So there we were after choir rehearsal, more than 20 of us gathered for what’s called a pub sing.
It’s commonplace in England and Ireland, I suppose, but a rarity in the States.
In fact, this was my first encounter. One of our members had reserved a room at a tavern down the street.
Our Boston Revels organization hosts public versions of these during the year, but this was more impromptu. Yes, we had a stack of the organization’s songbooks, just in case. As our motto states, “Where tradition comes to life.”
Two of those present had birthdays, so we belted out in the traditional Happy Birthday song, in glorious four-part harmony – maybe more.
And then one basso voice continued in a dark melody with lyrics like “long ago your hair turned gray, now it’s falling out, they say,” or “it’s your birthday, never fear, you’ll be dead this time next year.” He was quickly joined by a soprano across the table in what became a competition to see who could remember lines the other didn’t know.
For those with a mordant sense of humor, it’s (UHH!) great fun. You can even Google it under the “Happy Birthday Dirge.” For the record, we sang it much better than any of the versions you’ll hear there.
Fortunately, my birthday had slipped past unnoticed just a few weeks earlier.
Maybe next year?