Go West!

If you drive out West Toowoomba way, but a bit farther out and north a bit, you will come to a small Queensland town called Peranga. Some sources say that the population is around fifty. There is a post office (open one hour every morning for mail collection but really it’s a house); and there’s a Police Station, which really is a Police Station because it has a sign outside saying so, also it has an office and a police officer. I know because Chris and I stayed there last week with my niece, her policeman husband and youngest son.

My phone had no signal or Internet so there was no contact with the outside world (which made a pleasant change) but plenty of contact with wildlife and locals in their cars (two of the three cars I saw were driven by very friendly folk who waved and smiled – the other car was the police car driven by Chris the policeman!). And none of them seemed to find it odd that I walked in the middle of the road as I took photographs. Country folk are extremely understanding.

The houses were old Australia style and charming, and weather-beaten sheds were even more so. The late afternoon sunshine bathed the countryside in a golden light which made picturesque long shadows under windmills, trees and cacti. The sunset glowing at the bottom of Nelia’s garden was breathtaking against the silhouettes of the trees.

Peranga was all I thought it would be…. except for one thing – actually, there are only around thirty people living in the town. I have it on good authority from the policeman.

 

What’s Not to Love About a Mason?

I was hanging out my washing when a very dashing Mason called around. It’s true that I was expecting him, however I was afraid he might not remember me after such a long time… But no, he smiled and I gushed with love, and we rushed into one another’s arms. We kissed and kissed – the feeling was entirely mutual – and then we went to the beach at Victoria Point for a bit of fun on the sand.

Like me, he wasn’t keen to walk in the sea (owing to fifty-million jelly fish at the water’s edge) so we held hands and simply enjoyed looking out to sea at the visiting dolphins. He wasn’t afraid, just sensible; he showed his bravery later when he chased off some large ibis birds. He wanted to impress me – I could tell – and soon I was duly impressed by his athleticism, his love of heights and his great skills of strength and balance.

Surely this Mason is a rarity? He is no ordinary “Worshipful Master” – he doesn’t have a funny little dark blue apron or a light blue apron, for that matter; he doesn’t have a secret handshake and he doesn’t spend lots of evenings out with “the boys”. He doesn’t give a darn about golf or crosswords. He’s not even an old boy…. Perhaps needless to say, my Mason is Roland’s four year old grandson and I love him.

One June

After a night of disturbing dreams I awoke with a sick headache, not to mention some heartache as well. I downed some paracetamols and took a shower, but still I felt terrible. The shock, the disappointment and the guilt had caught up with me.

It wasn’t particularly early but the clouds hid the sun so I thought I’d go out for a cycle ride anyway – and it wouldn’t be too hot by the river. The Albert River is my favourite destination for a short cycle ride when I’m staying at Belivah. Not wishing to miss any of the beauty below, I walked my little red bike across the pedestrian bridge and, at length, turned onto the path leading down to the water. After parking my bike against a signpost I stood on the platform at the base of one of the huge concrete pillars supporting the bridge and I became lost in thought as I looked into the reflections on the surface of the river.

I thought of June – Mrs Conelly (as we called her until recent years) – whom I have known for all my life bar three months, because that’s how old I was when the Porch family moved up from Victoria to “The Sunshine State” of Queensland. I pictured Mrs Conelly in my mind as she was when I was a toddler on her lap – I didn’t know she was so young then but when you’re only two yourself even a twenty-eight year old looks quite mature! We always sat in the kitchen when Mum and I went across the road for a mid-morning cup of tea at Mrs Conelly’s and I used to love to watch her boil the kettle on her wood stove and go through the ritual of warming the teapot before putting in the leaf tea (no tea-bags in those days), and pouring the brew over a strainer into dainty bone china tea cups with saucers.

Mrs Conelly spoke in an Australian accent that lilted like a song and sometimes lulled me to sleep. She diagnosed my every illness, from hepatitis to appendicitis, and we Porches fondly referred to her as “Doctor Conelly”. She loved her pets, in particular, Aussie the talking galah , who was older than me and died of old age only two years ago; and we children loved Bingo the calf who did not live beyond adulthood (I wasn’t hungry the day Mrs Conelly brought over some steak!).

The only sadness at leaving Molle Road in Gumdale for wonderful Wynnum when I was ten was the parting from our dear neighbour and friend. Still, we kept in touch with visits and later with letters when we moved to England. And Mrs Conelly’s place, wherever that may have been in successive years, was always a place to visit whenever any of the Porches returned to their homeland. I was planning to see June this very week…

All alone, down on the Albert River, tears pricked my eyes. Then the sun came out and I phoned Chris, who is in England at the moment but will be joining me soon. He was still up though it was past his midnight.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that you didn’t see her – not at that stage, Darling,” he said.

