Chapter Thirty
Festival
Taylor reads the statistics on his plex. Not being given to totalitarianism, he expects honesty from his staff, not ego-massaging; consequently, the results from the fields show the actual yields, which are not as extensive as in previous years.
"Do we know why?" he asks Malcolm, patently ignoring the fact that Yseult is sitting extremely close to him and probably has her hand on his leg again.
"It's largely thanks to the weather, Commander." Malcolm admits, "It's been rather wetter than it's been over the last few years, and the yields have dropped in response to that. It's not as though we've had a failure - there's more than enough to get us through the winter and into next year - but Chris mentioned that it should serve as a warning for future years. Just in case we do have one. He's suggesting some of the botanists conduct surveys of the surrounding forest for potential food sources in the event that we need to look there at any point."
Taylor nods, "Add some of Mira's survival experts to that manifest. They'll have a better idea of what to go for, or not."
"I'll ask her to drop in for a word." Jim advises.
"We've also noticed a drop in the scorpion population." Malcolm continues, "It looks as though the wet weather's clobbered their food sources, so they've died back. We'll retain the interaction protocol though; I think it's best if the field staff continue to wear protective gear. It wasn't possible to isolate an antivenin, so prevention is definitely the way forward."
"I'll second that." Elisabeth agrees, "While it doesn't happen very often, it's frightening for the victim and it takes up a lot of resources to keep them going while they metabolise the venom. It's much better if they don't get stung in the first place."
"How are things at your end of the compound, Max?" For a moment, Taylor wonders if she's distracted, but she doesn't look startled or flustered, so she must've been listening.
"Going very well, Commander." She begins, "The loom's proving to be a great success with the cotton and the flax, though we haven't tried hemp yet. I'm meeting with Connor, one of the chemists, later today to discuss incorporating synthetic fibres with a view to creating some more waterproof materials. At this rate, we'll have sufficient quantities of fabrics for the dressmaking enthusiasts to start work fairly soon - it's taken a bit longer than we planned to get the loom really operating properly - though the spinning jenny's been a huge success. I think everyone's getting a bit tired of the threadbare look, so they'll welcome some clothes stalls in the markets."
"What about shoes?" Elisabeth asks.
"Mira's hunting parties have solved that problem for us. We've been making real progress with tanning gallusaur hides - their skin is incredibly tough and durable, and, as the leather's a by-product of the meat industry - as it were - we're not killing purely for skins. That would be something that I'd prefer to avoid. We still take hides from fresh carrion if it's available - but killing for skins alone is out of the question at this point."
"Tom Boylan wants to know if he can set some land aside to grow barley." Jim adds, "He dropped by my desk this morning."
"Barley?" Taylor asks, "What for - do we even have barley?"
"He wants to try making beer."
"Malcolm?" Taylor looks bemused.
"We've probably got seeds - but I'm not aware it's been grown for a few years. Chris tried it, and it seemed to thrive - but people didn't want to use it. If there's any left, then I don't think Chris would object - though finding some spare ground to grow it might be an issue. We have to put food production first."
"Not only that," Yseult adds, "Where's he going to put his hop garden? You can make beer from other grains - though; so if the barley's a no-go, he can always use spelt - though that's a bit harder to brew."
"Spelt?" Jim asks, intrigued.
"Of course. I'm German, remember? Dinkelbier was my dad's favourite, though he was partial to Emmerbier as well. Both of those are from varieties of spelt. I'll talk to him - given that he's Australian, he probably hasn't the first idea when it comes to proper beer brewing - but don't tell him I said that."
"He certainly didn't with the cider." Jim smirks.
As the meeting breaks up, Yseult hurries after Elisabeth, "Can I have a word - in private?"
The two walk back across to the infirmary, where Elisabeth ushers her into her office, "What can I do for you? Is it Malcolm?"
"No; well, yes - and no." Yseult sits down, and looks a little uncomfortable.
"That doesn't make a lot of sense."
"We're both fine - it's just…we were talking last night, and we decided that we'd like to try for a baby."
Elisabeth smiles, delighted, "That's wonderful! Why do you need to talk to me?"
"I need you to reverse my contraceptive injection."
"Ah, I see." Elisabeth sits down on the other side of the desk, "I can do that today if you like - but you do need to bear in mind that it's not instant - it can take anything from a few weeks to up to a year for the effects to completely subside. You'll also need to speak to Nurse Ogawa about sourcing pads for when you start menstruating again. She looks after the provision of suitable protection."
