Some of us have longer memories than others, but we must surely remember what, where and when it was that we decided music was for us.
In my case, I have to go back to 1939, but my story must start a few years before that.
We lived at that time in Shirley, near Croydon, and just down the road was a music teacher called Miss Cole. My two elder sisters and my brother were dispatched there for piano lessons but, at age of about four, I was considered too young and by 1939, my parents had decided that it was all a big waste of money anyway.
Then came the outbreak of war and our school, not that far from Croydon Airport (a fighter station) was set to be evacuated, so the day before we were due to leave we all went down to say goodbye to Miss Cole and she started to play the piano. Quite unaccountably, I found that I was crying - not for my personal situation but for the beauty of the music. The following day, we were bussed lock, stock and barrel, down to Croydon East Station (not my big sister because her grammar school were sent down to Brighton) and we were taken eight miles . down the line, would you believe, to Redhill (where they also had a fighter station.
My sister was seized by the billeting officer as her contribution to the war effort but my brother and I found ourselves with the delightful Mrs Thompson, who had a large house, with 4½ acres, a cook, two maids (Nellie and Annie) a chauffeur and a gardner, a Morris 8 and an Armstrong Siddley!
What heaven for two young boys. There were two others sharing our room and they were twins from London's East End and they were known as "Do" and "Fag".
Our parents were free to visit at any time, and one day their father (a Salvation Army man) came to visit and he brought his Euphonium with him. Of course, we insisted that he should play it and when he did, I found that I was crying again. (I was all of six years old by then)
Just before Christmas, my parents discovered that they were re-opening a school in Beckenham, Kent; so they let their house in Shirley and rented one in Beckenham to qualify for us to become pupils. That was a case of "Frying pan into the Fire", because we were there all through the Blitz and Beckenham had the largest number of bombs fall on it of any London Borough, but because four fifths of Beckenham was park land, actual casualties were light.
I digress. My brother gained a place in the local grammar school where the Music Master was Hubert Clifford no less and we all went along to the school orchestra concert, where they played Mozart's Jupiter Symphony and Mendelssohn's Violin Concert with the 13 year old Hugh Bean as soloist!
No, I did not cry that time, but I did make up my mind that I had to become a musician and our subsequent move down to Salisbury, where I met my music master, the great Anthony F Brown, husband of Fiona and father of Iona, Timothy and Ian, sealed my fate.
Why did I take up the horn? I really wanted to learn the clarinet, but the only instrument available was an old peashooter french horn with an F crook, so I agreed to learn that.
Just as well, because I have absolutely minimal finger facility and, of all the instruments in the orchestra, the horn needs the least finger facility- it's nearly all done using only the first and second fingers of the left hand and the rest is done with the lip.*
I have never regretted my choice.
Now let's hear your story.
VH
* Trombone players don't need to use their fingers at all, of course, but who wants to pump a slide in and out?
In my case, I have to go back to 1939, but my story must start a few years before that.
We lived at that time in Shirley, near Croydon, and just down the road was a music teacher called Miss Cole. My two elder sisters and my brother were dispatched there for piano lessons but, at age of about four, I was considered too young and by 1939, my parents had decided that it was all a big waste of money anyway.
Then came the outbreak of war and our school, not that far from Croydon Airport (a fighter station) was set to be evacuated, so the day before we were due to leave we all went down to say goodbye to Miss Cole and she started to play the piano. Quite unaccountably, I found that I was crying - not for my personal situation but for the beauty of the music. The following day, we were bussed lock, stock and barrel, down to Croydon East Station (not my big sister because her grammar school were sent down to Brighton) and we were taken eight miles . down the line, would you believe, to Redhill (where they also had a fighter station.
My sister was seized by the billeting officer as her contribution to the war effort but my brother and I found ourselves with the delightful Mrs Thompson, who had a large house, with 4½ acres, a cook, two maids (Nellie and Annie) a chauffeur and a gardner, a Morris 8 and an Armstrong Siddley!
What heaven for two young boys. There were two others sharing our room and they were twins from London's East End and they were known as "Do" and "Fag".
Our parents were free to visit at any time, and one day their father (a Salvation Army man) came to visit and he brought his Euphonium with him. Of course, we insisted that he should play it and when he did, I found that I was crying again. (I was all of six years old by then)
Just before Christmas, my parents discovered that they were re-opening a school in Beckenham, Kent; so they let their house in Shirley and rented one in Beckenham to qualify for us to become pupils. That was a case of "Frying pan into the Fire", because we were there all through the Blitz and Beckenham had the largest number of bombs fall on it of any London Borough, but because four fifths of Beckenham was park land, actual casualties were light.
I digress. My brother gained a place in the local grammar school where the Music Master was Hubert Clifford no less and we all went along to the school orchestra concert, where they played Mozart's Jupiter Symphony and Mendelssohn's Violin Concert with the 13 year old Hugh Bean as soloist!
No, I did not cry that time, but I did make up my mind that I had to become a musician and our subsequent move down to Salisbury, where I met my music master, the great Anthony F Brown, husband of Fiona and father of Iona, Timothy and Ian, sealed my fate.
Why did I take up the horn? I really wanted to learn the clarinet, but the only instrument available was an old peashooter french horn with an F crook, so I agreed to learn that.
Just as well, because I have absolutely minimal finger facility and, of all the instruments in the orchestra, the horn needs the least finger facility- it's nearly all done using only the first and second fingers of the left hand and the rest is done with the lip.*
I have never regretted my choice.
Now let's hear your story.
VH
* Trombone players don't need to use their fingers at all, of course, but who wants to pump a slide in and out?
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