Christmas Eve. by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad

(Photo of Somerville College Oxford, courtesy of Wikipedia)

“How can you reach those high notes?” asked his companion at the carol service.

“Same way I always do,” he replied shrugging. He was sixteen and his vocal range hadn’t changed since he was in short trousers.

“Adam, can we have your attention, please?” asked the choirmaster at St Luke’s College and they continued their practice concentrating on the descant in Ding Dong Merrily,. Being head chorister, Adam was used to singing solo or in a select group of the choir at special events. The college was unusual in that it only used male choristers, claiming some charter dating back to the fourteenth century which specified the use of sweete voices of younge boyes’ must always accompany church services.

It was a royal college set up by Mary Tudor originally, so the charter, which had been confirmed or renewed by Elizabeth and then James I/VI, who always attended a service at the cathedral when in Oxford.

Adam had read all this history when he was recruited to join the choir school. His mother had been delighted that he was going to get a good education from a such a high status school but wondered what would happen if or when his voice began to break. She’d confided this to her sister, a doctor in nearby Whitney, who gave her some pills to give to him when he reached age twelve. He was still taking them unaware they were preventing his puberty, although he did wonder why his contemporaries all seemed more hirsute and spotty than he was.

Three weeks before Christmas he was presented with a challenge. Mr Symons, the choir master and organist at St Luke’s asked to stay behind after practice. “Adam, d’you remember the Vivaldi concert we did during the music festival?”

“How could I forget it?” They’d practiced so much he was almost singing it in his sleep.

“How d’you fancy singing some of it again?”

Adam looked around, “Why are you asking me?”

“I have a challenge for you.”

“Yes, Mr Symons, what is it?”

“I want you to sing Nulla in mundo.”

“What now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give it a try, what’s it all about.”

“Let’s see how you get on, shall we?” He handed Adam the music, who spent a few moments looking at it then at the lyrics underneath. He quite enjoyed singing in Latin. “Ready?”

Adam wasn’t entirely sure but given the work out he’d had with the choir practice, he joined in as Symons played the introduction on a piano. It’s not an easy piece to sing although Emma Kirkby makes it sound incredible, but Adam gave it his best shot and Symons nodded at the end. “What’ya think?” he asked and Adam was about to answer when a woman’s voice sounded behind him.

“It’s good, needs practice but it’ll do.”

Adam turned around and standing behind him was Vivianne Moore, head of music at Somerville College, one of the women’s colleges. ‘What does she want?’ he thought to himself.

“Do you want to ask him?” asked Symons.

“Yes, I think I do.” Professor Moore had a reputation second to none in choral works and Adam was perplexed by her appearance, and what was she going to ask him?

“Let’s all go and get a nice cuppa,” suggested Symons and they adjourned to his house just across the green.

Adam followed along behind as Symons led the way, like a dog following his master and mistress. He knew they’d worked together before as he’d performed in Tallis’ Spem in alium with St Luke’s choir along with the Somerville and six other choirs. Professor Moore had been the director of the event and she’d taught them all quite a lot about choral singing, especially ancient choral singing, sort of pre Renaissance period. It was quite different as was singing Vivaldi or Handel.

Professor Moore chatted with Adam as they sat in Symon’s study, his wife was watching television in the sitting room, so he was making the tea. Then they sat and drank it and Adam helped himself to a couple of chocolate biscuits while he waited for the question to be asked.

“You have a delightful voice, Adam, which at your age is unusual, boy sopranos don’t usually get to age sixteen with such rich tones.”

Adam blushed but thanked her.

“How would you like to sing the Vivaldi for me?”

“Um when?” he expected her to say in March or something similar.

“For Christmas.”

He laughed, “But that’s three weeks away,” he gasped.

“So, not up for a challenge?”

“I don’t know, I have commitments at St Luke’s.”

“That’s all standard fare, Adam, this is probably the biggest challenge you’ve had.” Mr Symons commented, “You might never get the chance to sing it again, once your voice breaks.”

“Where would I practice?” asked the youth.

“At my choir rooms in Somerville.”

“But that’s a ladies college?”

“I’m aware of that, Adam, I’ve been there thirty years as a student and teacher.”

“Why d’you need me?” There was something they weren’t telling him.

Symons and Moore exchanged glances. “I have a problem,” confided Professor Moore, “and I suspect you’re the only one who can help. You would like to help, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, if I can but I don’t know if I can.”

“Are you man enough for it, you mean?” she retorted challenging his maleness.

“Yes—no, I don’t know if I’d be good enough in three weeks, and what aren’t you telling me?”

Vivianne Moore’s eyes sparkled, feminine intuition from a boy, wonderful. “It’s on the twenty fourth.”

“When?”

“In the evening.”

“Don’t we have a midnight mass, Mr Symons?”

“We do, but you could be excused that if you help Professor Moore.”

“I’m sure someone could run me back for that as it doesn’t start until eleven, surely your concert won’t go on that late, will it?”

“Uh no, should be over by nine thirty, half an hour to change, you could do it.”

“Change?”

“Yes, out of the costume we’ll loan you for the performance.”

“Costume?”

“Yes—is that a problem?” asserted the choral mistress.

“Um—I dunno, what is it?”

“We have a few options, so we’ll sort that next week or so.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Adam asked again.

“You’d better tell him,” advised Symons.

“I need to know if you’d do it in principle first?”

“I might.”

“Not good enough, yes or no.”

Adam blushed, “Okay, I’d do it in principle.”

“Tell me, Adam, d’you have an iPad?”

“No, we can’t afford things like that.”

