Who better summed up the feeling of the river pageant — that sinking sensation that this was not the way it was meant to be — than the drowned rats’ chorus?
The sight of the 12 young stars with wet hair plastered over their faces, the sopranos’ mascara streaking and the baritones’ suits soaked right through, must be one of the enduring images of the spectacle’s tragicomic finale.
Members of the Royal College of Music Chamber Choir revealed yesterday that such were the concerns over the doughty singers’ health after they battled through an epic downpour to belt out Rule, Britannia!, that paramedics rushed to give them medical checks as soon as it was over.
By the time their big moment came the weather was so bad that photographers struggled to capture it, while delays on the river and technical problems at the BBC left them at the mercy of the elements for even longer.
In the end, they performed with such brio that it looked like a triumph of enthusiasm over exposure. In fact, as they told The Times yesterday, having dried off, ingested whisky for medicinal purposes and more than their fair share of Lemsip, the reality was even tougher than it appeared. Once they were unplugged from microphones and headphones each singer was immed-iately checked for hypothermia.
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Having been given the all-clear they watched the footage and immediately saw the funny side. “I look horrendous!” cried Monica McGhee, a 23-year-old soprano from Motherwell. “I could not get warmed up. I had a weak pulse. The paramedic said my body had gone into shock.
“I remember singing Rule, Britannia! and it was so wet our headphones were slipping out. There was an awful delay because the sound was bouncing, so I couldn’t hear anything, I couldn’t see anything. I was just weeping.”
“I cried,” confessed the baritone Peter Brathwaite, to the amusement of his female colleagues. The graduate ended up getting the Tube home, wrapped in a tablecloth and carrying his ruined suit in a plastic bag (having been advised to travel light, none brought a change of clothes).
His tears were a mixture of pride and pain. “My feet were squelching. I had a Union Jack handkerchief, made of nice silk, but by the end I was waving it round like a wet rag.”
When movement returned to their fingers, they found a barrage of texts awaiting them. “One friend texted ‘Drowned Rats Chorus’,” laughed Mr Brathwaite.
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Anna Anandarajah, 24, a soprano, had an awkward conversation with her proud but distraught mother. Ms Anandarajah was the poor soul struggling to see through rain-streaked spectacles and the only one to tug a hood over her head.
“She just kept saying, ‘What on earth were you doing with that hood? Why were you the only one wearing it?’.”
The group joked about the reaction of another singer who, until seeing the video replay, had not realised her unwitting attempt to keep circulation going. “The hand-dancing!” said Mr Brathwaite. “Where did that come from? What am I doing?”
The group, made up of students and graduates from the Royal College of Music, were invited eight weeks ago to perform at the pageant.
While the crowds began their long, cold wait by the riverbanks, the choir spent the morning on soundchecks.
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The brief brightening of the weather over lunchtime gave them false hope.
“We had prepared Singin’ in the Rain, but then we thought, no word of a lie, we wouldn’t need it,” explained Ms McGhee. But when it became clear that they were going to be soaked, they gave up their umbrellas — they had eight between them — and ponchos. “We made a unanimous decision to ditch them, and embrace it,” she added.
Rosie Braddy, 24, a mezzo-soprano and mother of one from Nottingham, insisted: “I didn’t!”
Realising that they could not get much wetter, they decided that the best way to keep warm was to sing their hearts out. “I’ve never sung better,” said Ms Braddy, who reached for the red lipstick “for a bit of glam and to retain the tiniest bit of dignity”.
But it could have been worse. The girls had originally discussed wearing summer maxi-dresses.
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Their conductor, Tom Blunt, was the unsung hero, they said, grateful for his attempt to keep up their flagging spirits. “His music was so soggy and sodden he ended up crumpling it up,” said Ms Braddy.
The lowest point came at about 5.15pm, about 20 minutes before their final performance, when technical problems and delays at Tower Bridge served only to compound the misery. “Tom realised that actually we were all going to get quite ill,” said Amy Williamson, 22, from Winchester.
Once they did get started, singing Land of Hope and Glory, no one heard it. “We were really confused when the music started again. But the sound cut out when the BBC lost the signal, so we just sang it again.” Miss Williamson said: “In a way, it was just so typically British. We’ve planned this for years ... so the show must go on. It was one of the funniest moments of my life.”
Now that he too has warmed up and got his emotions back in check, Mr Brathwaite is “laughing, no longer crying”, he said. He is proud that their memorable performance has been seen by people all over the world, including his relatives in Barbados.
At least they know the Royal Family liked it: the Prince of Wales was seen tapping his sword and the Queen appeared to be bobbing her head. Despite their joking, they insisted that they would do it all again.
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“It was an honour,” said David Webb, a tenor. “A very wet one, though.”