"Of course. It's been a few years. I hadn't thought about it because I didn't need to."
Elisabeth regards her, "You're sure about this? It's a major commitment - and you're still officially not living with Malcolm, even if you do practically live there full time."
"We're in the process of rectifying that." Yseult smiles, "I've spent the last few days packing boxes - I move into his place tomorrow."
Malcolm stares at the boxes in bemusement, "I had no idea you had so much stuff."
While the number of boxes is not extensive, as none of the Colonists were able to bring large amounts of personal possessions with them, the fact that he has almost nothing in comparison seems to him to serve as a reminder of how impersonal his life had become even before his arrival in the Cretaceous. Few photographs, no keepsakes or heirlooms - but then, much of what he had treasured as a child had been left behind when his mother and he had fled to Carlisle in search of a train south. After that, he had no wish to retain things of value; they are far too easily lost. For a moment, he feels almost tearful. His entire existence reduced to almost nothing…
"What is it?" Yseult is beside him, her hand gripping his.
"It's nothing. I was just thinking how little I have from my old life compared to you. This place looks so utterly sterile."
"Just wait until you see my fertility goddess. I can guarantee that it's the ugliest thing in the Colony."
He smiles at her, "Sounds ghastly. I can't wait."
Despite his rather facetious comment at the amount of possessions she has brought with her, unpacking the boxes and finding a place for everything takes no more than an hour or so, and he takes in the sudden appearance of artefacts and curios on shelves that previously had been unnoticed, thanks to the lack of items to put on them. Schmidt, of course, now resides on her side of the bed.
"Are these all things that your grandfather found?"
Yseult nods, "I focused far more on experimental archaeology - with things being as they were, people had lost interest in exploring the past. Finding ways of keeping up standards of living while reducing pollution was the order of the day, even though it was a case of shutting the stable door not only after the horse had bolted, but after it had gone fifty miles and shacked up at another farm. He found most of these in the Levant - the area around Syria and Turkey - or at least, he did after the civil wars finally came to an end." She reaches for the fertility goddess, "the weird thing is that, even though these things date back to before the Common Era, we live in a world that predates even the first emergence of humans."
"Until we turned up." Malcolm adds, taking the piece from her, "I see what you mean - it's phenomenally ugly. How on earth would this have promoted fertility?"
"I imagine people would do anything to avoid having to spend time in its company." She smiles, slipping her arms about his waist.
"Is that a hint?"
"Only if you want it to be." Yseult looks up at him, "I spoke to Elisabeth today. She reversed my shot this afternoon. She reckons it'll be a while before I get my cycle back on track - so we have a grace period if you like."
"I wish I could. Except I have a meeting in about ten minutes back at the labs."
"You mean - I'll have to wait until tonight?" she asks with feigned horror.
"I'm afraid so. Not all of us have this afternoon off."
"You're the boss, aren't you?"
"Remind me to schedule meetings that don't clash with your newly rampaging hormones." He grins at her, snatching a quick kiss, "Believe me, I'd love to stay, with all the promise of inappropriately mature behaviour that that implies - but Chris has been waiting for this meeting for a fortnight. I can't put it off."
"Ah well. I suppose I'll just have to settle for making you a horrendously clichéd romantic candlelit dinner. Just don't expect that every night - not when I've been hammering iron all afternoon."
"I'd return the compliment - but I suspect you wouldn't survive the experience."
She laughs, "I'm well aware that your competence in the kitchen is in inverse proportion to your competence in the labs. You need to get going or you'll be late."
Alone in the house, Yseult reaches for the last item that she has left unpacked. While Malcolm has never shown any tendency to be truly jealous, she knows that he would struggle with her picture of Niall. She doesn't want to put it on display - he's a part of her past now, after all - but at the same time, she doesn't want to dispose of it. In some ways, she recognises that it was Niall's long shadow that interfered in the first stages of their courting, and kept them both from each other for weeks on end. He also seemed to loom large over them as they began to grow closer, and it was only after Malcolm thought he'd killed their relationship with his freakout over the Sixers that they finally took the next step and consummated it. The one thing she doesn't want - not at all - is for Niall to be a ghostly presence standing foursquare in the way of their route to the altar.
"I want to marry him, Niall." She addresses the bag in which the picture sits, "We were happy together, and I'll always treasure those years; but they're in the past and I'm ready to move on. He hasn't asked yet - but when he does, I'll say yes."