“Would you like one?”

He looked questioningly at her. “Is this bribery? Is there something I’m not gonna like about this?”

“I have no idea if you’ll like it, but I’m prepared to give you a brand new iPad, the ten inch one, if you’ll do my concert and sing the Vivaldi. Do we have a deal?”

She proffered her hand but he sat there blushing undecided. She upped the ante, “Clearly you don’t want to do it. I’ll have to pull the Vivaldi and see what I can cobble together in its place.” She rose to her feet.

Symons glared at the boy, “You’re turning down an iPad, if I had your voice I’d do it.”

“Bye, Jeff, I’ll see myself out. Adam.” She nodded at the boy it was still a bit of brinkmanship but he was a tough cookie, just as well when he learns he has to wear a dress to perform it.

“I’ll do it, Professor,” Adam gasped as she was about to leave the study.

“Good man, I knew you would.”

He reported to her house the following evening and was led into a large sitting room where two younger women were sitting, apparently waiting for him. He was introduced and within moments they were running measuring tapes all over his slim body. Next, Natasha, held his jaw and seemed to be examining his skin. “Brunette, I think, the bob.” What was all that about? “What size shoe are you?” she asked and was pleased when he replied size six.

Vivianne took him through to her private music room and after a warm up they ran through the piece three times, she was far tougher than Symons, and once when she corrected him, she called him, ‘girl’. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he just assumed it was a slip of the tongue as she usually taught young women, although she was supposed to be one of the best choral teachers in Europe—which Symons had laboured after she had gone the night before, telling Adam he didn’t realise how lucky he was to be selected by her.

It was two days later when after the usual torture with the nutty professor, although she knew her Vivaldi and Adam was improving quickly, that the two young women returned.

“We need to fit you for the costume,” they suggested and asked him to strip. He was so embarrassed. His boy parts were not impressive, in fact it worried him at times, but then he was oblivious to his mother’s duplicity, she was still feeding him the blockers.

When they started dressing him in a bra and frillies he almost ran away, except they’d removed his own clothes as he’d removed them. He sat blushing as they dressed him and inserted padding in the bra, then came tights, a dress and some high heeled shoes. They brushed his hair back and pulled a wig on his head. Professor Moore was called and asked him to stand. She nodded, “His own mother wouldn’t recognise him.”

“Her, Professor, especially if we glue the breasts on and with some makeup, she’ll be quite a looker.”

“Quite a girlish shape,” the professor commented when she made Adam turn round to see the full picture. “Come on, let’s hear you sing in a dress.” Adam was about to protest when she practically dragged him down to her music room and he had to run through it once again. His concentration was distracted by the clothes but she seemed happy with it.

“Right, girl, I want you to change as soon as you arrive each evening and then we’ll do the practice.”

“I don’t want to do it, I’m a boy, not a stupid girl,” Adam almost stamped his foot.

“You almost have the voice of an angel, I can help you achieve that. It’s only a dress and makeup, it’s hardly going to kill you, is it?”

“What’ll my friends say—they’ll kill me if they find out.”

“Don’t let them find out then, the girls will help you with your disguise and walking in the shoes, I’ll teach you to sing better than you ever have and as I promised a brand new iPad, it’s a no brainer.”

They had him walking in the shoes for half an hour before they let him change back. Professor Moore took him home and he fled into his house. He refused to go the next night.

The following day his mother said the professor had been to see her and explained the situation. They talked it through and Adam was astonished then horrified that his mother wanted him to continue.

“You know they want me to pretend to be a girl, don’t you?”

“It’s not going to kill you, is it?”

“What?”

“She’s the best teacher you’ll ever have and she thinks you’ve got one of the nicest voices she’s ever heard.”

“Well she would say that, wouldn’t she?”

“She said if your voice didn’t change, she’d give you a scholarship to Somerville.”

“It’s a ladies college.”

“I didn’t think education had a gender.”

“But you have to be a girl to go there.”

“It’s got a hell of a reputation for good degrees, I wish I could have gone there, then I’d be the boss not a secretary.”

“But I’m a boy, Mum, or hadn’t you noticed.”

“With a girl’s voice.”

“That’s not my fault is it, that my stupid body don’t wanna do puberty. Maybe I should see the doctor?”

She calmed him down and insisted that as he’d given his word so he should honour it. He argued but she finally convinced him to go. She showed him a photo they’d taken of him in the disguise and he barely recognised himself. Reluctantly he continued, getting used to all things girly and feeling stupid. However, after a week of wearing a dress or skirt he found it didn’t distract him as much and his singing was better than ever.

“This is going to work you know, girl,” offered the teacher.

“My name is Adam,” he said tersely.

“Well, for the purpose of our mission, I’m going to call you Eve.”

“Eve?” he gasped.

“Yes, Eve Christmas, as you’ll debutante on Christmas Eve, I think it rather fitting, don’t you?”

“If you say so,” he sighed, or should that be she?

Apart from taking Eve out once or twice to prepare her for meeting people, the rehearsals were with a small orchestra and she had to cope for the final week singing with them rather than a piano. The other women performing were very supportive when they realised she was ‘new’ to performing in such august company, and Eve actually enjoyed it once she learned to relax.

The concert was a sell out and although very nervous for several reasons, Eve performed brilliantly. The applause was deafening and the buzz she got from it was something she’d never experienced before. She didn’t get to the midnight mass, she was still at the after show party, clinging to her new iPad and pretending to ignore the urging of her fellow performers when Professor Moore let drop that she wanted Eve to study for a music degree, but part of her was tempted, very tempted.