The Cambridge Chapel Eurovision: Trinity College

Like all my Tab adventures, my journey to Trinity Evensong began, as most of my journeys do, at high speeds. Half walking, half running from something else. The running ability has been somewhat diminished since I broke my toe playing football, but a hearty speed walk remains within my ability.

I’d just been cheering SJKCFC on from the sidelines through an intense football match. We’d faced Catz, Caius, and Hughes in what can only be described as the most nobly fought loss of the season thus far (6–7) (Haha.) But spirits were high. By the time I’d limped back to Kings, half writing a match report in my head, half regretting even walking to the match due to the toe situation, it was somehow already six o’clock.

Earlier that day, my friend Anne-Élise had invited me to Trinity’s 6:15 Evensong. We met at the start of the year, bonding over a shared Huguenot heritage, a shared appreciation of Fitzbillies’ cinnamon buns, and the shared ordeal of attending Low Mass at 8am on Sundays (a truly unsocial hour for something so godly). She’s wonderful, charming, and bravely tries to improve my tragic French vocabulary, resulting in a kind of Anglo-Franco hybrid conversation to the confusion of all bystanders nearby.

So, there I was: Speeding from football, under-dressed for the occasion, hair dishevelled, heading toward Trinity, in the world’s most stupid heeled boots for someone with a broken toe. One particular cyclist gave my hobbling a side-eye I would usually reserve for tourist group leaders or individuals I’d witnessed talking to invisible friends.

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At precisely 6:15, just as the choir processed in, I slipped into the chapel (success!). Anne-Élise was already seated in the “Fellows Only” section and waved me over, which felt mildly illegal considering I was emblazoned with “St John’s & King’s Women’s Football” on my back. Nothing like attending one of Cambridge’s most distinguished chapels, looking like you’ve just escaped the changing rooms at Wilberforce Road, representing the enemy.

Trinity Chapel, for those who haven’t been, is really quite imposing. Think “chapel,” then multiply by something like, I don’t know, miniature cathedral. Vaulted ceilings, gold everywhere, very, very large organ. It doesn’t do anything by halves. Especially the choir, my goodness, you think they’re done processing in, and boom, they just keep coming. If Peterhouse was like a stylish, cool kid sort of vibe, Trinity is a full-on choral war machine.

The Latin text over the chapel entrance heralds from Psalm 121, “May the Lord keep watch over your coming in and your going out, from henceforth now and for ever.” It’s one of those verses I always am inclined to think of as both comforting and somewhat unsettling. A nice touch of divine CCTV, really. It’s heartening to know that even if you arrive late, limping, or slightly stressed, God is apparently keeping tabs.

Once you’ve made it through the door, it is impossible to ignore the huge oil painting of St Michael binding Satan, painted in 1768 by Benjamin West. It was a gift to the College from the then Master, Dr John Hinchliffe. (I got flashbacks to doing my first Trinity evensong article whilst writing that line.) It’s less a devotional icon, in my opinion, than a public statement, Trinity announcing with signature flair, that even in worship, it does nothing by halves. It’s also the perfect visual metaphor for my usual 3am Saturday essay crisis: Divine ambition, rapid descent, then the inevitable fall.

The choir were singing Howells’ Gloucester Service, composed in 1946 for Gloucester Cathedral, which had a (quote on quote) “long reverberation” that shaped Howells’s composition. It is part of a trio of place-specific services, including St Paul’s (1951) and, oh, King’s College, Cambridge?! (This being born of 1944, when Howells was challenged to compose a setting of the Te Deum for the King’s College Choir as a result of a bet with the Dean, Eric Milner-White.)

Each service was designed to reflect the sound, atmosphere, and architecture of its dedicatee. My personal musical expert tells me that the Gloucester Service is characterised by its “expansive” melodic lines, harmonies and Howells’s signature use of “dissonance”. The organ accompaniment is “integral”, not merely supportive, weaving independent counter-melodies beneath the choir, and the Nunc Dimittis ends on one of Howells’s most “luminous” Amen cadences. (Look at me go, more technical terms sneaking into these articles.)

As a non-musical expert myself, I personally felt that Trinity Choir is so big, so huge, so loud, that it is just absolutely incredible to hear them sing such a multi-layered piece. The sopranos, in particular, were so strong and overpowering that I was briefly worried for the structural integrity of the windows. You could feel the resonance in your chest. The anthem was another Howells piece, Take Him, Earth, for Cherishing, written after President Kennedy’s death.

The preacher, Revd Dr Sam Wells of St Martin-in-the-Fields, gave a sermon titled Living Well in the World. I’ve noticed a trend recently: College sermons are getting suspiciously good. Either the clergy are in their Renaissance period, or I’ve finally got to the age where their words resonate. The congregation that came to the service was huge. I’ve never seen the chapel so packed; there were students, dons, fellows, and possibly a few lost tourists. There was even free wine afterwards, which may have explained the turnout. (Take note, other chapels.)

By the time the final hymn, Abide with Me, rolled around, I was feeling thoroughly calmed from my stressful journey. My toe still hurt, but my soul felt incredibly eased. Trinity’s choir does that to you; I suppose their voices serve to remind you that beauty, at its best, is slightly overwhelming. Anne-Eléise is coming to Kings for our Requiem on Sunday, consider the Evensong exchange programme officially in motion.

It wasn’t until the end of the service that I realised, with amusement, that the last time I’d been to Trinity Evensong was actually on my first date with my boyfriend. I remember thinking at the time that anyone who voluntarily invites you to Evensong for a first date either has impeccable taste or an alarming performative-male style agenda. Luckily for me, it was the former.

All in all, a great evening. Brilliant choir, 10/10 sermon, 0/10 footwear choice.

One day, mark my words, I will be on time for a service.