THERE CAN BE FEW OF US still alive who remember this Festival. It happened sixty years ago, when I was fifteen. As it was one of my formative musical experiences, I remember it distinctly, for I have total recall of musical events that I attended in the twenties, thirties, forties, fifties . . . after that, alas, memories become less precise, and I can no longer remember a phone number looked up five minutes earlier. But that extraordinary May Festival has proved unforgettable. It was undoubtedly the cause of my failing Matriculation, for at a crucial period, when I should have been revising subjects with which I could not possibly identify, I was being regaled by a unique musical feast.

I attended all ten recitals, and asked each recitalist to autograph his programme in the programme-book. I already knew a few of the works to be played, having begun to collect organ music seriously in 1929. As a young autograph-hunter, I was excited to read that the composer himself would be attending the Karg-Elert Festival. And, of course, I looked forward to securing his signature on as many of my scores as I could.

It became rather a game. After a simple signature on the first two, the Seven Pastels and Cathedral Windows he began to vary his inscription, so that one fascicule of opus 65 has “Zur freundlichen Erinnerung as das schöne Karg-Elert Festival, 8 May 1930, Dr. h.c. Sigfrid Karg-Elert”, and another, a twelve-note chordal mountain of fourths (the last three of which, alas, an uncaring book-binder guillotined), registered for “ 64’ and 1/4’ ”, and “Sigfrid Karg-Elert” (without the honorary doctorate). Then there was the grander autograph on Homage to Handel : “Zur freundlichen Erinnerung an Dr. h.c. Sigfrid Karg-Elert. Mai 1930.” with the added “Ich habe mich über ihre Begeisterung sehr gefreut ” plus a bonus four-part harmonisation of B.A.C.H. Finally there was “Zur Erinnerung an Sigfrid Karg-Elert 17 Mai 1930”, the date of the final recital, on the harmonium Impressionen, the score he is shown clutching in one of Gilbert Benham’s photographs of him taken in the forecourt of St Lawrence, Jewry.

Gilbert must have rushed the prints through, for I was able to get mine signed on that last Saturday afternoon while the visitor was still about. His valedictory “Das bin ich ! Sigfrid Karg-Elert” suggested that he wanted to remind the importunate schoolboy autograph-hunter of what his quarry looked like. I could hardly forget, for he cut an unusual figure. Small wing collar, large Lavallière bow-tie, fancy waistcoat and light Spring overcoat, flattish broad-brimmed beige-coloured hat, and rimless glasses: very much the imagined provincial German professor. Shortish, dumpy and moody, he might have been playing the Emil Jannings part opposite Marlene Dietrich in the film Der Blaue Engel.

Karg-Elert arrived a little late at the first recital, and sat deep in prayer for quite a while. His moods were transparent, and he must have been happy with the playing of E Percy Hallam, from St Mary’s, Bury St Edmunds, as well as giving thanks for having reached London safely and being feted by lovers of his music.

With one exception, the playing at all ten recitals seemed to please him. Archibald Farmer’s account of the first of the Seven Pastels caused his obvious delight. To this day, I have never heard it more beautifully played. (I am happy to record this, for Farmer could play abominably. His A major Bach Allein Gott Trio, BWV 664, once proved the worst I heard in any covered building.)

The exception at the Festival was the rather bad playing, at that last recital, of Godfrey Sceats, who, fluent in German, was, by correspondence, Karg-Elert’s closest English friend, but also the only non-full-time musician among the players. He may have been unwell, but, having a full-time job in the City, he seemed to have practised less than the others, for his was the least well-prepared recital. Karg-Elert, who always sat at the back, did not conceal his displeasure at Sceats’s playing and his groans could be heard all over the church. I remember F Darwin Fox (who had sung the plainsong before Cathedral Windows, played by Nicholas Choveaux the previous Tuesday), telling me how they spirited Karg-Elert out of the church, and pacified him with “a pink drink at the Lyons tea-shop around the corner in Gresham Street.” Happily, all was sweetness and light at the end of the recital. I remember that William Wolstenholme was among those present. Both composers were persuaded to improvise. I have retained an indelible impression of Wolstenholme’s impeccably neat treatment of a theme proposed to him by Karg-Elert, and of Karg-Elert’s own wild splashing around at the organ after him. I have since been reminded that he ended his improvisation with a fixed high inverted pedal point, beneath which a massive juicily harmonised chorale unfolded.

No-one who heard Karg-Elert play on that occasion could have been under any illusion that he might ever sustain a recital tour in America. It was folly to expect it. England did the right thing by inviting him to London as an honoured composer, not as a performer. Karg-Elert’s London visit inspired him to write more organ music, for which we may be thankful.

The success of the Karg-Elert Festival and the public attention it attracted were directly responsible for the creation of The Organ Music Society in the following year.