The Show Must Go On

[edashtav]

Was Mercy Repaid by a Lifetime Dedicated to the Violin?

From the Sheffield Evening Telegraph, 7th February 1914

STOLEN VIOLIN
Prosecutor Appeals for Leniency for Thief

Edward Basil Woodberry, of Eswynn Rd., Tooting was charged at the London Guildhall with stealing a violin, value £21 [£51?], the property of Mr James Leonard Crouch, a member of the Stock Exchange Amateur Orchestral Society. He pleaded guilty, and admitted that he had sold the instrument to a violin maker and dealer named Joseph [Georges?] Chanot of Wardour Street.

Mr, Crouch, in making a strong appeal on behalf of the lad, who was also a member of the Stock Exchange Orchestra, said there was a great future in front of the boy if he were allowed to continue his studies with their society. His mother was known to members of the Stock Exchange, and she asked that her boy, who was an exceptionally brilliant violin player for his age, might play in their band so as to obtain that experience with first-class music which he could not obtain by playing in cinema orchestras which he was accustomed to.

He was allowed to join the orchestra, and he (Mr. Crouch) suggested to the aldermen that, hearing members playing on better instruments than his own, he was tempted to take this one from where it was left in the Cripplegate Institute. Then the thing that was proverbially usual amongst violinists – he did not return it. “Missing violins rarely come back,” added Mr. Crouch. He did not wish to punish the boy for that would spoil his future chances – it would ruin his life.

Alderman Sir Charles Wakefield bounded the boy over to come up for conviction within six months if called upon.

One hopes that Woodberry repaid his debt to Mr. Crouch by playing his own violin with commitment and that the experience he gained in the Stock Exchange Orchestra underpinned a fine career. Unfortunately, the Stock Exchange Orchestra orchestra which during Woodberry and Crouch’s time was playing concerts in the Queen’s Hall under the baton of Hamish MacCunn (I bet the orchestra were well acquainted with his Mendelssohnian Land of the Mountain and the Flood), was forced to suspend its activities at the end of 1914 because of the adverse impact made by WWI upon its membership. Woodberry seems to have gone straight thereafter, but little more of him appears on the public record excepting that he died in 1973 at the age of 76. Woodberry’s story does remind us of those times when Soho, and particularly Wardour Street, was at the heart of violin making in England. Georges Chanot, one of the finer artisans, became violin-maker to H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh. Do take a peep at warm memories of Georges at:

https://www.mosoho.org.uk/then.html

[edashtav]

The Show Must Go On, I Must Go On... I Must Go!

Originally published in the Strand Magazine, April 1910

Why the Conductor Went Home.

No more popular figure existed in the old Theatre Royal in Dublin, than Levy, the conductor. He was the father of some celebrated musicians – one of them was Levy, the cornet-player, who made such an impact with his cornet and diamond rings in the Promenade Concerts at Covent Garden, under Riviere’s direction, twenty-five years ago. Old Levy had a very large family (“Paganini redivivus” was another of his famous sons) and a story is told that when conducting the overture to an opera in the Theatre Royal, a boy jumped up from under the stage and said:
“Misther Levy! Misther Levy! Your woive had just had a babby!”
“The Lord be praised for all His mercies!” said the conductor, keeping the baton going.
In a few seconds the boy again appeared.
“Misther Levy! Misther Levy!”
“Well, boy, is anything wrong?
“Missus Levy has had another babby, sor!”
“Thank Heaven! All’s well!” And the baton waved with greater vigour, working up to a tremendous flourish.
Once more he was disturbed by the same messenger.
“Misther Levy! Misther Levy!”
“Git it out, boy! What is the matter now”
“Begorrah, there’s another! As y’ call ‘em, trins!”
The conductor rose, and, putting down his baton, said:
“Gentlemen, it’s toime I went home and put a stop to this!”

[edashtav]

This Show Will Go On If You Promise to Take Us To Your Chesterfield

Derbyshire Times, Friday 7th April 1944

The hospitality of Chesterfield people has been frequently mentioned, and at the concert given in the Bradbury Hall, Chesterfield on Friday by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, it was abundantly proved. There were 70 performers and finding them accommodation was something of a problem. Before the interval Jean Pougnet, the well-known violinist, announced that there were eight who had nowhere to sleep.

There was a rush back-stage during the interval, and, before the orchestra started again, Jean Pougnet announced with many thanks, that the difficulty had been overcome without any trouble.

