Henery's finest hour
Miss Banks ran the family music business in York for nearly half-a-century. Under her eagle eye, no order was ever misplaced, no telephone left unanswered.
Muscle for lifting and carrying was provided by Henry – or rather HENERY, whose was name was always given the extra syllable and spoken as if it were written in capitals. Apart from his immense strength, he seemed an unlikely employee of the Banks emporium. Vague, disorganized, given to reverie and a prolific inventor of wrong ways of doing things, he needed unceasing supervision.
The sound of Miss Banks' voice, upbraiding him for some error of commission or omission, was as familiar and nearly as frequent as the chimes of the Minster clock. |
Musicians — particularly, perhaps, organists and directors of choirs — came to Banks Music from all over the North of England. There was no more pleasant and profitable way of spending a Saturday. The morning train to York, some window-shopping or a walk on the walls, a light lunch in one of the city's innumerable pubs, an afternoon browsing in Banks' shop, Evensong at the Minster, the evening train home; the routine was a treat anticipated with the same pleasure as that provided by summer holidays.
Few went home from the expedition without some new work to add to the repertoire. The BBC's Third Programme offered listeners the chance to hear many pieces previously unknown to British audiences. Enquiries for copies of some of these began to arrive: Miss Banks rose to the challenge.
Few went home from the expedition without some new work to add to the repertoire. The BBC's Third Programme offered listeners the chance to hear many pieces previously unknown to British audiences. Enquiries for copies of some of these began to arrive: Miss Banks rose to the challenge.
One very august musical Personage, listening to the Third, heard a motet by the early-baroque composer Samuel Scheidt. This promised to be an ideal addition to the repertoire of his choir. On his next free Saturday he set off for York, more in hope than in expectation, to see if it was in stock at Banks. Giving him the personal attention she afforded only to the most eminent, Miss Banks assured the Personage that she had all the motets in stock. Moving to the foot of the stairs, she called:
“HENERY!” There followed a couple of bumps from upstairs – guilty-sounding bumps that might have been made by someone who had been day-dreaming instead of working. “Yes, Miss Banks coming, Miss Banks; at once Miss Banks.” “HENERY – bring down the Scheidt.” “Yes, Miss Banks.”
Several more bumps followed – confident bumps of the kind made by a man who knows that on this occasion he will be doing the right thing. Heavy footsteps preceded the appearance on the stairs of Henery's size twelve boots; then Henery's legs; then the rest of him. In his arms he bore the wastepaper basket. David Bridgeman-Sutton, April 2009
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Picture credits:
1. York Minster Quire. Dr Thorsten Hauler
2. York pub: Ken Shelton
3. Ryedale Folk Museum: www.ryedalefolkmuseum.co.uk/
Thanks to the above-mentioned copyright owners for permission to use their pictures
1. York Minster Quire. Dr Thorsten Hauler
2. York pub: Ken Shelton
3. Ryedale Folk Museum: www.ryedalefolkmuseum.co.uk/
Thanks to the above-mentioned copyright owners for permission to use their pictures