Alan – Humans of Avon and Somerset

“There’s a saying in Pill, t’aint Christmas until you’ve heard the Owls.”

Alan, Service Desk Manager

Christmas morning, 1972. My brother and I were running around, chasing each other with cap guns, getting in the way of everybody. Then, there was a tremendous bang on the door, and it fell dark in the hallway as large silhouettes stood outside. My mum opened the door, and one by one they piled into the house, men who seemed like giants to the six-year-old me. They were all wearing big cloaks and top hats with holly in them, all laughing, smoking and jolly. Ruffling my hair and wishing me a happy Christmas as they walked into the living room, I was instantly fascinated by this group. They had to take their top hats off as they kept hitting the lights, but my mum was ready to welcome them in with a tray of sherry. Clutching the small glasses with their big, gloved hands, they all burst into song. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was completely swept up in the moment and loved every second. I later found out that this group of men were called the Owls.  

The Owls were founded in Pill in 1919. A vicar wanted to raise money for men coming back from fighting in the war who had become blind as a result of mustard gas poisoning. In the village at this time, there were lots of church groups running activities such as chess, art and choir.  

At the time it was split into female and male groups, girls being called Wrens, and boys being called Owls. The vicar was in charge of the boys’ choir, so he gathered the boys to go and sing in the street to raise some money for the soldiers. He wanted them to dress up, so they all raided their parents’ wardrobes, which at the time would have contained cloaks and top hats. That Christmas, they walked a few streets in the village, singing and collecting money. No one knows how much they collected that first year, but when they were asked who they were, they said “we’re the Owls”, and the group was born. They went out again the following year and kept the tradition going; and the residents of Pill began to expect them every Christmas.  

My grandfather was one of the original Owls choir boys, and my father has sung with them since 1958. In 1977 my older brother became a member, and I joined a couple of years after this, when I was 13 years old. There is a very important job for the youngest member of the group, called a page, and that was to stand at the front with a lantern so the group could be seen. Due to my age, I also sang the soprano parts of all the songs. The following year, on Christmas eve, we had our first television appearance, during which I may have caused a slight scene after accidentally smacking the presenter on the head with my lantern! I joined the armed forces in the early 80s, so I moved on from the village, and the Owls.  

By the early 2000s, the Owls had become really popular, on the annual agendas at five-star hotels in Bristol. Despite their success, they’ve remained loyal to the streets of Pill, now performing over several weeks so everyone has a chance to see them. After I left the forces, I would bump into members of the group around the village at Christmas time, and it was lovely just to be a member of the public, enjoying their singing. 

In 2018, I was approached by a friend of mine who was in the Owls, who knew I’d written history books for the police, to ask if I’d write their story.  I jumped at the opportunity. I was privileged to be asked, and I felt so grateful. I wrote the first chapter of the book from the perspective of my six-year-old self seeing the Owls for the first time, wanting the readers to understand what it felt like when these people arrived at your door.  

I went out with the Owls for a few times that year to get a feel for how they operated now, and I saw the scale of how much their remit had changed. They had taken part in two Casualty Christmas specials for the BBC, and they were raising up to £20,000 a year for charity, just by carol singing. All the money was still being donated to charities for the blind as well as the Jesse May Trust. During my research I discovered they hadn’t missed a single year of performing from their inception in 1919, so 2019 was their 100th year of performing without a single gap.  

When I finished writing the book, I edited it with one of the fellow Owls who funnily enough was an ex-headmaster of mine. The final book was a complete collaboration as the Owls were involved in providing photographs, and in the design.  

There came a special meeting where I finally met all of them and gave each one a copy of the book. As a thank you, they had bought me a present and I was really moved because I had refused to take payment for this piece of work. When I opened the present, it was a brand-new top hat, and everyone in the room was laughing. They said we know you can sing, you were joining in when you came out with us, so you’re a member again and there’s no choice in the matter.  

The following year I officially re-joined the Owls, and one of our first gigs was on BBC Countryfile chatting to John Craven. I’ve been out with them every year since. We sing on the streets of Pill – I’ll admit, the advent of double glazing nearly killed off the Owls because people don’t always realise we’re outside! As well as performing on the streets, we appear at a lot of hotels and private parties. We also sing in care homes, which is so special to see the impact it has on the patients and staff. 

There’s a saying in Pill, t’aint Christmas until you’ve heard the Owls sing, but you must do it in a proper Somerset accent. We say the line at the end of every event we sing at and always aim to leave an audience more festive than when we arrived.   

This year, we started performing on 20 November, and we will be singing most days until Christmas Eve. Not every member sings every night – it’s very tiring, and you must balance your work and personal life alongside it. You get home late and must still work the next day. Everyone gets the “Owl’s flu” by Christmas Day, with a sore throat and major fatigue. You go down for a week or two as your body tries to recover from the weeks of being out in the cold singing your heart out. But none of the Owls would miss performing for the world.  

This sentiment was summed up beautifully last year. We were walking through Pill, and it was a very cold and frosty night. We rounded a street corner, and someone was out in their front garden waiting for us with tables, chairs, hot mince pies and warm punch. We’ve had people do this for us before, and it’s always greatly appreciated. I happened to glance up while we were singing and in the next-door house there were two children watching us out of their window, wiping the steam off the glass. It was magical, and I saw my 6-year-old self-reflected in those two children. Ask any of the Owl members, and they will all say that’s why we do it.