[mangerton]

On a similar note to the above, I attended a performance by Ivor Cutler in Glasgow's Third Eye Centre many years ago. He started the proceedings by asking the audience whether anyone was able to take him - and his harmonium - to Edinburgh after the show. Someone could, and the show went on.

[edashtav]

The Tinkling and Ringing Still Goes On!

Hastings Observer Saturday 8th January 1927

TINKLING CUPS AT THE WINTER ORCHESTRA

DEAF LADY WHO DID NOT HEAR THE CONDUCTOR’S PROTEST

At a recent performance of the Hastings Municipal Orchestra, Mr. Basil Cameron made a protest against the tinkling of tea cups during the music.
An interval is provided during which tea can be obtained, and apparently some of the audience like to take their own time over it, there being a superimposition of crockery tinkling over the soothing music of the orchestra.
Mr. Cameron’s protest was lost, however, on one elderly lady who is said to be one of the worst offenders. She was so deaf that she could not hear what the conductor said, but calmly went on drinking her tea.

There are fewer tea cups tinkling in the 21st century. I suppose the modern equivalent is the elderly person who hears not the clarion call to turn off their phone. Off it trills mid-movement and, of course, its owner is too deaf to hear it. And... making them aware that their phone is causing annoyance, is freighted with difficulties. Rising annoyance causes yelling and even that doesn't suffice. The phone ("I keep it for emergencies") cannot be found, and when it is, tense old fingers cannot switch it off. Furthermore, the agile digits of irritated helpers prove futile when trying to silence the vintage phone with its strange keyboard lay-out

The ringing still goes on ...

[edashtav]

His Show Never Start Without his Start-Up Routine

HS is exploring his treasury of tales first heard from fellow horn-player, Ifor James. Here is a story, in print will lack Ifor’s brilliant impersonation of JBs gravelly voice, about when Sir John Barbirolli was preparing to start a performance of “The Dream of Gerontius”:

The choir, orchestra and soloists were ready.
Sir John went into his famous `start-up' routine, which was as follows:

1. Clear the throat.
2. Chew the false teeth into position.
3. Check the left shirt cuff.
4. Check the right shirt cuff.
5. Pick up the baton.
6. Have another chew, whilst looking around to capture every eye.
7. Raise the baton and ....

A door opened behind the choir and a gentleman appeared. He did not move beyond the doorway.

Sir John lowered his baton and waited...
The man still did not move.

J.B. “Aren't you going to sit down?”

Latecomer “No thank you, Sir John. I'm fine just here.”

J.B. “Oh well, suit yourself.”

Back to the start-up routine:

1. Clear the throat.
2. Chew the false teeth into position.
3. Check the left shirt cuff.
4. Check the right shirt cuff.
5. Pick up the baton.
6. Have another chew, whilst looking around to capture every eye.
7. Raise the baton and ....

J.B. “Are you sure you don't want to sit down?”

Latecomer “No Sir John, really. I'm just fine here. You carry on.”

J.B. “Well close the door, then -- if you must stand there.”

Once again:
1. Clear the throat.
2. Chew the false teeth into position.
3. Check the left shirt cuff.
4. Check the right shirt cuff.
5. Pick up the baton.
6. Have another chew, whilst looking around to capture every eye.
7. Raise the baton and ....

J.B. “It's a very long piece, y’ know!”

[... and the show must have gone on.]

[edashtav]

Conductor Overboard! Can the Show Go On?

When Sir John Barbirolli assumed command of the Hallé orchestra, a few of the older members who had played under Sir Hamilton Harty were less than pleased with his interpretations of some of the well known popular orchestral repertoire.

Mutterings such as “… it would never ‘ad doon for Sir ‘amilton ..” could be heard among some of the woodwind and brass players.

On one occasion, the orchestra were rehearsing in Manchester’s Free Trade Hall; where the edge of the platform at that time must have been approaching five feet from the floor.

For some unaccountable reason, JB stepped back from his rostrum and disappeared from sight with a loud thump!

The 1st Clarinet turned to the 1st Bassoon.

“Charlie,” he said, “I think we’ve joost seen t’end of t’regime.”

Then a hand appeared on the edge of the rostrum. Followed by a a second hand – and then a tousled head.

“You can all wipe those grins off yer faces. I’m not dead yet!”


Hs

[edashtav]

Too Weary to Play but the Show Went On

From Reynolds Newspaper 19th May 1899

THE INVALID AND THE VIOLINIST

An old and infirm soldier was playing his violin one evening on the Prater, in Vienna. His faithful dog was holding his hat, in which passers-by dropped a few coppers as they came along. However, on the evening in question, nobody stopped to put a small coin into the poor old fellow's hat. Everyone went straight on, and the gaiety of the crowd added to the sorrow fn the old soldier's heart, and showed itself in his withered countenance.

