'No, no, no!' hissed the old chap in horror, as I squeezed into the stall.
I notice the sheet music laid out neatly in front of the pew and file out again. 'They really ought to make it clearer where the public can and can't sit,' I hiss back.
'Please sit in the rear,' says a member of clergy and I slink, chastened, into a seat behind the choir. I glance round at the brass stall plate behind me and find myself in the stall of the 'tres hault, puissant et tres noble Prince Jacques, Duc, Marquis et Comte d'Ormond... enstallé au Chasteau de Windesor le Quinziesme jour d'Avril 1661' - probably not a bad place from which to observe proceedings!
The evensong service is short and pleasant. I find my eyes straying in the direction of the stained glass windows, softly aglow in the evening light, and towards the bright banners and helms draped with elaborate wreaths and mantling, while the choir perform a sublime rendition of Duruflé's Ubi Caritas. The helms are crested with a fantastical array of heraldic beasts: a dragon (segreant vert), a lion (statant guardant or), a parrot - or was it an eagle? (wings elevated and addorsed gules)...
A prayer is said for Her Majesty the Queen, and for the Order of the Garter, then - rather morbidly - for 'those who will die this night' ('Lord may you lead them to a land of love and light'). We end with the grace and I leave, uplifted, into the warm summer's eve.
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