Folding the bag around the picture, she sets it in the bottom of a drawer in the cupboard that now contains her clothes; then looks about, briskly. Now to find something for that horribly clichéd dinner she promised.
"You look happy, Pete." Yseult looks up from the anvil to see him standing nearby, "I take it things are going well with Louis?"
"Professionally and personally, darling." He grins at her, "Finding totty was not on my list of expectations when I came to live with dinosaurs."
"Just watch yourselves." She advises, "I don't want to have to come and negotiate the outcome of a row between two men who use axes for a living."
Pete leans back against the wall of the forge, "What was really bothering me was whether or not people would accept us. Taylor's a bit of a grizzled old crow, and that tends to imply intolerance in my experience - I wasn't expecting him to go all Mrs Patrick Campbell about us."
"Pardon?"
"You've never heard of her? Blimey."
"German, Pete. German."
"She's one of the people who's supposed to have said I don't care what they do, so long as they don't do it in the street and frighten the horses." He speaks the quote in his best 'Lady Bracknell' impersonation.
Yseult laughs, "I think you could apply that as easily to Malcolm and I. I made him drop a plate last night just by talking."
"Go on. Do tell."
"Our first dinner together as a couple - if not a married one - and I decided to go the whole hog and wear that nice green dress that Ninette made for me. We were washing up afterwards, and I told him I wasn't wearing anything under it."
Pete stares at her in feigned shock, "You minx!"
"It worked, so I'm not complaining." She says, with blatantly false primness.
"By the way, have you seen the flyers that are going about?" Pete asks, "Guzman's wife is advertising for people to join a choir."
"Don't look at me: I sing like a gallusaur on helium. Why, are you thinking of joining?"
"Louis might. He's got a fantastic tenor voice."
"He has?"
"Gives him something to do when we're guarding the charcoal burn - it's not like we can do anything else for entertainment with a pile of burning wood to keep under constant watch. She's hoping to get something together for the Harvest Festival." He grins, "They're struggling for a theme this year. Apparently it's 'Renewal' but no one really knows that that means."
"As long as the little ones have something nice to do, I don't suppose it really matters. Tell Louis that if the choir rehearsals clash with working hours, he is strictly forbidden to come to work, okay? It'd be nice if we could get something like that off the ground. Just don't inflict me on it."
While the summer weather was not as kind as it has been in previous years, the autumn - for want of a better word in a land that seems have no defined seasons other than 'hot' and 'wet' - has been positively balmy, and the lack of brutal weather that often accompanies the season has been quite refreshing, despite the inevitable preparations that take place each year as a precaution. The reduced harvest has, inevitably, meant no gluts, but the Stores Manager, who reports to Chris, is pleased. Flour stocks are high, and the large bins of soybeans promise no shortages of margarine, milk or - to Jim's disgust - beancurd over the coming months.
Jim's working relationship with Mira seems to have settled into something approaching mutual respect. People treat her with immense deference, thanks to her rather intimidating demeanour and her behaviour during the occupation; but even so, Jim can detect that her armour is starting to soften a little - and she is even starting to do the unthinkable: make friends. Remarkably, all of her crew seem to have found a place in the community, and have settled well; though possibly her firm command of them is helping to keep potential squabbles to a minimum.
Their patrols are generally worthwhile, and she has added some innovations of her own to their routines that are helpful - though he has refused to secure office space. To his mind, Boylan's is the place that does the best coffee, and he does, after all, have a cliché to maintain. If nothing else, it gives him the opportunity to surreptitiously observe the ongoing growth of Josh's relationship with Skye. With Maddy now Mrs Reynolds, living elsewhere and working independently, he has to have someone to be an overprotective dad about until Zoe's old enough to start dating.
God, that's something he really doesn't want to think about.
He returns home to find himself in the middle of one of Elisabeth's 'Gourd Painting' parties - still a traditional precursor to the festival for those families with single children. Zoe is, as always, in her element where creativity is concerned, and her decorations are looking increasingly sophisticated these days from the simple zigzags and splodges that were once her forte. No one's noticed his arrival yet, and he watches fondly as his wife and daughter work together on a hollowed out squash, surrounded by the friends she's made. Does it get any better than this?
Elisabeth looks up, almost as though she heard his thought, and smiles to see him, "Do you want to help?"
"And interrupt this hive of creativity? I think I'll leave that to the experts." He grins at her, "Is Zoe's costume ready?"
