir School of

      St. Bede’s

      BY

      FREDERICK HARRISON

      Author of Wynport College

      WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY EMILY A. COOK

      BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

      LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

      CONTENTS.

      THE CHOIR SCHOOL OF

      ST. BEDE’S.

      CHAPTER I. THE NEW SOLO-BOY.

      CHAPTER I.

      THE NEW SOLO-BOY.

      IT was a lovely morning, about eleven o’clock, and the boys of the cathedral choir of St. Bede’s were playing in the cloister of the grand old church. There was a square plot of grass in the centre, where the boys used to amuse themselves during the intervals of school-work; when it was wet they would walk round the covered cloister.

      One boy, of about eleven years, was standing by himself, looking shyly on without taking any part in the games of the others. He was leaning against a stone pillar, when one of the bigger boys came up to him.

      You’re the new probationer solo-boy, aren’t you? he demanded.

      Yes, replied Alfred Davidson, for that was his name.

      Where do you come from?

      From Darlton.

      What’s your father?

      He’s an engineer on a ship.

      On board of a man-of-war?

      No; on one of the big ships that go to Australia, replied Alfred.

      I suppose you think no small cheese of yourself now you’ve got a place in the choir, don’t you? said the other with a sneer.

      I am very pleased to get into this choir, as I am fond of music, and I hope I shall be an organist some day, replied Alfred.

      Organist! laughed the other. You’ll never be fit for anything except to blow the organ. I suppose you would consider that assistant-organist?

      Certainly! some people aren’t good enough even for that, replied Alfred, moving behind the stone pillar.

      Oh, indeed! said King, aren’t they?

      He aimed a backhanded slap at Alfred as he spoke, but the latter bobbed his head, and King barked his knuckles.

      That’s your little game, is it? he exclaimed, and seizing Alfred he shook him and threw him on to the grass, nearly causing another boy, who was stepping backwards, to roll over him. Alfred got up at once and brushed his clothes, and while he was doing so another boy came up and spoke to him.

      What’s up? he exclaimed.

      I am, now, replied Alfred, smiling.

      So I see, said Walter Parker, laughing; but you were down a moment ago, weren’t you?

      Yes.

      Has Herbert King been bullying you because you’ve got the place he wanted his brother to have?

      I don’t know the name of the boy who pushed me down, replied Alfred, but he did not have it all his own way. He went to hit me, and as I ducked my head he knocked his knuckles against the pillar instead.

      I am glad of it, said Walter. It serves him right; he is far too fond of bullying, especially new boys. If I catch him at it I will punch his head again, as I did last week. You tell me if he hits you, and I will square accounts with him. What is your name?

      Alfred Davidson.

      Very well, Davidson, I hope we shall be friends. My name is Walter Parker, and I live in Cross Street.

      So do I, said Alfred. I am staying with Mrs. Dawson.

      I live next door, so we can go home together.

      These few words made Alfred feel quite happy, and at the invitation of his new friend he joined in the game of prisoner’s base. Walter Parker was thirteen years of age, a stout, well-built boy, although not very tall.

      Alfred Davidson, although so young, had a voice of wonderful power and sweetness, and having been taught music by his mother for some time, he had at eight entered the choir of the parish church of Darlton, where he had continued his training for some three years. He had just succeeded in obtaining not only a place in the choir by competition, to the exclusion of Herbert King’s younger brother, but even the appointment of a probationer soloist, which was very unusual for so young a boy.

      The deputy choir-master, who was also the schoolmaster, called the boys in to work. The room was under the cathedral library, and led out of the cloister.

      Alfred Davidson! called Mr. Harmer.

      Davidson, said Walter Parker to him, ‘uncle’ is calling you.

      Is he your uncle? inquired Alfred, as he moved out of his seat.

      No, replied Walter; but we always call him uncle behind his back.

      Come here, said Mr. Harmer; I want to examine you, to see in which division I can place you.

      Alfred answered the questions put to him sufficiently well to be placed in the first division.

      I hope, Davidson, you will work well, so that I may be able to keep you in this division. If not, of course I shall put you down into the second. You can go back to your seat again.

      Walter Parker assisted Mr. Harmer by taking the youngest and the most backward boys. Herbert King was his equal as far as knowledge went, but the master had chosen Walter in preference to King, as he was more patient and careful in the work. These two boys were the principal soloists, but as King’s voice was beginning to show signs of breaking, it was necessary to have another boy in training, ready to take his place later on. King had hoped that his brother would obtain a place in the choir, but the organist, Dr. Phillips, and Mr. Young, the precentor (one of the clergy who assist in directing the musical services), had both chosen Alfred to fill the vacancy. This was one reason why King felt anything but friendly towards the newcomer.

      As the boys were going home, one of them, Stephen Gray, filled a paper bag with water at the school tap, unseen by Alfred, who was slowly sauntering along.

      What are you going to do with that? inquired Walter Parker.

      Wait and see, replied Steve, running on and calling out to Alfred. Davidson!

      What do you want? replied Alfred.

      Can you catch?

      I think so.

      Then catch this, said Steve, throwing the bag as he spoke.

      Alfred, being quite unused to the tricks of schoolboys—choir-boys are not a bit different from other boys—attempted to catch the bag, and the moment it reached his hands the water spurted all over his face and clothes. He was too much surprised to say anything, and Steve, who was a good-natured boy, after laughing at the success of his joke, wiped him with his handkerchief, and accompanied him and Walter, as he lived near them.

      When Alfred had finished his tea he wrote home a long letter to his mother and sister, trying to make them feel quite happy about him. He hoped that in a few days he should like all the boys as much as he liked Walter and Stephen. Mrs.

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