<<  -- 7 --  Keith Bramich    COMING OF AGE

Presteigne, the old county town of Radnorshire, is that place (adapting an old joke about the founding of Cambridge University by lost Oxford Scholars) at which people who set out to attend the Three Choirs Festival actually arrive. The Three Choirs Festival, this year at neighbouring Hereford, and from what I've heard, notably interesting and successful, moves next year to a week earlier in August, leaving Presteigne with its own patch for 2004 (26-31 August), and a festival that will celebrate Judith Weir's fiftieth birthday and feature the music of John Pickard and Joe Duddell.

I wonder what it is, exactly, that makes the Presteigne Festival so special? The easy answer is a combination of people and place -- something of the essence of both, maybe, that comes across so strongly in A Garland for Presteigne. I can mention specifics ... Increasingly adventurous programming? Quiet, attentive audiences? Beautiful venues? The fun of identifying (and maybe even talking to) living composers? (I spotted a few myself -- Michael Berkeley, James Francis Brown, Paul Crabtree, Robin Holloway, John Joubert, Geraint Lewis, David Matthews, John McCabe, Cecilia McDowall, Lloyd Moore, Lionel Sainsbury, Rhian Samuel, Adrian Williams and Graham Williams.) An increasingly international flavour? A friendly, appreciative atmosphere? Stunning local scenery? Guided walks? Art exhibitions? Talks and lectures? The culinary delights of The Hat Shop or The Stagg at Titley? Drinking and socialising in a local hostelry with members of the orchestra?

The list goes on, and the truth, of course, is different for everyone. But I've said far more than enough, even though many more events have been left unmentioned. Hopefully I've passed on something of the flavour. Let's leave the final words to Simon Mundy:

    The Buzzard

    On the ridge above Radnor
    Four barrows prick the skyline
    Half moons for the bones of kings
    Who became pointers to the stars.
    Now their hunting fields are mine
    For I can outspan their arms
    Swoop faster than their rabble
    With a cry soar and open
    Their horizon to the falling sun.

    -- Simon Mundy, copyright © 2003