Words by Alexander Seale
Culture meets community in one of London’s unlikeliest places.
Every Saturday, the basement of Notre Dame de France — the Maison Pierre Chanel, a plain, practical room beneath the church — fills with the well-worn rhythm of the Sandwich Service. Volunteers lay out trays of sandwiches, fruit and hot drinks; guests drift in from the streets around Leicester Square, looking for warmth, food or simply a place where nobody asks questions.
Outside, Leicester Square was heaving — the Christmas market in full swing, the ice rink glowing, tourists moving in thick, noisy currents. Yet beneath all of that, in a fluorescent-lit basement, the priority was simple: make sure everyone who turned up was fed.
But on this particular weekend, the familiar routine opened onto something unexpected. As the meal service wound down in the early afternoon, volunteers cleared the last plates and invited guests upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, the main church — bright, circular and surprisingly serene for central London — was ready for a free classical concert. No tickets, no booking, no awkwardness. Just walk upstairs and sit down.
Notre Dame de France sits a few steps from Leicester Square tube — an improbable oasis in a part of London better known for cinemas and street performers. From outside, its modernist curve gives almost nothing away. Inside, the sanctuary opens into a round, light-filled space, with Jean Cocteau’s murals tucked discreetly into a side chapel.
Downstairs, it’s another world: plastic chairs, steel urns, volunteers moving quickly to serve more than a hundred people each week. The Sandwich Service runs entirely on donations — roughly £200 a week — and is kept afloat by around 45 volunteers who rotate shifts. In a country where 7.2 million adults experienced food insecurity last year, its role is increasingly vital.
On this day, the two spaces — the canteen below and the sanctuary above — briefly overlapped.
The concert was the idea of Chann Cornilleau, a volunteer who also works in classical music.
“People imagine classical music is reserved for an elite,” she tells me. “It shouldn’t be. I wanted to dismantle that myth.”
Cornilleau founded Concert classique pour tous, now in its third edition. When she became friends with Quatuor Agate — the French string quartet currently touring Europe as ECHO Rising Stars 2024/25 — she asked if they would play for the Service’s guests.
“They generously accepted,” she says. “This was their second time playing for us.”
The parish backed the idea immediately. The challenge, Cornilleau says, was persuading guests that the concert truly was for them.
“At first, they were sceptical,” she says. “But this year, every single guest stayed to the end. That tells me we’re doing something right.”
Quatuor Agate performed Mozart’s Prussian Quartet and Beethoven’s Op. 59 No. 3. In the rounded sanctuary, conversations softened. People leaned forward. A few closed their eyes; others simply enjoyed the warmth and stillness.
“I wanted them to have a moment outside of time,” Cornilleau says. “Away from the harsh reality they live every day. And to feel considered, human to human. No hierarchy.”
The Sandwich Service is grounded in a simple philosophy: no judgement, no criteria, no pressure. For Cornilleau, the concert wasn’t a flourish — it was a continuation of that ethos.
“Culture can feel inaccessible,” she says. “Here, they could experience it freely, with no prerequisites. And these musicians aren’t amateurs — they’re top professionals. That matters.”
As people left the church afterwards, organisers held small baskets at the doors. Several attendees — not only regular guests, but visitors who had come for the concert — dropped donations inside. All the money went directly to supporting the Sandwich Service.
Why volunteers keep returning
Cornilleau insists she’s simply one volunteer among many, but she’s clear about what brings her back.
“It gives meaning,” she says. “I’ve been very lucky. Spending a few hours making sandwiches feels like the least I can do.”
Will the concerts continue?
“I hope so. We’ve averaged about one a year. I’d love the project to keep going.”
As Quatuor Agate packed away their instruments and volunteers headed back downstairs to finish tidying the Maison Pierre Chanel, the building slipped back into its usual Saturday rhythm. But for a moment, the two worlds of Notre Dame de France — the canteen below and the sanctuary above — held something rare together: culture, dignity and community in one of central London’s most unlikely spaces.