While the theme of the festival is 'renewal', no one could think of anything suitable for the children to do that fitted the theme, until someone came up with a selection of sketches based on Aesop's Fables. Thus, this year, Zoe is to play the the Country Mouse - rather a comedown after her grand stage debut as Commander Taylor a few years ago.
Painting complete, Zoe's friends depart, and she sits down with her parents to a hastily assembled dinner. It's strange that the three of them eat alone these days - Josh is at the bar, of course - but the youngest Shannon is nothing if not adaptable, and she is both grateful for, and irked by, her parents' undivided attention.
"It's strange." Elisabeth murmurs as they rest on the couch after Zoe has gone to bed, "I think this is the first time it's really sunk in with me that there's nothing for us to worry about at this festival. No mystery, no danger, no threats hanging over our heads. Just a community of people making their way in a new world."
Jim nods, tightening his arms around her, "I never thought this day would come. After the soldiers disappeared into the Badlands, it was always going to be a waiting game for them to come back - but we were saved by Lucas's obsession with his father. If he'd been more rational about it, things could've been a whole lot different."
"And now that threat's gone. I wish it could've been less destructive, and fewer lives could've been lost - but it's over."
"Just you, and me, and the kids." Jim smiles leaning in for a kiss, "Heaven on earth. Whatever earth this is."
A soft knock on the door surprises them both. Bemused, Jim answers it, and finds Maddy and Mark outside, "Hey, you don't need to knock. Come in."
Elisabeth looks up at them, her eyes a little narrowed, "What is it?"
"It's okay, Mom," Maddy looks tearful, "We've got some good news for you."
Malcolm cries out sharply, his arms lashing as he forces himself awake. He is in darkness, but not for long, as there is sudden light and a gentle voice in his ear, "It's alright - it was a dream. You're awake now."
Shaking, sweating, he turns and sees Yseult, "I'm sorry," he says, a little breathlessly, "It's been a while…"
"The scorpions again?"
He nods, closing his eyes painfully as she snuggles against him, "It's okay - you don't have to deal with it alone anymore."
"I know." Already his arms are tight around her, "I just wish this would go away, Max. It's irrational - Lucas is gone, I don't know why I still hold him in such dread…"
"He was cruel to you. It can be hard to let that go."
They lie together in silence as his breathing calms, and he relaxes again. The dream is rare these days, yes, but he still has it from time to time. At least now he doesn't wake alone.
She's already asleep again, her head on his chest. So comforting is that sense of closeness, that it is not long before he joins her.
The day of the festival dawns bright and clear as Jim takes his habitual morning run. The work last night to prepare the marketplace has included the building of a much larger stage than previously, as Guzman's wife, Sandra, has had rather more success in attracting choristers than she was expecting. Mira does not join him on his run this morning; but he understands why: she finds it hard to be part of a ceremony where the lead is taken by the Colony's children, given that her daughter is cut off from her, and they will never meet again. They've already agreed that she will not emerge from her house today - and he has told everyone that she's too busy with work to attend the festival. Her appreciation for his understanding, and his assistance in concealing the issue, was rendered in one of her rare, slight smiles. In deference to her situation, he has chosen not to share the news he received last night; though he is barely able to stop himself howling it from the rooftops.
The morning is, as always, a frenzy of last minute preparation. The children are being fitted with their costumes, and getting their last opportunities to check stage directions. No one has any idea what's happening with the promised choir, as they've been sworn to secrecy, and their rehearsals have been largely off limits to non-members. That is something that will be revealed this evening.
The stallholders are already clearing away, while the food vendors set up to one side of the space, as they always do. Watching from his balcony, Taylor views the beavering with a slightly bittersweet smile. His visit to Wash's grave this morning was peaceful, and he brought her up to speed on what has happened, as he always does.
Amongst the assembling crowd Pete is already lurking near Sal's grill, as lunchtime is approaching and he's been busy in the coppices all day collecting suitable wood to season for future charcoal burns. As promised, Louis is singing this evening, so even if no one else is interested, the entire Sustainable Industries department will be attending. Graham is also nearby, helping to arrange another harvest loaf - the last one being such a success that he is now expected to provide one every year, while Yseult and Ben are draping additional strings of gourds to supplement the ones that were put up last night.
He looks up as she joins him, "On your own, sweetheart?"
"Only for a bit longer. Malcolm's given himself the afternoon off. We'll see what Sal's got on her stall for lunch, I think." She sighs, "He had a nightmare last night. The first for weeks."
"Give it time, Max. These things don't go away overnight." He frowns as she pulls a face, "What's up?"