I cycled back to Leah Street. My headache had passed and the memories of June, having reached a good long life well into her eighties, eased the heartache somewhat.

Jacaranda Tree, Jacaranda Tree

I was out cycling at the time, on the nineteen-eighties fold-up bicycle that Bill bought from a garage sale and dismantled, derusted, re-painted and put together again especially for me, when I had the urge to go home – back to our old house at Wynnum. Lota isn’t exactly home territory but my homing sense led me in the right direction up the hill toward Manly and the little red bike seemed to know the way of its own accord. Beyond Manly, I was going up another hill (not too far from our beloved Mountjoy Terrace) when I had to stop at the sight of a most beautiful jacaranda tree ahead.

It’s the season for jacaranda trees – October and November. The fallen blossoms cover the ground beneath the trees with “a carpet of blue” and the air is filled with beautiful perfume.

Many moons ago Joseph, my Hungarian boyfriend, wrote me a song called “Jacaranda Tree, Jacaranda Tree” after we had fallen in love one October night when the city was ours and the streets were magically blue. And the memories come back. They came back today and I had a few tears. Joseph died on June 2nd 2014 – a friend of his found my letters and broke the news.

I got on my bike and easily found my way home to Mountjoy Terrace. There was a new facade and a new fence – a high fence to ward off previous owners. A dog barked behind the fence.

“It’s my old house, I was here long before you,” I said gently but firmly.

The dog seemed to be rather empathic – for a dog – and it stopped barking. I heard his paws on the concrete behind the fence as he withdrew and left me to my childhood memories. Once again, I had a few tears and after a while I headed off on my red bike and passed under more jacaranda trees with the blue blossoms and scent of love.

Back at Henry’s place my younger brother suggested we have hamburgers for lunch at Lota, but this time we went in the car… and a very nice lunch it was.

Bursting With Love

Sometimes, don’t you just feel like you’re bursting with love? Lots of things can cause it – like holding a new born baby, or being told the most wonderful news when you had dared not hope for the best; or it could happen when you’re out with your husband or lover on an unpromising day, weather-wise, and the sun comes out for you, filling your private little world with the golden shades of autumn. In the latter case you squeeze each other’s hand and say, “Isn’t it beautiful?” and “The sun came out especially for us!” .

I remember a time many years ago when Chris and I took our girls to a Dartmoor beauty spot called Fingle Bridge. The girls had gone off on their own to explore and Chris beckoned me to sit beside him on a very friendly looking log for two. From our comfy vantage point we had a beautiful view of the river and the sun playing on the trees on the other side, but, best of all, we felt it was for us alone.

“I’m bursting with love for you,” said Chris.

No-one had ever said that to me before and I nearly burst with love back.

Last weekend, after having a lovely visit with our son and his wife in Brighton, Chris suggested that we return to a pretty little spot called Friday Street; it’s a place filled with pleasant childhood memories for Chris – his father loved it there. We parked in a forest car park and walked the rest of the way although it wasn’t really necessary to use the car park as we were the only people there apart from the dwellers of the handful of quaint cottages – puffs of smoke from chimneys informed us of life within.

The day had begun misty but, as we emerged from the dark of the tree-lined lane, the sun came out and lit up the forest behind the lake ahead, and the golden green forest reflected on the water like a painting. Still holding hands, we entered the forest paved with gold and we both felt it – we were bursting with love.

A Brief Encounter

Image result for images for brief encounter

It didn’t happen at a railway station, on a train or an aeroplane (although they are perfectly romantic meeting places); it happened at a kiosk which was selling cups of tea and coffee, and it was nonetheless exciting and romantic because the kiosk was in the marketplace of the bustling Devon town of Newton Abbot – in fact, that made the chance meeting even more unlikely and therefore more surprising and wonderful…

They had arrived at the counter at exactly the same time. Their eyes met and they smiled. She knew in that moment that there was something special between them. His face, though unknown to her, seemed familiar, warm and welcoming; he seemed to be neither young nor old – he was just himself. Looking into his eyes, she felt the thrill of his attraction for her. It was mutual. Things like this don’t happen very often – hardly ever – not as strong anyway. She had felt this way only twice before, not including her husband.

