Jonny McCambridge: The school choir – all the best birthday and Christmas presents wrapped into one

Despite my obvious deficiencies I have often thought it might be enjoyable to be part of a choir. Finding safety in numbers may take away some of the sense of embarrassment about my own voice which often leads me lip-synch during renditions of Happy Birthday.

In addition, I’m a big fan of choral music. Being part of an ensemble heartily belting out the Hallelujah chorus from Handel’s Messiah or The Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s ninth symphony – well, it just looks like fun.

But I’ve never got around to doing it. There was no choir in my primary school when I was at an age when I had not yet developed a sense of awkwardness. There were multiple opportunities to join a choir in secondary school but by that point I had developed a warped sense of what was cool and preferred to stand idle in the corridors warming my legs against a radiator. As an adult I’ve never moved in circles where joining a choir was a thing that people seemed to do. I suppose I’ve missed my chance.

It was a surprise when my son announced, more than a year ago in P6, that he was going to try out for the choir at his school. Up to then he had never shown much interest in music. More than that, he is a shy and quiet boy and the trial involved singing solo in front of teachers. I was proud that he was brave enough to try out, but also a little fearful.

He duly did the test and was not selected. I was stung by this, the fact that he had put himself through something which must have been challenging and fallen short. I knew that he was also annoyed but didn’t say much. He later started guitar lessons, which I thought was adequate compensation. The world moved on and I assumed that singing for him, as for me, would remain an unfulfilled ambition.

Then, a couple of months ago, I found a letter in his schoolbag which had been sent home. It was a parental consent form for a performance of the school choir at the SSE Arena in 2024. I was confused.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s just a letter the teachers have sent home.”

“But it says you’ll be singing at the SSE Arena? As part of the choir?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

(As you can observe, the flow of information about what goes on in school does not always flow plentifully to home).

“So, you’re in the choir now?”

“Yeah.”

“When did this happen?”

“Um…a few weeks ago.”

It transpired he had tried out again for the choir as a P7 pupil, did the solo singing test, and been accepted…but had forgotten to tell us. There has not been much more information forthcoming since then, although we have become aware from other parents that the choir practice continues, and the amount of preparation has ramped up as we have moved closer to Christmas.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, another letter came home. This was a parental consent form for a number of carol performances in the school and in the village where we live. While hardly on the scale of a Taylor Swift world tour, I was struck by the level of preparation and organisation which had gone into the schedule. The best part of all was that there were a number of shows where we would have the chance to see our son singing.

It is my birthday and I am in a hall with my wife waiting for the carol service to begin. I say carols, but I look at the programme notes and none of the song titles are familiar to me. I have a small knot of worry in my stomach.

Then my son leads the choir onto the stage. He is one of the tallest so is in the back row and I have to adjust my seat to get a proper view of him. He is wearing a Christmas jumper and a Santa hat. He looks about uncertainly for a few seconds before he spots his mother and myself and gives us a wide smile and a thumbs-up. The knot is untied.

The performance begins. I do not recognise most of the songs, but they are undeniably catchy. I watch my son throughout. He is a little stiff at first, but soon relaxes and becomes caught up in the music. I can see that he is bellowing out the lyrics with plenty of force.

There is more. The performance includes choreographed dance moves. I watch my son, with all the other children, jumping up and down, clapping his hands, performing the steps and hand movements. Every so often he glances at his mother and I to make sure we are seeing what he is doing. I blow him kisses and he rolls his eyes.

But for the most part he is smiling. Smiling broadly and obviously at ease as he chats excitedly with his friends between the carols.

My shy and quiet son is on the stage and totally at ease, with not a hint of self-consciousness or fear. It is all the best birthday and Christmas presents rolled into one. And next year he has the SSE to look forward to.

I started this column by saying I wish I had taken the chance to have a go at singing. My son has done it, and that’s even better.

Happy Christmas everyone.