The piano had eventually to go back down the staircase, though mother had complicated things a bit by jamming the corner of the piano into the wall so it would not slide down when she let go of it.
Unfortunately her eagerness to belt my brothers backside while he was caught trying to scramble over it had driven this corner of the piano into the plaster of the staircase wall and when she lost her temper with it and gave it a mighty heave the whole of the staircase plaster fell off with it.
Through this deluge of lime based plaster came the now loose piano, with mother trying to restrain its downward plunge, from below it and nowhere to go but down the stairs backwards.
My older brother on leave from the S.A .S. dragged her through the dining room doorway as the piano hit the bottom wall where seconds before mother was being thrust backwards and downwards.
You would think she would be grateful for his timely rescue of her person; it was too late to rescue her dignity. But woman are funny that way and he got a massive clout for some reason ,mishandling her person , or laughing at the sight of her covered in plaster ,glasses all askew and spluttering and gasping.
She always seemed to feel better after clouting some one,
The piano, which I hoped had been damaged beyond repair, was taken out through the yard, where most of the plaster was cleaned out of it, and as mother refused my offer of swilling the dust out of it with the hosepipe, down the alley, up the hill and along the street into the front door.
Of course, it could have come off the wagon and in through the front door saving us a lot of work and struggle however mother now declared herself satisfied that a good job had been done and a piano tuner was called to the house, and later he declared the piano in good fettle. If somewhat scratched, SCRATCHED it looked as if it had been in a tank battle and lost it had to have four beer marts under on corner to accommodate the slope on the floor
I pointed out to mother that no one in the house actually played the piano and unfortunately picked a bad time to mention it as one of my posh aunt’s was in the room at the time and declared her intention to have ME taught to fill that role. why ME
No one thought it necessary to inquire whether I wanted to play or not, it appeared I had been unanimously elected and arguing wasn’t going to do any good.
On the grounds that I was as Asthmatic and couldn’t’t play football or go swimming with the school it was pointed out that I could go to music lessons instead of sport, and so started piano lessons twice a day for the next four years, at least I got to go into the front room which was kept for best and for the benefit of the summer season visitors.
My new music teacher, an elderly woman of Forty years, was apparently delighted to see me and informed mother and Aunt Emma that I would make a very good pianist. Apparently she could see I had a talent for music. It was about now made my first acquaintance with that ruiner of musicians the METRONOME
She was less impressed when I turned up for my first lesson fresh from the warehouse smelling of muscles and herring with which I had been baiting fishing lines for the local fishermen . .
She however had a cure for this consisting of a mix of butter and sugar literally rubbed into the hands with some vigor until all traces of dirt and grime were removed then washed in soapy water and dried very carefully . They were then rubbed with moisturizing cream.I tell you this is the best cure for mucky hands today .
Sometimes this took ten minutes off the half an hour lesson but there was no alternative and the whole process had to be endured at every visit .Only when she was completely satisfied that not a trace of a smell remained would she open the keyboard, adjust the seat and insist on fifteen minutes of keyboard exercises .
Arpeggios by the dozen were usually the first part of the lesson. Up and down the keyboard time after time swapping and changing key but always to the same boring rhythm.
Much later in my life I went through the same boring rhythms when I learned to touch type with a world famous typewriter company, in fact the two pastimes were very similar in action and entertainment. However, the typing school differed in that I was one boy among 30 girls and it was at this venue that I quickly learned that 30 girls were a force to be reckoned with.
I wonder how many music students have had to suffer the joint benefits of the metronome and that wonderful piece of music, the Blue bells of Scotland.
I had double trouble in that my aunt had declared that her favorite piece of music was Handle’s Largo. Aas she was originally paying the bill it was felt by my elders and betters that Handle should be given a matter of priority so that aunty Emma could have it played to her, and I played it time and time and time again.
My mother loved to listen to the older fisherman’s hymns, and some hymns of the Salvation Army. The old rugged cross, and There it is a green hill far away, she loved these old hymns and liked to sing them as she cooked and baked in her kitchen. Many of them Salvation Army hymns. My grandmother and some of my aunts were big Salvation Army members, all of officers of higher rank. Many of my cousins played in the band, trumpet and trombone usually the one I remember played a double bass which was as big as him.
I used to get myself into trouble by the playing them at sixteen to the bar. The old rugged cross goes really well to a Samba beat though not appreciated by mother, aunties, or grandmothers.
My grandmother used to say that if I continued to play god’s hymns at this speed, he would send the devil to get me and after receiving complaints from mother about this practice my music teacher would make me play to the beat of the metronome she said it taught me timing discipline. I personally found it very boring just playing off the music sheet.
Many years later talking to a professional musical celebrity he told me that sheet reading was not in my heart and that I should play more from the heart when playing for my own amusement . perhaps if I’d being allowed to occasionally play this way I would have been a musician today, however the constant restraint both at home and in music classes and a rigid belief in the power of the metronome and adherents to the written music drove me eventually to give up the piano entirely . The decision I’ve regretted for many years having by now lost most of the skills I developed over those years,
I play to myself now and still like to play the Old Rugged Cross with a swing and I think about mother, grandmother and my own music teacher glaring down at me from on high . But my bungalow is a declared metronome free zone. A huge three manual digital electric organ occupies a corner of my dining room; an accordion takes up one of the armchairs but no piano.
Wrds