"It's okay. Something girl-related. I'd forgotten that it can be uncomfortable. Elisabeth gave me some analgesics in case this happened."
"Ah." Even for someone as resolutely cosmopolitan as Pete, the concept of menstruation is awkward, "Why put up with it when you don't have to?"
"I do have to, Pete - how else am I going to get pregnant?"
"Good point." He is aware of her hopes.
Sal looks across at her, having overheard the comment about getting pregnant and deducing the reason for it, "I find a hot water bottle helps."
"So Elisabeth mentioned - but it's a bit public here. I'll bear it in mind later."
"I have to say," Sal grins, "Your boyfriend's timing's impeccable - my first lot of steaks are ready and he turns up." She nods across the marketplace to where Malcolm is approaching at a slow, leisurely stroll. His pace quickens as soon as he spots them.
"I've got him well trained." Yseult smiles.
"Thank you all for coming." Taylor looks a little bit uncomfortable at having to open proceedings as he usually only makes a speech at the end, "I've been told that the festival this year is going to be something a bit special, so I won't stay here too long." He looks around at the assembled throng, "This is probably the first year where we've truly been on our own. While we have no more people coming through to join us, we also have no one coming to take it all away from us either. This really is, I think, the dawn of a new era for Terra Nova, and we're all pioneers together - which is, in my mind, a real renewal. I don't doubt that I'll be up here again at the end of the evening, so I'll get off this stage and let the kids do a better job of entertaining you." He departs to applause, and not a few cheers.
Jim has joined Elisabeth, who has a small piece of paper upon which is printed a programme of sorts, "What are we getting?"
"Four of Aesop's fables. They've gone for stories that have some significance in their morals."
While the stories are, allegedly, ageless, they are mostly unfamiliar to Jim; but, as they're all in English, he can't miss the narrative. The first story is The Ant and the Grasshopper, and a group of youngsters tell the tale of the industrious ants who beaver away to store up against hard times, while the grasshopper laughs at them, until he finds himself without food in the winter. Despite it not being meant to be read that way, he is irresistibly reminded of the respective fates of the Colonists, and the Phoenix Group; they threw away the only means they had of being prepared for lean times - and died for it. At least the kids won't see it that way.
The next tale is one that he knows: The Hare and the Tortoise. The meaning as famous as the story, the assembled crowd watch the slow, determined onward march of the tortoise, that eventually beats the overconfident, slapdash hare - a warning against trying to do too much, too fast, perhaps.
It seems likely that the third tale is aimed at their most recent arrivals, being The Mouse and the Lion, relating the story of a lion that allows a mouse it has pinned with its paw to go free, only for that mouse to come to his rescue when captured by hunters. No matter how small a friend, the friendship should never be discounted as it could be the greatest help of all in adversity.
Then they sit up together, pleased as punch for Zoe, who plays the role of the Country Mouse in The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse, which values the simplicity of plain living over the risks of chasing too much ease and comfort. Rather sledgehammer-like in its unsubtle approach, perhaps, but it goes a long way to reflect to those in the marketplace the value of their lives here, compared to their previous lives in a polluted, dying wasteland.
After the bows and applause, people drift away to socialise while the evening draws in. Sitting with Elisabeth, Jim looks up to see Taylor, "I hear you had some good news last night."
"We certainly did, Commander." Elisabeth smiles, happily, "Though I think we're rather shocked at the same time - I thought I was a bit young for that."
"I hope you don't mind, but Mr and Mrs Reynolds have asked me to announce it at the end of the evening?"
Jim looks startled, but Elisabeth covers for him with aplomb, "That sounds like a wonderful way to do it - though I must admit, I'm surprised that I didn't find out sooner. They asked one of my colleagues to deal with the matter."
"Very sneaky." Taylor smiles, "Congratulations to you both. I'm looking forward to the excitement the announcement's going to cause tonight."
"Right, you two." Pete sounds worryingly businesslike, "It's all supposed to be hush-hush, but Louis is a complete no hoper when it comes to keeping secrets, so I expect you to join in."
"Join in with what?" Malcolm asks, warily.
"Jerusalem."
"Excuse me?"
"They're going to finish with Parry's Jerusalem, which is the unofficial English National Anthem, is it not?"
"It is?" Yseult asks, then smiles at Pete's glare, "German, Pete. Remember? This is the second time I've had to remind you in as many weeks."
