While waiting in line to get in, we met an Aussie Indian woman named Sara, a social worker in town. Her mother and grandmother, friend Bronwyn, and Gladson Joseph, we’re part of their group, and they invited us to the good seats in the balcony (they grew up in the church and knew the good seats were upstairs).
The performance was lovely, including several young boys for key solos, along with four wonderful professionals. The trumpet shall sound solo was especially nice. The cathedral is lovely-one of the earliest in Sydney, with markers from 1799. The pipe organ is painted in turquoise, red, and gold.
The night was lovely and warm. Oddly enough, Rog lost the sole of his shoe. Sure there’s something prophetic about that. A funny odd event for a holy evening.