However, all at once a well-dressed gentleman came up to where he stood, listened to his playing for a few minutes, and gazed compassionately upon him. Ere long, the old fiddler's weary hand had no longer strength to grasp his bow. His limbs refused to carry him farther. He seated himself on a stone, rested his head on his hands, and began silently to weep. At that instant a gentleman approached, offered the old man a piece of gold, and said, "Lend me your violin a little while."

Then, having carefully tuned it, he said, "You take the money, and I'll play."

He did play! All the passers-by stopped to listen, struck with the distinguished air of the musician and captivated by his marvellous genius. Every moment the circle became larger and larger. Not copper alone, but silver- and even gold-was dropped into the poor man's, hat. The dog began to growl, for it was becoming too heavy for him to hold. At an invitation from the audience, the invalid emptied its contents into his sack, and they filled it again.

After a national melody, in which every one present joined, with heads uncovered, the violinist placed the instrument upon the poor man's knees, and, without waiting to be thanked, disappeared.

" Who is it? " was asked on all sides.
"It is Armand Boucher, the famous violin-player," replied someone in the crowd. "He has been turning his art to account in the service of charity. Let us follow his example."

And the speaker sent around his hat also, made a new collection and gave the proceeds to the invalid, crying, " Long live Boucher!"

Deeply affected, the invalid lifted up his hands and eyes toward heaven, and invoked God's blessing on his benefactor.

That evening there were two happy men in Vienna—the invalid, placed for a long time above the reach of want, and the generous artist, who felt in his heart the joy which always repays the bestowal of charity.

[edashtav]

By Jove, I'm Legless with Mirth and I've Got to Conduct Jupiter


The final epistle for the moment from hornspieler:
As already noted, Ifor was a marvellous mimic. There was nobody he could not impersonate; so as well as Barbirolli, for whom he played, there was also Sir John Pritchard from Ifor’s spell with the RLPO.

The occasion on which this story is based was when, as Manager of “The BBC Training Orchestra” (laughingly re-named “The Academy of the BBC” by someone within Radio 3 hierarchy) I was in the conductor’s room during the interval of a concert given by the orchestra in Cheltenham Town Hall.

The conductor was that great orchestral trainer, George Hurst, and also present was the soloist in Mozart’s 4th horn concerto, Ifor James, who knew George from his old days conducting the BBC Northern Orchestra.

Ifor started telling some of his repertoire of Barbirolli stories and then turned his attention to the precious (for want of upsetting anyone from Liverpool) lispings of the other Sir John...

George started to laugh helplessly and was rolling about on the floorclutching at his stomach.

“Stop it, Ifor! I’ve got to go back out there to conduct the second half. I can’t even stand up."

Well, we got George to his feet, restored his breathing, dusted him down and propelled him through the door in the direction of the stage.
The Jupiter Symphony sounded alright to us, but whether it was George or the leader, Peter Mountain, who was controlling the performance, I have no idea.

[edashtav]

The Concerto Could Not Go On

from the Surrey Mirror Friday 13th August 1926

THE VANISHED VIOLINIST

A well-known Hungarian violinist was engaged to give a concert in an Italian town where there was an orchestra whose conductor was by no means the perfect accompanist. The concert was to be held in the theatre, and on the afternoon before the concert a full rehearsal was held.

The violinist was far from being satisfied with the conductor’s beat, and began himself to beat time with his foot. In his turn the resented this, and urgently warned the soloist not to do anything of the kind during the concert, or the consequences might be disagreeable.

When the concert started all went well, the players being inspired by the fine playing of the visitor. Shortly, however, the conductor’s faulty beat began to have an effect, and the soloist got more and more angry. Finally, so annoyed was he that, forgetful of the conductor’s warning, he started beating the time with his foot.

At this, to the amazement of the public, he suddenly disappeared through the stage. The conductor had previously arranged with the stage mechanic that the stamping should be a signal to open the trap! There is no record tat this ever happened again or that the violinist repeated his visit to that particular town.

