A MUSICAL INTERLUDE

[Stanley]

A MUSICAL INTERLUDE

3 February 2005

(This was posted on Oneguy by a friend, Barrie Sharples and I think it's worth repeating. In case you are wondering after you have read it, I know Barrie well enough to regard him as an honest and truthful man. I have no explanation for what follows, simply trust in the reporter.)
'Back in October of last year my old friend John, called round to ask me if I could help him with some research into his family history. I was busy explaining the locations and availability of primary source data when he received a call on his mobile. John, a widower, previously worked for an insurance company but for the last three years had been running his own executive automotive recovery company. Following the call John apologized and said he would have to leave on a ‘call-out’, adding, “If you want you can come with me.” When I learnt the destination I readily agreed, so we set off with due haste in his plush Discovery, I knew from previous trips that it had all mod cons, ‘Sat-Nav’, TV, daily newspapers and even hot coffee on tap, mainly for customers convenience, of course.
It took a little over an hour to reach our destination where the customers vehicle had ‘broken down’ outside his front door. I had often travelled the windswept moorland road passing the imposing stone entrance arch with heavily ornate iron gates with the griffin surmounted gateposts, and wondered what lay therein. There will be some of you who may already know of the place of our visit. From past walks in the district I had seen from distant high ground some turrets peeping through the surrounding trees but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.
As we turned off the road and swept through the electrically operated gates we climbed a steep gravel drive up through a mature plantation of trees, which seemed to go on forever. After about a mile the drive suddenly levelled as it swung us sharply to the right and like emerging from a tunnel into the blinding light the encroaching trees gave way to lush lawns and an impressive avenue of Grecian sculptures which did not seem at all out of place in this North Yorkshire backwater.
My schoolboy-like awe increased even further as we approached a most impressive house, a sort of Scottish baronial influence gone mad but still with taste. We were greeted by someone standing at the foot of a flight of stone steps leading down from the ornate portico, “This is the sinner,” he said, nodding towards another Rover Discovery parked nearby. John was soon plugging in his diagnostic pod and pressing buttons and grunting at each successfully concluded test, suddenly he cried eureka! He disappeared under the bonnet and within a couple of minutes emerged with a grin on his face. “What’s the problem” I asked, “Oh it was just a simple wire off” he replied, “All sorted now”. The engine roared into life to confirm, and a final check with his box of tricks cleared the registered fault codes and the job was done. Turning to the man who had welcomed us John said, “I'll need a signature please” the chap replied “His Lordship asked me to show you to the music room when you have finished, please follow me”.
He led the way up the stone staircase through the entrance and into the magnificent hall, I was trying to absorb the splendour, whilst wishing to myself that I had more time to take it all in. He opened a massive oak door and announced “Mr. John and friend, sir” a soft voice said “over here chaps” we ventured in towards the source of the voice.
It soon became apparent why we had not seen his Lordship. He was on all fours in front of a musical instrument, he stood up and shook our hands warmly and seemed genuinely pleased to see us. “Is the car OK now John?” he enquired, “Yes” replied John “Just a rogue wire connection”. “Ah good, neither nowt nor summat! He responded with a grin. I found myself musing how it was that those with ‘old money’ are invariably polite, friendly and genuinely interested in other people.
“That’s a lovely piece, is it a Spinet?” I enquired, feeling a little more relaxed, “No” his Lordship said “It’s a 16th Century Italian Harpsichord, just got it off my brother and about time too, there has been this space awaiting for its return for years”.
I was thinking should I ask if he played or not but was beaten to it when he said, “It’s a pity I can't play it. I will have to await my granddaughter.” Then almost as an afterthought, “Do either of you have the gift?” I said no apologetically, then awaited John’s negative response, for I knew that like me he didn’t have a musical note in his body. In our youth we had both received piano lessons from the same place on Rainhall Road in Barlick but gave them up in frustration.
John by this time was very slowly gliding his hand over the beautifully grained walnut his face expressionless. He then sat down and without a word started to press the keys repeatedly, using only his right thumb and forefinger, I was just about to crack a poor joke along the line of, oh that’s what I usually play, when he stopped me dead.
