SorrelHippo (SH) recently commented on her Piano Mistress and being hit over the hand with a ruler if her hands were in the wrong position. This takes me back to the 1950’s when my younger brother and I began piano lessons under the tuition of Miss S, an elderly spinster lady who lived down the road in a Victorian house still operating on gas light. She was a small lady, in her late sixties or early seventies, though to us she looked about 98. Pasty faced, a bit hunched up, and a similar appearance to “Grandma”, the Giles cartoon from the Daily Express of the 60’s and 70’s, wearing those tiny round glasses. I think we called her Piggy Eyes. Nearly every garment Miss S wore was made of wool. Used wool, worn wool, smelly wool. All in muted colours of grey or brown hues. Maroon would have been very loud. Fortissimo. Woolly stockings and woolly mittens. (Gloves with the finger-part cut off.) I’m even sure she wore these mittens in the height of summer.
If I was lyrical about her I would describe her as a foggy bagwoman of the 1890’s. There certainly was a musty smell about her. Never married. She hated any kind of flamboyancy. She was ruled by the metronome, tick tock, tick tock. She kept a 4 to the bar beat, by hitting us on the shoulder with a metal knitting needle and if my brother or I were to make a mistake and play a wrong note, she would strike our knuckles with the offending knitting needle. We probably should have stabbed her in eye. We hated her. Dog breath would be polite.
My brother and I would alternate each week. One week I would have the lesson first and then followed by my brother. I cannot remember which way round I preferred. But I do remember staring into the coal fire whenever I was waiting for my brother, watching the flickering flames and the coal disintegrate and fall into dusty grey embers, a fate I now wish had happened to her. God only knows how many red devilish imps I could see in that fire!
The room was lit by gaslight in the winter. A tulip shaped glass contained the gas element. She would pull a chain and light the gas and “poof” the flame emerged. Around the walls were framed certificates of her qualifications. Ancient scrolls to me, all in Victoriana script. She hated Liberace and would run an arm up and down the piano to simulate what the great entertainer did, except of course he used his fingers. I’m sure she abhorred the fact that Liberace was popular. We didn’t even know who Liberace was at the time since we had no TV at home, just the radio.
We learnt scales and fingering and learnt about crotchets, minims, and quavers from William Smallwood’s Piano Tutor book. It may as well have been written by William the 1st. It should have been re-named “The Art of Pain Management”. I hated lessons and it was worse for me. My brother had a natural gift for music and hardly needed to practice. In later years he learnt the organ and went to Music College, gaining employment as an accompanist for the Royal Ballet school.
I was like that guy in the Muppets, Rowlf, the scruffy brown dog, glued to the sheet music in front of him. It wasn’t till I was past 50, that I began to train my ears to recognise pitch and intervals, and slowly build up a vocabulary of chordal harmony. I can read hymn music and chord notation, but any classical music, just forget it. Still, I now play the American Song Book and have developed my own jazzy style. I do play a grand piano at another London hospital and entertain visitors and outpatients, many of whom have psychiatric issues. Indeed, some of them believe I am one of them. In fact, tomorrow I am monitoring the playing of a former psychiatric patient who has expressed an interest in playing once a month.
Oh yes. I think the lessons cost my parents one florin, which was two shillings. today’s 10p. At some point it went up to half-a-crown for a 30-minute lesson. (12 and a half pence.) Was it worth it? Yes, because it taught me discipline. It didn’t however teach me the appreciation of music. That came later after the lessons stopped!
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A fascinating story of how life was for you and your brother. The piano teacher didn’t put either of you off music though which is good. Your brother did really well as did you in your own way. I did smile at the psychiatric patients thinking you were one of them. Brilliant. I love music and appreciate all sorts but have never had lessons of any kind and can’t play any instrument. I admire those that can. Xxx
Sorry Carole; she DID put us both off music. I would never teach like she did. Piano lessons should be made enjoyable. We don't learn to read before we can talk, do we? So why shouldn't we be taught to listen and learn. In that way, the sight reading might become easier! The dots and squiggles would then correspond to sounds we already know. ❤️
Brilliant. Wonderfully evocative of the era, and that type of teacher. You brother did well to go on to great things. Maybe there was a bit of revenge there? Thank you
Wow 😮 you must have been traumatised! I had a schoolteacher who, for reasons known only to herself , hated me and made my life a misery , I’ll never forget her . Nevertheless your story is spookily descriptive, weirdly fascinating and has a lovely happy ending insofar as you’re now bringing so much pleasure to others through your music despite the input of the dreadful Miss S 😊
I agree, looking back, it's "weirdly fascinating". I'm sure the discipline did me good. I've no ill feeling towards my teacher, she was from another age. But I enjoyed 'painting' the memory of it all! The gas light, the coal fire, the mittens and the knitting needle. ♥️
One of the interesting smells, that came from ladies of that generation (especially those who wore wool) was the treatment for chest problems. First you spread goose fat on your chest, then you put on a red, felted wool vest, (according to Gran had to be red) under your normal clothes. Keep it on (night and day) until chest got better (or maybe you stopped breathing). I think I prefer Salamol.