[edashtav]

Once in Royal The Herald Angel Sang

I was a bass, stiffening a secondary school choir for a friend, the school's music director. It was his first year in the post and he had decided to mount a Christmas Carol Service with 9 Lessons in church. Inevitably, it started with "Once in Royal David's City" and a young girl with a pleasant voice had been selected to sing verse 1, unaccompanied. She was fine - bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and full of confidence - in the afternoon rehearsal. But, in performance with the Headteacher in the front row and, no doubt, her family further back, the poor girl's mind blanked. She still sang with gusto and the words were well enunciated, but the tune came straight from "Hark , the Herald". Even that "works" metrically... for a couple of lines... but then ... but then ... THE SHOW HAD TO GO ON.

I leave you to speculate on the best, or actual, way forward!

[edashtav]

This Show Will Go On if the Key is Right!

Carrying on with churches and choirs:

Reports of Church Choir strikes are legion. Issues are often small matters, friction arising through lack of diplomacy or from an overlap of responsibilities. Choirboys have been known to get tetchy over the absence of an expected outing, whilst "the men" can rumble in the jungle when the vicar chooses too many "unison" hymns.

For sheer triviality, this example takes some beating IMHO.

Lancashire Evening Post 12^th March 1924
DISPUTE OVER PITCH OF THE RESPONSES

The choir and organist of Upton village church near Newark have gone on strike over to a dispute between the vicar and the choirmaster over the pitch of the responses.
The organist and choirmaster, Mr C.H. Woodward […] gave the following version of the trouble:

“The vicar, […], has been here for only two months, and for ten months we were without a vicar. I, as organist and choirmaster, organised a fine choir of 30 voices. The vicar wanted a lower key to the responses but as the choir did not wish it I did not change.”

“On Ash Wednesday, the vicar spoke to the choir and said that he wanted a lower key during Lent and that in all church matters his word was final."
The choir resented any change, and as the vicar refused to give way, I and the choir resigned with one exception.”
“That one exception was the only member in the choir last Sunday.”
Mr. Woodward contemplates turning the choir into the Upton Glee Party. [Bless him!]

Vicar : "O Lord, Open Thou Our Lips"
Choir : "And Our Mouth Won't Show Forth Thy Praise"

[edashtav]

This Show Must Not Go On

Middlesbrough Gazette Saturday 8th February 1896

SHOWED HIM HOW

Music must be appropriate, as well as good of its kind, in order to touch the senses aright.
A hand-organ out of tune is far more effective in dispersing a mob than the most exquisitely played jews’ harp.
A famous musician was spending his holiday in the country.
On Sunday he went to church and asked the organist if he might play the organ afterpiece [ postlude]. Consent was granted, and the stranger produced such wonderful and beautiful music that everyone stayed to enjoy it.
This vexed the regular organist, who had his own ideas of what an afterpiece was intended for.

“That kind of playing,” he whispered anxiously, “will never get the people out. I’ll show you how to do it.”

With that he pushed the volunteer aside, took his place, and began droning away in his usual style.

Speedily the congregation arose from the pews and fled.
“There !” cried he, with a self-satisfied smile, “that is the way to play them out!”

[edashtav]

For the Show to Go On We Need Corn Laws

Bedford Corn Exchange's name is etched into British musical history as the temporary refuge for (Sir) Adrian Boult and the BBC S.O. during World War II.
A decade earlier, it supported another group of visitors which could not be "ignawed".

Derby Daily Telegraph Monday 17^th November 1930

RATS STOP AN ORGAN

Rats have gnawed the pneumatic apparatus of the Bedford Borough organ in the Corn Exchange so severely that the instrument has been put out of action, and the town council have decided to have it repaired.

The general opinion is that no public hall can be expected to serve satisfactorily the dual purposes of the exchange of corn and the holding of concerts.

The rats have it both ways, for they gnaw both corn and the organ.

Once the organ had been repaired did the Council:
Send in its ratcatchers, a.k.a the Bedford Choral Society, to sing Parry's cantata "The Pied Piper of Hamelin"
Pass a set of Bedford Corn Laws?

[edashtav]

This Rat Pack included a Cat

Leamington Spa Courier 26th May 1905

A curious thing happened this month at Lexington, a city in Kentucky. The choir at the Hight Street Church met for practice on the 5th May, but when Miss Florence Elliott, the organist, pressed the keys an unusual sound issued from the big instrument that cause the singers to pause for a fresh start. :(
Then the mewing of a cat was heard, and at that the members choir began to scatter and the choir practice was broken up.

Investigation disclosed the fact that a large black cat was confined in the instrument.
How it got there is a mystery. It is generally believed that the cat wandered down through the cellar, and probably in following the trail of a rat entered the organ through the motor drive. It could not find its way out. The organ refused to play, and a machinist was required to fix it and liberate the cat.