“Make that two cups of tea please,” she said to the man behind the counter, then turning to her soulmate, “I take it you will have a cup of tea.”

“How kind of you!” he was thankful that she had allowed the opening. “Let’s have our teas together.”

They found a table for two in the shade and spent an hour over their cups of tea. She was not altogether surprised to find that he knew the village of her early childhood and the area where she had grown up – they had so much in common.

At last they had to part and she gave him her telephone number.

“Before I go I must kiss you,” he said, taking her face in his hands and placing his lips on hers and kissing her meaningfully, if not passionately.

~~~~~

“Are you going to see him again?” I asked intrigued.

“Oh, I don’t know. In one way I hope so but in another I’m afraid to. I’m worried it won’t be the same if I see him again,” she said.

“She” is my ninety-three year old mum and “he” is Brian, an eighty-two year old widower!

Oh Lord It’s Hard to be Humble

My oil painting of Mamhead Church

My oil painting of Mamhead Church

Deep in the Devonshire countryside (yet not too far from the sea), situated in the grounds of the Mamhead House estate (where singer Peter Andre had his wedding reception last year), is charming St Thomas Church. In fact it is the same little church where my niece Katie was married in June, also the church where our friend Rosie is a churchwarden. Strangely enough, I was commissioned by proud parents of a bride to paint this quaint church several years ago, well before I ever attended a service, wedding, violin recital or Evensong there.

Sunday services come but once a month and are held, alternately, by The Reverend Canon Ken Parry and Rev Mark Lord Lear (very apt name), both of whom are revered by the parishioners, if not cherished (perhaps even more so because they are in short supply).

When Rosie asked my sister Mary and I if we’d like to attend Evensong last Sunday I had no idea what a treat was in store for us. Our party arrived a little late (as usual) so we missed the consecration of the new graveyard but we saw Bishop Martin Shaw (not the actor who starred in “The Professionals” – see previous post – but nonetheless highly professional!) emerging from behind the hedge and watched him walk up to the church. The Bishop, a tall man, was taller still in his mitre, and he cut an imposing figure in his colourful vestments. He stopped to talk to Mary holding baby Annalise and I took a sneaky couple of photos.

“You look nice!” I said as he approached.

“They came from Exeter,” the Bishop smiled modestly.

We followed into the church and found a pew large enough for our family group of six, including baby. Stoically, I went first along to the end where a stone pillar obscured my view of the pulpit, the altar and all of the choir, apart from the lady and gentleman at the far left; never mind, my sister sent baby Annalise my way and young James and I were vastly amused by her antics and her sweet little face framed in a cute pink bonnet her paternal grandmother had made for her.

The “Heritage Singers” were a revelation (even though I couldn’t see more than two of them). The sound of their singing was rich, beautiful and uplifting, and tears pricked my eyes twice. The two readings, which came from members of the congregation, were sufficiently short to remain interesting and paved the way for the amazing sermon given by Bishop Martin Shaw.

I could see only his elbow over the edge of the pulpit but I could imagine him as his clear voice rang out:

“I want to talk about Bradley Wiggins – you’ve no doubt heard about Bradley Wiggins retiring but still wanting to win in whatever field,” (or something along those lines), the Bishop began, “But what about the unsung heroes? Are they any less worthy? What about the stonemasons who built this church? Do you know their names? Are their names glorified in this church?”

“No,” we in the congregation thought to ourselves as we looked around for any special plaques (although I could see a bit of only one wall). I thought of my forebears – the Porches who were the stonemasons who built Wells Cathedral (according to my dad) – and I wondered at the humility of a bishop who rated a humble stonemason as highly as an Olympic gold medallist. I liked this Scot with the love for his fellow man. He reminded me of Abou Ben Adhem in the poem of that name by Leigh Hunt.

The congregation were left with a good deal to conjecture on, especially on the subject of modesty and doing good deeds whilst hiding one’s own light. A short time later I was bringing my cup and plate back into the washing up area when Rosie introduced me to the lady washing the crockery.

“Do you know Sally?” Rosie asked. “Sally Porch is our famous artist!”

“Oh Rosie,” I lowered my head, “you make me want to hide.”

Actually, that’s exactly how I feel in front of compliments but, secretly, I am always rather pleased.

 

And if you’re interested in the Humble song (I like humble pie myself):

Humble Lyrics

[Chorus]
Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble
When you’re perfect in every way.
I can’t wait
To look in the mirror.
Cause I get better looking each day.
To know me is to love me.
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord It’s hard to be humble,
But I’m doing the best that I can.

I used to have a girlfriend,
but I guess she just couldn’t compete,
With all of these love-starved women,
Who keep cowering at my feet.
Oh I probably could find me another,
But I guess they’re all in awe of me.
Who cares?
I never get lonesome.
Cause I treasure my own company.

[Chorus]

I guess you could say I’m a loner.
A cowboy out lone, tough, and proud.
I could have lots of friends
If I wanted.
But then I wouldn’t stand out from the crowd.
Some folks say that I’m egotistical.
Hell I don’t even know what that means.
I guess it has something to do
With the way that I fill out my skin tight with jeans.

[Chorus]

I’m doing the best that I can.

Songwriters
MAC DAVIS

Published by
Lyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

Read more: Davis Mac – Oh Lord It’s Hard To Be Humble Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Gone Off Fishing in Teignmouth

No matter how busy I am, I can always find some time for fishing when the opportunity presents itself. Admittedly, last Sunday wasn’t the sunniest of days for fishing (I’m usually a fair weather fisher-woman – not to be confused with “fishwife”!); in fact it was grey, windy and drizzly – especially out on The Point where several members of our family and some friends had agreed to meet up at two o’clock.

Luckily, I didn’t have £4.50 on me for The Point car park so I wasn’t tempted to be ripped off. It was two-thirty but were not late – in our family we always agree a time and add at least half an hour. Roland went off with his rods to the beach while I drove to Mary’s house where I deposited the car and together we sisters walked on down to the beach an hour or so later. Well, there was no rush as there weren’t enough rods for everybody and we didn’t anticipate that anyone would catch anything anyway.

We enjoyed the walk even though Mary’s broken leg still isn’t completely back to normal after her accident last year; perhaps I should say that I liked the walk while my sister endured the trek but enjoyed our chat. By a patch of grass at the end of the seafront we observed a couple laughing and taking photographs of what appeared to be a pile of rubbish in black plastic, which had been arranged into a form resembling a giant caterpillar.

“What is it?” I asked as we approached.

“Just look at the sign,” the young man sniggered into his hand.

I, too, chuckled and took out my camera.

“You make us feel normal,” I called over my shoulder as we went on in opposing directions.

Still laughing, they waved.

We resisted the temptation to throw something at the plastic “sculpture” and heartily approved of the illiterate, yet discerning, seagull that landed on top of the caterpillar.

Shortly, we were on the beach and putting on our raincoats and scarves (like just about everyone else except for the hardiest of children). In the distance was a huddle of paraphernalia: a picnic table and folding chairs; bags, Tupperware boxes and blankets were propped against a colourful pram; and, above the collection, the Union Jack was flying high beside the Spanish flag (representing the recently sanctified union of Katie and Javier). Babies were in their mother’s arms and children and menfolk were dotted along the water’s edge. A black Cockapoo (not to be confused with a cockatoo) called Bengie (not Bungee) ran between the children and, upon seeing us, ran to us. I found him a bit of scotch egg from a Tupperware box and he stayed by my side until I could no longer justify feeding him the fare that was intended for hungry fisher-folk.

Roland had had both good luck and bad luck; already he had caught a sea-bass… but it was too small and had to be sent back. Struck with a glimmer of hope, I asked for a go with his fishing rod. My hopes were somewhat dashed when, upon reeling in his line, he said the quarter of a worm still on the hook would suffice. I fell onto my bottom as the damp bank of red sand gave way under my feet – it didn’t bode well. Nevertheless, within moments of casting out I felt a tug, a very strong tug.

“I’ve got a bite, a big bite,” I said excitedly.

Our friend Roland smiled and shook his head.

“Honestly, I can hardly reel it in,” I revelled.

Indeed, my line was so heavy that Roland had to assist, with a good yank, to draw my catch the final few feet to the shore. Seaweed is incredibly heavy!

It wasn’t exactly my best fishing day. I didn’t stay to test my luck any longer. The wind sprang up sharper and I joined the ladies and babies. We all had a nice cup of tea around by the beach huts where the wind was less chafing; well, it would have been a nice cup of tea if someone hadn’t left the teabag in the cup…

 

Work, Work, Work