"I'm getting all the English folk," he pauses and looks at Yseult, "and all the honorary English folk, together to stand up and join in. Swaying, arms on each others' shoulders: the whole shooting match. Let's get a bit of a Last Night of the Proms vibe."
"You used to watch the Last Night of the Proms?" Yseult asks.
"Well - the second half." He admits.
"I don't know Jerusalem," Malcolm begins.
"Don't give me that - you went to Harrow." Pete interrupts, breezily.
He sighs, "Fair enough. You'll regret it, though. If you think Max sings badly, you haven't heard me. Singing is another of the many non-science things that I can't do."
"Who said anything about singing? This is a patriotic outburst. Singing doesn't come into it." Grinning, he heads off in search of anyone else who fits his rather wide description of 'English'.
"At what point do I tell him I'm a member of Clan Wallace?" Malcolm murmurs.
"Seriously?" Yseult turns to him - although she knows he was born a Scot, she had no idea he was a member of an actual Clan.
"Same one as William Wallace. Who isn't an ancestor." He pauses, as though thinking whether or not to admit to something, "My father used to call me 'Braveheart' after that film."
"He did? That's lovely."
He nods, though he looks a little sad, "He called me that the day they took him away: Look after your Mam, Braveheart. I'll be back before you know it. I never saw him again."
She says nothing, but instead rests her head on his shoulder and holds his hand tightly.
"I love you." He murmurs, softly.
As people gather for the debut of the choir, the most surprising thing about it is its sheer size. While the number of colonists is bordering on a thousand, no one expected eighty people to turn up, least of all Sandra. The Colony's lone piano has been lugged out onto the stage, and, to the surprise of those who don't know that more than one person can play a keyboard at the same time, both of the two pianists who came through the portal are taking seats at it.
The programme isn't long - as there wasn't really enough time to do something on a grander scale - and the lack of an orchestra has been compensated for by some carefully put together four-hand duets on the piano that do a remarkable job of covering for the shortage of other musicians.
"What are they starting with?" Yseult asks Pete, who is, as promised, sitting with them, having rounded up the small English contingent.
"Something by Vivaldi?" he hazards, having forgotten the other works in his zeal to track down people to join in with Jerusalem.
She nods as the piano starts up, "So it is. It's the Gloria."
They stick to just the opening, tackling it with gusto, and surprising accuracy after so few rehearsals, before moving on to a more complicated work: Parry's I Was Glad. This is then followed by Nothing is Here for Tears by Vaughan Williams. Each song is closed with bright applause - largely down to surprise at how well they're doing on that stage.
Despite his apparent wish to be bombastic, Pete has warned Sandra of his intentions in case she is absolutely against it, and she has promised to do an encore just for him. The first rendition completed, and applauded, the two pianists start Jerusalem again, and Pete's assembled 'English people' are all on their feet and joining in, much to the amusement of those around them.
Encore completed, applause and cheering at an end, everyone waits for Taylor to return to the stage, "I'm not singing, folks." He advises, sagely, to ironic cheering, "I just want to thank the children for their performances this afternoon, and Sandra for her work in establishing what's looking like the Terra Nova Festival Chorus." He stops to acknowledge another wave of cheers, "And to make one more announcement. Could Mr and Mrs Reynolds join me on the stage, please?"
Their expressions a mixture of embarrassment and joy, Maddy and Mark do as he asks. Given how obvious it is what he's about to say, everyone stays remarkably quiet for the announcement, "Following our first wedding in the Colony, I'm delighted to announce that a baby Reynolds is on the way. I'm sure you'll join me in offering my congratulations to the expectant couple!"
The place almost erupts; and barely has the cheering died down than the pianists start the Gloria again.
A/N: For anyone who wants to listen to 'the concert', if you've got access to streaming services (in my case, it's Amazon Music), the recordings I've referenced for this are:
Vivaldi Gloria: Gloria and Bach Magnificat - Scola Cantorum of Oxford/Northern Chamber Orchestra on Naxos (just the Gloria in Excelsis Deo)
I was Glad: Rule Britannia and other music from the Last Night of the Proms - English Northern Philharmonia/Leeds Festival Chorus on Naxos (this also has Jerusalem on it, but I prefer a different version)
Nothing is Here for Tears: Vaughan Williams Sacred Choral Music - The Choir of Clare College, Cambridge on Naxos
Jerusalem: The Best Proms Album Ever - Carl Davis, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus on Techniche Label OMP.
Admittedly, these aren't accompanied by four-hand piano duet; but you'll get the idea.
