Preparations are going well for my recital at London’s Wigmore Hall on 17 April at 1pm. If you live near London, I hope you might come along.
I can’t remember if I’ve told this story before, but I can’t track it down in a previous blog post, so here it is, with apologies if you’ve heard it.
I first played in the Wigmore Hall as a child, in the finals of the National Junior Piano Playing Competition. I had won the Scottish heat and was summoned to London to take part in the national finals. This was tremendously exciting and I was awestruck to find myself in the Wigmore Hall (at that time we used the definite article before the name) with its framed photos of famous artists who had played there over the years.
When all the finalists had played, we were asked to wait in the Green Room behind the stage while the judges made their decision. Eventually a member of staff came in and selected three of us – me and two boys (alas I don’t remember their names). The three of us were lined up at the door which leads directly onto the stage – me first, and the boys behind me. We were only told that when we heard the applause begin, we would enter the stage one by one to receive our prizes.
Finding myself first in the queue, I dared to believe that I must have won the first prize. I heard the sound of clapping and was ushered onto the stage. Judges smiled and congratulated me, people applauded, I was handed a certificate and shown where to stand. Then I heard them announce the second prize. One of the boys came on stage to receive it.
But then, to my bewilderment, I heard them announce the first prize. The other boy came on to be acclaimed as the overall winner.
At this point in my life I hadn’t come across the custom of announcing prizes in reverse order. Nobody had explained anything to us backstage. From the order we were placed in, with me first in line, I deduced that I must be the winner. I still remember my feeling of disorientation as I stood under the bright lights with my imagined first prize slipping away.
Yes, they should have explained things to us better, and I still twitch inwardly when I see prizes being announced in reverse order.
Strangely enough, the experience didn’t affect my feelings about Wigmore Hall. It’s still my favourite hall, and I’m fortunate to have been playing there for a long time now. Happy Easter!
That must have been quite a disappointment. One feels these things very sharply in youth. When I was 18 I won an Observer poetry competition judged by Ted Hughes. I was thrilled at the prospect of meeting my favourite modern poet, but at the prize ceremony it turned out he had been delayed in America. I was devastated that my chance to cross paths with this literary legend had gone. In later life though it has been a source of continuing pride that the Poet Laureate did give me, at least metaphorically, a pat on the head.
An interesting example of how little attention was paid by the adults to the welfare of the young contestants. Has that changed?
Oh dear, my heart cracked as I read that!
You reminded me of a similar event in my lifetime, though it was at a local jazz-ballet dance eisteddfod rather than at a prestigious, national music event at THE Wigmore Hall. My name was also announced first in the ‘boys – grade 3’ competition. I thought I’d won but alas, I had received a ‘highly commended’, three other boys got the actual prizes!
Mary Cohen makes a good point about the welfare of young competitors. One can only hope that these days some effort is made to explain the procedures and the outcomes to the young candidates.
Easy enough to explain the principle of announcing the prizes in reverse order – or, as in James’ case, of starting with the ‘highly commended’ and working backwards to the first prize.
Having said that, I have been on judging panels when the prizes were announced in reverse order, and I have never known whether the prizewinners were ‘in the know’ about what was happening before they stepped onto the stage to be awarded a prize. I hope that competition organisers give these matters some thought.