We’ve painted the outside of our house and now we’re painting the house of one of our lovely neighbours. Our guest from Australia is proving invaluable up a ladder (he’s used to the heat) and also Roly turns out to be a dab hand at making pasta (but rubbish at stringing runner beans – shh!). In-between all the jobs we still manage to find some time every day to sit on the terrace and take in the beauty of the sea and the sky before us, and I have my mobile with me in order to capture some of the special moments. There isn’t much time left in which to write!

But before I finish I’ll tell you something funny that Roland said the other day… Chris, Roland and I were talking about relationships and the things that matter when it comes to finding that perfect mate.

“I know I’m not perfect,” I began, “I’m fat and ugly…”

I was about to spout forth some wisdom when Roly interrupted me:

“That’s the least of your problems!”

Of course he said it with a wicked smile and I laughed uncontrollably for several minutes.

A Sunbeam, a Sunbeam

“A sunbeam, a sunbeam, Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,” came a voice from above.

I didn’t look up. I knew exactly who it was and, besides, I was getting on with my own thing at the time. Actually, I was kneeling down – not in prayer – but painting the bottom of the bay window leading out onto our terrace (ironically, men always think women love to paint the bottom bits of everything just because we’re shorter when we’d much rather be hanging onto the top of a ladder!). Roly, our house-guest from Australia, was the one hanging onto the top of the ladder at the time and Chris was hanging onto the bottom of the ladder, making sure that it was kept stable.

“A sunbeam, a sunbeam, I’ll be a sunbeam for him,” Chris and I responded in unison from our respective lowly positions.

For a little while we were quiet, each of us lost in a private reverie inspired by the old Sunday School song. I thought of the Gospel Hall at Gumdale, Brisbane, where the Porch children sang that song with gusto nearly every Sunday morning at one stage of my early childhood. I smiled to myself.

A few minutes later, and now onto the window sill, the voice from above rang out again (on this occasion slightly unsure of the tune):

“Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!”

“How does the tune go, Roly? Can’t you sing a bit more?” I implored.

“No, I can’t remember how it goes,” our friend shouted down from his lofty position near the gutter.

“What about you, Chris? Do you know how it goes?” I said to Chris, without turning to him because I was cutting along a tricky edge under the window.

“No, I can’t remember,” Chris probably fibbed.

“But you should know, considering your grandfather was a parson,” I goaded.

“But I didn’t even know my grandfather…. and he was a vicar, not a parson, and my uncle was a canon,” my husband informed me (as he usually does whenever I insist that he should know something pertaining to the church).

“What’s the difference?” I asked (as usual).

“Well, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you but a vicar is Church of England and a parson is a clergyman from other Protestant denominations…”

“But isn’t the Church of England Protestant? Was that your Uncle Wally?” I queried (twice).

Then Chris answered the last question by doing an an impression of his Uncle Wally the canon – “May I take a bath?” – and Chris and I laughed. Roland didn’t laugh because he doesn’t know Orpwood family “in-house” stories and jokes, or maybe he chuckled from the top of the ladder and we didn’t hear him.

Anyway, Roland was our “Sunbeam” and for the next few days he will continue helping us paint our house – and the neighbour’s – to ensure his place nearer to God. We do like to save our guests from getting bored on holiday. After all…

Proverbs 16:27-29Living Bible (TLB)

27 Idle hands are the devil’s workshop; idle lips are his mouthpiece.[a]

 

And here are some photos…

 

Nearer, My God, to Thee

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Cartoon depicting a man standing with a woman, who is hiding her head on his shoulder, on the deck of a ship awash with water. A beam of light is shown coming down from heaven to illuminate the couple. Behind them is an empty davit.

“Nearer, My God, To Thee” – cartoon of 1912

Nearer, My God, to Thee” is a 19th-century Christian hymn by Sarah Flower Adams, based loosely on Genesis 28:11–19,[1] the story ofJacob’s dream. Genesis 28:11–12 can be translated as follows: “So he came to a certain place and stayed there all night, because the sun had set. And he took one of the stones of that place and put it at his head, and he lay down in that place to sleep. Then he dreamed, and behold, a ladder was set up on the earth, and its top reached to heaven; and there the angels of God were ascending and descending on it…”

The hymn is well known, among other uses, as the alleged last song the band on RMS Titanic played before the ship sank.

Lyrics[edit]

The lyrics to the hymn are as follows:[2][3][4]

“Jacob’s Dream”, artwork on the campus of
Abilene Christian University.

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Chorus: Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, etc.
There let the way appear steps unto heav’n;
