Snape Maltings, 16 June 1973

It's noisy backstage. Not loud, but noisy. A multitude of sounds bounces off the white-painted brick walls of the narrow corridors. Singers are warming up in their tiny dressing rooms. Doors are constantly opening and shutting as well-wishers pass on their good-lucks. A Tannoy broadcasts the orchestra as it tunes, the xylophone repeating a tricky phrase over and over again.

The audience can be heard filing into the hall from the reeded banks of the River Alde; regular festival-goers, critics, the great and the good, all slightly reluctant to forgo the beauty of the warm, cloudless evening, excited to be the first to see Britten's latest opera, Death in Venice. It is, after all, a historic occasion.

It's no secret that Britten isn't well. Who knows if he will compose again? And the rumours about the piece … such a subject. Is this wise? Those hoping that Britten will defy expectations and appear in the box set discreetly in the brick wall of the auditorium for this world premiere will be disappointed. He is too weak, recuperating at Horham, his rural retreat on the Suffolk– Norfolk border, after his recent heart operation.

Peter Pears sits quietly in his dressing room, studying his score, pressing gently on Aschenbach's moustache, checking that the spirit gum will hold.

Over the Tannoy the stage manager calls for beginners. Out of the conductor's room steps a young man – just thirty-three – dressed in white tie and tails. Undeniably handsome, he has thick black hair and a general air of benevolence. He walks with a slightly swaying gait, and if stopped and asked a question, his head will rock back and his bright blue eyes widen and shoot upwards before turning in a slow roll to one side, as if searching the air for the answer.

He is shy but confident in what he knows, dismissive of half-baked opinions, wary of strangers, yet warm to his friends. Despite his slightly donnish appearance, away from the podium he will find the time and the technical know-how to rewire his house entirely by himself. He will conduct lengthy experiments to determine whether the milk should go in before or after the tea. He will consume vast amounts of chocolate biscuits yet never put on weight. He will never wear sandals without also wearing socks.