Laura Tanna
When my brother-in-law decided to celebrate his 60th birthday in England this July we had no idea of the treats in store for us, the highlights of which included an afternoon and evening at Glyndebourne. Do you remember that sign on the road to Newcastle, the one that said, "Little Glyndebourne"? To be honest I had no idea what that was but it pointed the way to an open-air amphitheatre here in Jamaica starting in the '70s where Roma Presano produced a number of grand operas. I know because Douglas Bennett sang the role of Faust in one and says hundreds of people braved the Blue Mountain air to enjoy the performance, though he notes some lesser operas drew only a score or more in the audience. Whatever the reason, Jamaica's 'Little Glyndebourne' exists no more.
But the original Glyndebourne Opera, buried deep in rural East Sussex, near Lewes, has gone from strength to strength and lucky me, my brother-in-law was on the waiting list to become a member of the Festival Society for 15 years and though not inexpensive, as a member he now has priority booking rights. When he heard we were coming for his birthday, and wanted to bring our friends, former British High Commissioner to Jamaica, Peter Mathers, and his beautiful wife Elisabeth, Suresh produced tickets for Beethoven's only opera, Fidelio.
Now opera buffs will tell you they drive hours from London because of the quality of the performances but don't believe a word of it. One goes to Glyndebourne because it is the essence of English eccentricity. At Glyndebourne, you see, they have this quaint custom of gathering in black tie and ball gowns - well, some wear cocktail dresses - at four in the afternoon to loll around by the ha-ha, that's a field with sheep in it to you and me. Actually it's a ditch with a wall below ground level, forming a boundary to a garden without interrupting the view. The Oxford English Dictionary rather wryly suggests the origin of ha-ha as being "perhaps from the cry of surprise made on meeting such an obstacle," but I digress. The 'ha-ha' is all part of Glyndebourne's charm.
In olden days
Former British High Commissioner Peter Mathers (centre) with Brian Wallis (left) and their host Suresh Tanna outside Glyndebourne Opera, East Sussex, England. - Contributed
In the old days one brought a folding table, hampers of food and copious quantities of champagne to have a picnic in one's tuxedo beside the sheep. Some still do that, but more often those arriving early walk through the garden, regard the sheep field, circle the pond and then retire to view the organ room before sipping champagne. An hour-and-a-half intermission allows one to dine in the restaurant, having faxed in one's menu selection months in advance so that the meal is served elegantly, but with clockwork precision, to hundreds simultaneously! One chooses to dine inside the restaurant instead of picnicking with the sheep because it does still rain in England, even on Glyndebourne.
John Christie, who owned an organ building company, bought a 700-year-old country house in 1920 and being a music lover, married Canadian soprano Audrey Mildmay. Together they developed the idea of creating opera in the country and the rest is history.
Continuing the tradition
They opened on May 28, 1938 and their first conductor, artistic director, and general manager were all three exiles from Nazi Germany. Christie single-handedly bore the cost of the opera until 1951. The Glyndebourne Festival Society was formed in 1952 to manage finances and after John Christie's death in 1962, his son, Sir George Christie, continued the tradition. From 300 seats originally, a new opera house, designed by Michael Hopkins and seating 1,200, reopened on May 28, 1994. The Festival Society waiting list grew to 30 years. I've even read 40 years, but that's immaterial, since the membership list is now closed. But Glyndebourne does make an effort, for instance, offering to schools matinee performances this October of Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte, Britten's The Turn of the Screw and Strauss II's Die Fledermaus for only £6 per pupil.
Frankly, I found the Fidelio music and singing superb, but the set dreadfully depressing, being located in a dungeon and prison throughout. The week before, Suresh had taken us to Turandot at Covent Garden Opera. Now that was a stunningly lavish production, set in a Chinese Royal Court, with the most dramatic music. It's actually my favourite opera. The only problem was that the beautiful Chinese princess who hates men and chops off the head of any suitor who can't solve her three-part puzzle (sounds like an Anansi story here?), wasn't Chinese and weighed about 500 pounds. Annoyingly, every once in a while I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing whenever the phrase, "It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings" popped into my head.
I have so much more to tell you about London, but another time.
