Taking children to the opera

It seemed obvious at the time. In the spirit of artistic adventure, I could review Jonathan Dove's children's opera 'The Enchanted Pig' and in just one afternoon reverse my reputation for being extremely boring. It was thus that I took along my niece Olivia (eight) and nephew Jerome (six) for their first experience of the greatest of all the arts. (Their parents, Hans and Joan, came too, of course - I said I was adventurous, not completely mad.)

After all, what child wouldn't be excited about a trip to the Royal Opera House, especially with a specialist on hand to set it in context - and getting one's photograph taken into the bargain. It would be the best day out, I would be their favourite uncle and in years to come they would thank me for stimulating a lifelong passion.

The announcement of the trip, however, was met with cool equanimity - while the 'O-word' has not yet triggered the panic response in the pre-teens, neither does it inspire wonder. Jerome, for instance, was less concerned about the imminent life-changing experience than the fact that he couldn't bring his football.

It was also, on reflection, rather ambitious to expect the youngsters to read the programme notes, but their cursory inspection of the cover image established that, 'It's about a pig and a woman.' So far, so good, and it was all going swimmingly until halfway through the pre-show photoshoot when one of my co-models announced that they were bored and didn't want to do any more posing. The incentive that they would then not appear in Time Out was casually dismissed with the fact that they had already appeared in their local Ely Standard.

With this in mind, the temptation to explain that normally at the opera, one doesn't talk or go to the lavatory during the performance, didn't seem such a good idea. And so I approached the prospect of sharing the Linbury Studio with 200 children and their parents with increasing trepidation. But it was only for two hours, and, after all, I've sat through the 'Ring Cycle' this year.

I shouldn't have worried. The dimming of the lights heralded hushed wonder at Dick Bird's fantastical set, not to mention the auditorium itself which, hung with planets and mirror balls, caused much excited pointing. Concern that the show would only appeal to children or be too adult was soon dispelled. Dove's music theatre, intelligently directed by John Fulljames, seemed to hit the mark - as some of the performers are singing actors, they knew how to deliver librettist Alasdair Middleton's funny lines, while the acting opera-singers saved the show from becoming a pantomime. Full of memorable tunes, the eclectic score was brought to life in surprisingly full sound by a small ensemble under Tim Murray.

The children were clearly engaged, watching proceedings as if it were a staged bedtime story. The appearance of the Pig caused quite a stir, as bass-baritone Simon Wilding's voice could be heard booming from behind us before he came bounding down the stairs beside us, leaned in on Olivia, then clambered on to the stage to wallow in mud. 'It's not real mud,' piped up the observant young chap behind me. Meanwhile, I trusted that the kids' amusement was due to them noticing how the Pig's arrival was obviously a homage to Mozart's Commendatore in 'Don Giovanni', but after much giggling it transpired that Olivia had 'touched his bum'.

The enthusiastic murmuring was maintained until about 15 minutes before the end, the same time that the young chap behind me piped up again and rightly announced: 'It's too long!'

On the way home, I reflected on how it had been a novel experience for everyone, especially me. I had expected bedlam and discovered calm. No one seemed to mind the inquisitive whispering - the absence of the usual exaggerated glances and furious stares made the whole experience very relaxing. And not having learned audience etiquette, the kids neither felt the need to clap after arias nor to engage in paranoid coughing.

It was also the first time that I have spent an interval sitting on the floor eating ice cream, or insisted that my companions take advantage of the facilities. But the greatest, and most unexpected, revelation was that the parents had enjoyed it as much as, and possibly more than, the children.

For them it was a perfect entrée to opera. While Olivia and Jerome remained dispassionate with regard to the enterprise, their dad was more forthcoming. 'That was my first taste of anything operatic,' said Hans afterwards. 'It was amazing. I just sat leaning forward with a big smile on my face.' So, there you have it. Take the kids along, and if you have never been to an opera before yourself, prepare for enchantment.

'The Enchanted Pig' runs at the Linbury Studio Theatre until Jan 2, 2010