It’s a great piece , really well written and definitely painted a picture ,more Salvador Dali than Constable 😂 but whilst both great in their own style I’ve always much preferred Dali and found Constable too “nice” I think a life has to have areas of dark and light to be interesting 😊
Certainly your recent photos have areas of dark and light and I very nearly likened the last two to Salvador Dali paintings but played safe with Van Gogh. 🤣
I think Miss S would terrify most small boys, especially in those surroundings and musty smells. I applaud you and your brother for sticking to your lessons and making good use of them in later life. A lovely story and thank you for sharing xxx 😊
Thanks HollyBoyd, I will applaud my parents for their decision to have us taught piano and for making us practice. I know the discipline was good for me.
Hello David. Well written and a very enjoyable piece 😊. I could smell the musty wool... Eeeekkksss 😮. I had several music teachers and they were all rather non descript and wore suits. There was however one who liked to yell a lot. My parents decided this wasn't the best way to educate a young child so they found another teacher. A young woman who just graduated from the Trinity college of music in London. She was lovely and taught me to breathe from my belly. Thank you so much for this interesting story. xx 🎶🎵🎶
Thanks Cas, I enjoyed writing that up. Incidentally my brother went to Trinity College of Music as he was a fine organist. . He learnt the instrument whilst at Comprehensive School and played at the school assemblies and at school concerts. Academically, he wasn't too grade and he was rather lazy. More interested in motor bikes. But he did have a natural musical talent and served at the Royal Ballet School as accompanist for over 40 years. 🎹XX
I'm very proud of Andrew, my brother. At the end of this July he celebrates 50, years of marriage. He used to work at White Lodge in Richmond Park for the 15 years and under. I be really regret never having visited the place to see him at work. A very sensitive and brilliant accompanist. NB Now that triggers another story about an accordionist in a London Underground subway!
I remember having the strap from the headmaster in my school a few times and think it was a sign of the times to discipline the youth of the day, so wasnt surprised to read the same type of punishment from your teacher. Had to laugh at your decription of the wooly garb your teacher wore and the gas lights brought back memories of old neighbours when I was growing up. Much as you hated your lessons it gave you an untroduction to music for things like scales, fingering, crotchets, quavers and perhaps an ear for listening. Its nice to read you are so proud of your brother Andrew x
Spot on, lzb1, it DID give me an introduction to scales, fingering, and beat measures, all of which are vitally important. Right now I'm off to demonstrate my playing ability at a SW London hospital!
I never had private lessons and am tone deaf but at grammar school in the early 50s we had a male music teacher. He was a Doctor of Music but at weekends was known for being the leader of the dance band on the Central Pier in Morecambe. A brave man who could face us in our gymslips on Monday after enduring us in our full skirted finery on Saturdays. I read in the local paper that he had died last year aged 99.
At college we did woodwork and wrought iron work (as well as much else). The person who taught us these 2 subjects, was the gent from the local school. So he had boys under 15 for all the week and a group of 18 year old females 2 evenings a week, for one term. He always left us looking completely exhausted, he could not quite believe that some did not even know how to use a measuring tape, let alone a spirit level😱
Thanks for your interesting story, and well done for continuing with music. I had aunt who had grand piano in middle of room, and gave music lessons, she lived several miles from me. Towards end of war when roads had been repaired etc I was about 9 years old, and rode bike to her for lessons on Saturday morning. Though she was strict, never had fingers smacked. Parents bought me second hand piano to practice at home, quite enjoyed it. Winter of 1946 terrible weather, I had pneumonia and pleurisy, in bed for over 3 months, very weak afterwards. Couldn’t ridden bike to her even if been well. I was then at grammar school, and it was decided that best if I concentrated on catching up with half school year I had missed, so didn’t continue with lessons, but occasionally found time to play little, one of favourites was Come Back to Sorrento, can’t remember it now! Jean
If your teacher had gas lights, did she also have outdoor toilet and no bathroom. I had maiden aunt who lived in block of four houses that had communal yard, with toilet and coal stores etc. Bath was hung on wall and filled with hot water from stove fire in living room. Was sent to stay there during war when my home had no power etc and air raid shelter damaged.
