Ila Bumagin, Senior, Editor-in-Chief
There’s a lot that comes to mind when we think of our quaint town of Marblehead. Festive lighthouses, rocky beaches, Abbot Hall above the harbor, or our beloved storefronts. While this rings true for us all, I will always associate my hometown with Old North Church, with that tall white spire peeking above the townhouses. Although I’m not particularly religious, it has been my home most Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings since I was seven years old.
From 1999-2018 my mother was the youth choir director there. There were two youth choirs: the Cecilia choir for ages 7-10 and the Parish choir for ages 10-15. I, of course, was in both of them and loved every second. Some of my best friends were made in that little parish hall beneath the sanctuary, as was my love for choral music. I would help my mother set up, give out candy, and rehearse diligently (or goof off with my fellow sopranos – don’t tell her).
Christmas, of course, was the best time of year. A Festival Chorus was set up, and kids who didn’t usually do choir joined us for the holiday season. We would practice from October to December, preparing for our concert with the adult choir. The day would come, and the 350-year-old sanctuary and 100 adult choristers loomed large in my mind – this was exhilarating to little Ila. So much anticipation and Christmas joy was crammed into the twenty-five minutes we had on stage, and the final act, “O Come All Ye Faithful,” never failed to make me cry.
Of course, all musical things halted during the COVID-19 pandemic, and the youth choir unfortunately lost many members. Busy with high school, sports, musicals, and friends, I forgot about my time at Old North.
This year, my senior year at Marblehead High school, was off to a rocky start. College applications, AP classes, shifting friend groups, other extenuating circumstances, etc. At the beginning of October, I got an email from an old newsletter telling me about Festival Choir – it had been three years since I thought about it. Although I probably didn’t really have time for it, I immediately signed up, and I told my mother and grandmother to do the same. Once again, I was in a pew every Wednesday night, Harking the Heralds and singing Mendelssohn. It was perfect.
About half-way through November, it hit me why I’d decided to join so quickly. I’m leaving next year. I’m going to college somewhere far, far, away, and I needed something to hold on to from my childhood, my hometown, and my family. The multi-generational trio, my mother, grandmother, and I, connected me back to my family after years of being closer to my friends. Being in my childhood church made me feel like myself, and like I had a place somewhere. And what better place than a church founded basically when Marblehead was, sitting so perfectly on Washington Street.
Our final concert came this year, just a couple weeks ago, and it went exactly as planned. The choir and orchestra sounded beautiful, and our director, Maria Van Kalken, is the best. My mom and I cried to “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Just like it was when I was little.
Now, when I think back on my favorite memories of Marblehead, yes, I will think of all the times at Devereux and Chandler Hovey and Old Town. But above it all, a beautiful white church stands, ready to hear me sing.