John began to play with neither music sheet nor even a glance at the keyboard, in fact he just stared as if transfixed at the strings. The music filled the room and beyond as two ladies joined us obviously attracted by the wonderfully haunting melody. After what seemed like a delightfully long period John ended his impromptu recital, rose from the stool to a ripple of bravos and polite clapping. He did not smile nor acknowledge the obvious pleasure he had given us. His lordship thanked John and said something along the lines of the next time we have guests I will have to arrange for my car to breakdown again. John now seemed to regain something of his normal self, managed a half smile and said “Well thank you sir but we really must be going now.”
Following handshakes all round we retraced our steps to our car and set-off down the drive leaving them waving goodbye, which struck me as a very nice and totally unexpected gesture.
As we regained the moor road I turned to John and said “Well you’re the one for surprises aren’t you, when did you learn to play like that?” Silence, so I repeated the question as if he hadn’t heard me the first time. I could see he was fighting to find a response then he said, “ I haven’t, it just sort of came out.” I could see from his furrowed brow and facial expression he was somewhat troubled so I decided to let the matter rest for the time being.
John didn't speak again during our return journey, and as I sat watching the countryside flashing by I found the melody of John’s music repeating itself over and over again in my mind. On our return home we parted company with an assurance on both parts that we would meet the following week.
I didn't tell anyone about the episode but I decided I would spend some extra time on John’s infant family tree so as to cheer him up at our next meeting. I obtained a birth record for his grandfather from the local record office, which gave me John’s great grandparent’s names and address and occupation. The occupation of the father “Professor of Music” struck me as rather funny making me smile at the irony of it. Using this information and the recorded dates I next looked at the Census for 1871, then BANG! It hit me like a train, there it was for all to see Joseph Augustus ***, Relationship teacher, single, 42, Occupation Professor of Music, born ***Yorkshire but it was the entry under 'Road, Street, Name of House' that really hit me, there it was D*** Hall! I stared in disbelief, this was the very same place we had visited earlier.
The words of his Lordship about his harpsichord came flooding back to me, “Just got it off my brother and about time too, there has been this space awaiting for its return for years”. Could it be? No, ridiculous I thought, but the co-incidences kept spinning around in my head.
Never before have I experienced anything like this, I kept turning the details over and over in my head as if I could recall some missing fact that might explain everything. I was also trying to decide what I should tell John and how he might react or indeed should I just drop the whole idea. Because of his interest in his family’s history I appreciated that sooner of later he would discover what I had found and I may not be able to offer any support that may be required.
Things came to a head a week later, I had telephoned John to see if he wanted to pop over to continue the earlier aborted session, he had cheerfully accepted. I began to wonder if it might be better to let things rest for a while, or at least ‘play it by ear’. John arrived, we joked as we drank a preliminary caffeine fix, and every thing seemed normal. Then John said “Sorry about the other week, I wasn’t good company I hope I didn’t spoil the trip for you?” I reassured him that all was fine and that I had thoroughly enjoyed the visit but skirting around his musical talents. Perhaps sensing my feelings of trepidation he then said, “Funny thing that, fancy being able to play that instrument like that.”
Suddenly, and without hesitation I felt compelled to reveal what I had discovered about his great grandfather. He sat quietly for a moment then said, “Yes I thought that there must be some sort of ‘presence’, which assisted me.” Seeing the puzzlement on my face continued with his explanation. “As soon as we had entered the music room I felt a little strange” he said, “and when I touched the harpsichord it felt just as a freezing hand might when its returned to a sheepskin glove. Then I remember sitting down but little else until I became aware of the applause, although I distinctly remember the music and somehow my responsibility for it”. John then admitted to have tried again on his uncles piano but, as he put it, “There was just nothing there”.
We have met again socially, on two or three occasions since, and things seem back to normal but I often wonder how he might react if he has to return to the Hall again. I can't explain why this all happened, I am not a religious man, nor do I believe in spiritualism or anything of that nature. I will leave it to others to judge for themselves and draw their own conclusions.

3 February 2005