All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv’n;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, etc.
Then with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I’ll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, etc.
Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, etc.

A sixth verse was later added to the hymn by Edward Henry Bickersteth Jr. as follows:[2]

There in my Father’s home, safe and at rest,
There in my Saviour’s love, perfectly blest;
Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee,

Nearer, etc.

Text and music[edit]

1881 sheet music cover

The verse was written by the English poet and Unitarian hymn writer Sarah Flower Adams at her home in Sunnybank, Loughton, Essex, England, in 1841. It was first set to music by Adams’s sister, the composer Eliza Flower, for William Johnson Fox‘s collection Hymns and Anthems.[5]

In the United Kingdom, the hymn is usually associated with the 1861 hymn tuneHorbury” by John Bacchus Dykes, named for a villagenear Wakefield, England, where Dykes had found “peace and comfort”.[6][7] In the rest of the world, the hymn is usually sung to the 1856 tune “Bethany” by Lowell Mason. British Methodists prefer the tune “Propior Deo” (Nearer to God), written by Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan) in 1872.[8] Sullivan wrote a second setting of the hymn to a tune referred to as “St. Edmund”. Mason’s tune has also penetrated the British repertoire.[9]

The Methodist Hymn Book of 1933 includes Horbury and two other tunes, “Nearer To Thee” (American) and “Nearer, My God, To Thee” (T C Gregory, 1901–?),[10] while its successor Hymns and Psalms of 1983 uses Horbury and “Wilmington” by Erik Routley.[11] Songs of Praise includes Horbury, “Rothwell” (Geoffrey Shaw) and “Liverpool” (John Roberts/Ieuan Gwyllt, 1822–1877)[12] Liverpool also features in the BBC Hymn Book of 1951[13] and the Baptist Hymn Book of 1962 (with Propior Deo)[14] The original English Hymnal includes the hymn set to Horbury,[15] while its replacement New English Hymnal drops the hymn. Hymns Ancient and Modern included Horbury and “Communion” (S S Wesley),[16] although later versions, including Common Praise, standardise on Horbury.[17]

Other 19th century settings include those by the Rev. N. S. Godfrey,[18] W. H. Longhurst,[19] Herbert Columbine,[20] Frederic N. Löhr,[21]Thomas Adams,[22] Stephen Glover,[23] Henry Tucker,[24] John Rogers Thomas,[25] and one composed jointly by William Sterndale Bennett and Otto Goldschmidt.[26] In 1955, the English composer and musicologist Sir Jack Westrup composed a setting in the form of an anthem for four soloists with organ accompaniment.[27]

RMS Titanic and SS Valencia[edit]

“Nearer, My God, to Thee” is associated with the sinking of the RMS Titanic, as some survivors later reported that the ship’s string ensemble played the hymn as the vessel sank. For example, Violet Jessop said in her 1934 account of the disaster that she had heard the hymn being played;[28] Archibald Gracie IV, however, emphatically denied it in his own account, written soon after the sinking, and wireless operator Harold Bride said that he had heard “Autumn”,[29] by which he may have meant Archibald Joyce‘s then-popular waltz “Songe d’Automne” (Autumn Dream).[28] In feature films based on the Titanic disaster, the “Bethany” version was used in the 1929 film Atlantic and the 1943, 1953 and 1997 films titled Titanic, but the “Horbury” version was played in the 1958 film, A Night to Remember.[8]

Wallace Hartley, the ship’s band leader, who went down with the ship (as did all other musicians on board), liked the hymn and had wished to have it performed at his funeral. As a Methodist Briton, he was familiar with both the “Horbury” and “Propior Deo” versions but would not likely have used “Bethany”. His father, a Methodist choirmaster, used the “Propior Deo” version at church. His family were certain that he would have used the “Propior Deo” version,[30] and it is this tune’s opening notes that appear on Hartley’s memorial[29][31] and that were played at his funeral.[30] However, a record slip for a 1913 Edison cylinder recording of “Nearer, My God, to Thee”, featuring the “Bethany” version, states that “When the great steamship ‘Titanic’ sank in mid-ocean in April 1912, it was being played by the band and sung by the doomed passengers, even as the boat took her final plunge.”[32] George Orrell, the bandmaster of the rescue ship, RMS Carpathia, who spoke with survivors, related: “The ship’s band in any emergency is expected to play to calm the passengers. After the Titanic struck the iceberg the band began to play bright music, dance music, comic songs – anything that would prevent the passengers from becoming panic-stricken… various awe-stricken passengers began to think of the death that faced them and asked the bandmaster to play hymns. The one which appealed to all was ‘Nearer My God to Thee’.”[33]

“Nearer, My God, to Thee” was sung by the doomed crew and passengers of the SS Valencia as it sank off the Canadian coast in 1906, which may be the source of the Titaniclegend.[34]