Hi Jean, I'm pretty sure all the terraced houses down my road had outside toilets, though I never had the call to use one during piano lessons. Thank God. Yes I remember a zinc bath that was hung up. And a coal store in the garden. I seems like two centuries ago and I've almost given up on my memories! But thing I remember now is that my piano teacher ran a private school from her house. One of my school friends told me that at one time he had attended that school and the children used slates to write on! This would have been the early 50's.
I will private message (pm) you about Come Back to Sorrento. That's a lovely song. Mario Lanza has sung it and so has Dean Martin. I played that song on the piano in November and that story I will pm you today or tomorrow!
Jean, when you click on a heading to read a post, you will see a banner or strip running across the top of the post with 6 icons or signs. The middle two signs are a Dart and a Bell. The Dart symbol is where you can chat to members privately. But to activate a connection with anybody you need to "follow" that person. To do that you need to press the Follow button on that members profile page. Or something like that. I will send you a message now using the chat facility. You will see the figure 1 show up on the Dart icon. Just click on it and you will see my message. You can reply as well, without needing to "follow " me!
Whoops, you don't need to Follow anyone to message them! To message someone privately you just press the message button on that members profile. Whether you follow that person's posts is another matter!
When my 6yr old daughter showed interest in the piano I asked around to find a piano teacher for her. There was only one who lived within walking distance and who we could afford.
We enrolled our daughter with Mrs M who was rather like the teacher you had! However, she liked my daughter, who was quick to learn and eager to practice, and so all seemed well. Two years later, my son showed some interest and so he was also enrolled with Mrs M.
We discovered that Mrs M had an aversion to little boys! She disliked them itensely, but this only came to light after our son's lessons came to an end. The reason we stopped him going was that we found out that the old bat used to make him go out and wee in the garden if he couldn't wait until we collected him. In the winter it was dark and her garden was a wilderness with no light.
It was when I challenged her about this that her true, nasty feelings about all little boys came pouring out. No wonder our son wasn't happy!
We found another teacher for our children but could never get our son to try another lesson.
Our daughter, we found out, was far behind others who had started at the same age as the blooming lazy woman didn't help her progress. We didn't know what we should expect but had been surprised that she was never entered for any exams. The first thing the new teacher did was enter her for an exam and she worked her hard to get her through it. My daughter then flourished.
Fortunately, our son, now aged 47, has not lost a love of music. He can't play an instrument but his daughters and wife play the piano beautifully and he loves to hear them.
Moy, I'm quite shocked and angry on reading how your son was treated, but what a lovely ending to your reply. I know I could never teach a child who is learning to READ music. It's a pain to me and a pain for the child. Instead, I have spent time allowing a child to enjoy sounds, to learn using his or her ears. I worked with a Sri Lankan girl pre COVID and we played duets. I would play a tune in the middle of the piano and she would improvise using a selection of notes at the top end of the piano. I especially recording us play "Always" and playing the recording back to her father when he drove me home. He became quite emotional and had tears in his eyes because she would make little flourishes of movement with her right hand fingers that four times out of five, fitted in perfectly with what I was doing. It's all about ear training. I really enjoyed reading your reply. So glad to hear your son's wife and daughter play piano. Bravo!
We had a music teacher at high school she formed us into a choir, she played piano while we sang descant, soprano, contralto etc. I forget her name, we called her MaggieAnyway one of the girls had a terrible out of tune voice and Maggie used to get furious with her and throw her out of the class, we could never decide whether Catherine really couldn't sing or was just very good at singing completely off key!
My dad on the other hand had a lovely voice and could play the piano by ear, if you wanted him to play a tune you could sing it and he could play it. He never had a lesson and I don't think he could read music but he could entertain the family, I've just remembered he was a great whistler, I used to work in a bank and didn't need to look up to know my dad was in the branch 😂😂sorry this has been a long post but I have a huge smile on my face just rembering happy days
Thankyou so much GlasgowGirl for your reply. Isn't it amazing how some people are gifted with the ability to play a song on the piano just by listening to someone else sing it? My brother more or less has this gift. I do not. I am glad my post conjured up memories of your father playing and his whistling of course. How lovely to hear his whistling when you were working in the bank.
When I first joined the local church choir as a choirboy there was one lad who just groaned where all others sang. I remember the choirmaster saying "Who's that groaning?" I cannot remember the circumstances of that boy leaving the choir; he was only there a few weeks!
And please don't apologise for a long post. There is a wedding story in the bible when the best wine was served last. That is like your reply; the best is last!
I've loved reading this she sounds like a true victorian.i imagine she was quietly proud of u+ yr brother.she certainly must have taught u well.that was q a lot of money then x
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