I’ve been meaning to go to carols at Lanyon for ages. But you know how it is, so much to do on Sunday afternoons, and Lanyon beyond the end of the earth (or at least the end of Canberra). But this year I did it. This year I went.
Did it have anything to do with a girlfriend with a slightly disturbing penchant for all things Chrimbo? Well, yes it might. I also had a friend visiting from Montreal and so it became a bit of an obligatory cultural experience.
And for those with sound there’s a little something I recorded with my camera (so please excuse the hisses on the peaks).
I had parental instructions to be there at 4pm.
But to an Inner Northican everything worthwhile is no more than 10 minutes drive away. So we got to Lanyon at 4.30 with a cheese plate, a bunch of grapes, two bottles of chardonnay, and a bottle of soda water for the making of spritzers.
I don’t know the exact cost breakdown but three adults in the car were admitted for $10 which included programs, lyric sheets, two candles, two paper plates with holes for the candles, and superbly organised parking.
By 4.30 most of the absolute prime real estate had been taken, but the group we were joining had staked out a fair chunk for us.
Standing around, drinking and chatting ensued.
Sunday was not warm, but thankfully not quite so arctic as the Saturday it followed. There was much discussion of how this was the first Carols at Lanyon where cold was the concern and not heat.
It turns out there is something of a tradition of laying out festive tableaux on the rugs. Competition is a fierce and serious thing. I think this one was the Second Place winning entry by the Wadell family.
Around 6 the first of the entertainment began with a folk band, Franklin B Paverty. They played a mix of Christmas kitsch (Six White Boomers) mixed with more traditional Australian folk (Botany Bay, Banks of the Condamine, South Australia).
The folk band under the eaves were followed by the Tuggeranong Valley Band playing assorted medleys of Christmas things. I’m informed the clarinets were overly squeaky.
By this point the gardens stretching down the slope had begun to fill up.
The Gardens at Lanyon are almost worth a visit in their own right. Between drinking and eating of picnic foods, people took the chance to take a walk around.
As darkness fell the light remained on the hill overlooking the estate.
And then the lawns filled up with the light of the candles as the choir began to sing.
The song sheet is long and not many favourites are missed. These are proper Christmas carols. Jingle-Bell-Sodding-Rock will not be heard.
The thing about proper carols is they are intended to be sung by enthusiastic amateurs and so the crowd is positively encouraged to join in. The candles aren’t so much for waving (and depilating hairy knuckles when the wax runs) as they are to light the words on the page in front of you.
The songs of northern winters are punctuated by Australian carols of variable quality. But they are quickly dispensed with.
Adults do have to endure a brief interlude when the children are encouraged to make their shuffle-footed way to the front to squawk with hideous abandon into the microphones as they live out their Australian Idol fantasies.
This is mercifully brief and an excellent time to pop off to the bogs.
Anyway, if you’re looking for something to get you in a more grounded Christmas spirit next year I’d recommend keeping your eyes open for a listing of this celebrity free zone.
Loading ...
