Over the summer, I was fortunate enough to visit the workshop of Harrison & Harrison, the local organ builders who constructed the organ which now sits pride of place overlooking the Chapel. Their workshop is in many ways a living archive, using the same tools and devices that they have used for decades to ensure that their creations still create wonderful authentic music. Their physical archives are also very robust, as they would often be called to repair a past Harrison & Harrison creation, and so the specifications were exceedingly important to maintain. I was fortunate enough to be shown the correspondence relating the creation of the Chapel organ, and its origin as a music hall novelty devised by Mr. G.T. Pattman. The first letter in this correspondence was dated to the 13th March 1916, and was from Pattman to Harrison. The italics represent pencilled notes in the margins: 

"My dear Harrison, 

I don't know what you will say to my asking you if you would care to build such an instrument as the one enclosed. It is an unusual instrument for an unusual purpose, and not your style at all, but if you would care to undertake it, I should very glad to have your approximate price. The job is for myself, so if you consider it all, I beg you will treat me as generously as you can consistently with fairness to yourself, and of course, price is, of necessity, a large factor in the choice of a builder, since cheapness & portability are the main objects in this case.

In such an unusual job as this the builder would no doubt be able to improve on many of my suggestions re construction, but I have endeavoured to give a few general notes for guidance as to the sort of thing I want. 

There would of course be no need to publish the fact that you built the organ if you would prefer not to do so. 

In view of the short time before the organ must completed it is necessary to have it settled as soon as possible, and may I ask you to treat the entire matter as absolutely private and confidential. 

Awaiting your early reply, and with kindest regard,

Yours sincerely, 

G. Pattman

P.S. Don't have a fit when you see the Pedal on the specification; it will serve my purposes." 

The unusual and confidential job that Pattman discusses here was the creation of a mobile pipe organ, which could be transported from town to town and installed at theatres and auditoriums for a paying audience to enjoy. The logistics and price took a while to confirm, but ultimately the "superb and unique instrument" weighed ten tons and required nine railway wagons to deliver it from town to town. The total cost was £3,000, the equivalent of circa £227,773 in today's money. 

The correspondence between Pattman and Harrison showcases his personality. A letter on the 26th November 1916, postmarked from the Coliseum in London, shows his jubilation at the warm reception the show received: "Our success this last week has been really magnificent; twice what it was the week before. The people shout the place down. It is splendid fun, and if only the provinces are as enthusiastic as in London we shall get on fine. We are retained at the Coliseum for another week, 'Owing to unprecedented success' as the bills say! Then we go to Henley in Staffordshire next Sunday, and I think either Manchester or Liverpool the following week… Everybody is tremendously enthusiastic about the beauty of tone of the organ, and the papers write of it as 'the wonderful organ' etc etc, and it is behaving itself beautifully." 

The move from London to Staffordshire was difficult. The relevant letter from the 7th December 1916 read, "I think the very greatest compliment your work has ever had is that we came here in the bitterly cold weather; the cases were slung and hoisted and pushed and jolted and shunted and shaken and banged all over the place, and yet I got the Solo and Great connected up ten minutes before I went on and did a show, and there wasn't even a single cipher!! Don't you call that just wonderful? I mean it speaks for the workmanship, doesn't it? Of course it was invariably out of tune, and no Swell, and no 32ft reed (which got smashed up somewhat on the journey, but they have now patched it up) and only half the notes on the piano speaking, yet the people took to it like fishes, and now they howl the place down." 

The letters from Harrison to Pattman were, sadly, not preserved, although one can fill in the missing pieces through close reading of Pattman's responses. Much of them concern Pattman repaying his debt to Harrison, which would ultimately be a very gradual process ("I had hoped to have been able to send more just now but my expenses were fearfully heavy the last two weeks"). A telling letter from the 13th July 1917 opens with the line, "Re the account you sent me yesterday, have you not, to put it quite frankly, 'laid it on a bit thick'?", followed by a protest at the high costs of various organ parts. Four days letter Pattman responded with a letter indicating all was mended: 

"My dear Harrison, 

Alright old friends! I think we have been friends too long to have any differences, and altho' the bill did seem to me to be a bit heavy, if you say it is reasonable I am quite prepared to take your word for it, so enclose cheque herewith with pleasure.

I know you have endeavoured to give me favourable terms whenever possible and you know how much I appreciate the very great success you have made of the organ. 

We were sorry not to have been able to get to Durham again, but it was impossible anyway, altho' we were much disappointed at not being able to see you again. Hope for better luck next time."

Yours, 

G.T. Pattman" 

I will conclude with a glowing review of a performance of the organ in the 23rd June 1917 issue of The Birmingham Dispatch, representing the type of show it would produce before it came to rest in Durham School chapel: 

 "For quite 40 minutes Mr. G.T. Pattman and Miss Marie Ambrose thrilled the discriminating and gave new sensations to the other people in the vast Empire audience, with music, good music. Mr. Pattman's organ is not a theatrical toy; it is a magnificent instrument, electrically controlled, and capable of great things. Mr. Pattman started with Berlioz' Racoczy march, which put the audience en rappori with his aims, and removed any seeming incongruity of an organ on a music-hall stage. His next was storm music, played in darkness, the thunders and the winds a triumph of realism. Later he conceded Mascagni's 'Cavalleria Rusticana' intermezzo. Miss Marie Ambrose, a singer with power and style, started with 'Delilah's song'. Mr. Pattman had linked up a grand piano with his organ keyboard, and the triple effect of dominant voice, suave organ lines, and the piano's percussion arpeggios made the thing more than usually thrilling. With other selections the 'turn' came to Elgar's 'Pomp and Circumstance' (No. 4), given out on organ and paino, taken up by voice and orchestra, culminating in a massive piling of tones as the audience joined in. The most blasé of habitues must have been stirred by this unique music-hall entertainment.

For the rest, varying styles of cleverness were given. Cruikshank pattered and sang, Loie Conn played cornet solos and sprang a surprise, the McNaughtons jested quaintly, Miss May Hopkins and two other ladies gave a few minutes of song and talk which was worthy of the applause it drew, Wee Georgie Haris discoursed agreeably on life as 'Buttons', and the Hamamura family of Japanese artists gave one of those astoundingly difficult and perfect acrobatic performances which no westerner can equal for ease and certainty. Altogether a wonderfully good entertainment."