For questions 31–36, read the text below and choose the answer (A, B, C or D) which you think fits best according to the text.
Thomas Hargreaves first heard the organ at St Cuthbert's when he was eleven years old. It had been silent for thirty-two years by then — pipes clogged with decades of accumulated grime, bellows rotted, the action mechanism reduced to a tangle of dried leather and snapped trackers. His father, a retired music teacher, took him to see what remained of the instrument, and Hargreaves remembers the visit as the moment something in him became fixed. He did not yet understand what restoration meant. He understood only that the silence in that cold nave felt wrong.
He trained as a musician first, at the Royal College of Music, where his teachers found him technically gifted but temperamentally unsuited to the competitive pressures of a performance career. He was too absorbed by old instruments, too willing to disappear for months into archives, too uninterested in the professional networks that sustain a concert pianist's reputation. After graduating, he worked for a decade as assistant to Edmund Blaine, a veteran organ builder in York who taught him the disciplines of the craft with a rigour that Hargreaves says he has never encountered since. It was Blaine who first suggested that St Cuthbert's might be viable.
The restoration took eleven years. Hargreaves has written about the process with the meticulous clarity of a craftsman and the observational alertness of a novelist. The early years were largely diagnostic: documenting the original specification, tracing surviving pipes to workshops in Germany and the Netherlands where they had been sent for repair, sourcing period-appropriate materials. He found that the organ, built in 1887 by the Lancashire firm of William Whitworth, was more complete than initial surveys had suggested. Certain ranks of pipes, believed lost, had simply been stored in the church tower.
What he was not prepared for was the effect of completion. When the organ sounded for the first time in full voice, on a rainy Tuesday morning with only the church warden and two volunteers present, Hargreaves wept. He describes the moment with characteristic precision: not the emotion, which he declines to analyse, but the acoustic fact of the sound filling a space that had held only silence for longer than he had been alive. The community's response, when the restored instrument was finally heard at a public concert, was something he describes as disproportionate to the scale of the achievement — but he says this without false modesty.
The organ at St Cuthbert's is not the largest, nor the most historically significant, instrument to have been restored in Britain in recent decades. What distinguishes it, critics and listeners agree, is an acoustic quality — a particular warmth and fullness of tone — that Hargreaves attributes to the wood and leather he sourced with exceptional specificity. He spent three years identifying suppliers whose materials matched the original as closely as modern commerce permits. This is, he says, not perfectionism for its own sake but fidelity to the instrument's original intention. The difference, he insists, can be heard.