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There's a delightful letter (in Hugh Cobbe's volume) from Ralph Vaughan Williams to Arthur Butterworth where he mentions the coincidence of names with his old friend from before 1916.
I hadn't the heart to tell him that a Breakfast presenter (my lips are sealed) announced a work by him to be played, gave a brief outline of his Great War history and played, if I remember, The Banks of Green Willow. Back announced as, again, by the same composer so not even picked up by the production staff. I sent off a savage email
It isn't given us to know those rare moments when people are wide open and the lightest touch can wither or heal. A moment too late and we can never reach them any more in this world.
I hadn't the heart to tell him that a Breakfast presenter (my lips are sealed) announced a work by him to be played, gave a brief outline of his Great War history and played, if I remember, The Banks of Green Willow. Back announced as, again, by the same composer so not even picked up by the production staff. I sent off a savage email
There's another instance of that same misattribution in a playlist in May this year.
Leo Black's delightful book about the 'Glock era' tells how more than once he had to explain tht he was not the conductor of Fritz Kreisler's Berlin concerto recordings (Leo Blech).
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