Where was I? Ah yes, I had left a message on George’s phone that I had considered the assignment off. He had not shown up at Morden tube. And yes, I felt a huge relief; a great weight was off my back. I caught a bus to where my brother and his wife lived.
The garden party was already in full swing when I arrived. The sun was now out and most of everybody was already there in the long garden. ‘Grandma’ was relaxing, with a glass of white wine, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. The place was busy and merry.
I’d forgotten all about George and began chatting to members of the family. Someone served me a beer and I remember reclining in a garden chair underneath the apple tree and thinking how grand life was. An hour had gone by, and I’d had at least two pints of beer. And then one of the daughters-in-law approached me in rather urgent fashion, “David, David, there is someone at the door asking for you.” For a moment I couldn’t think who it might be and then the penny dropped. “Oh no.” I put my hand to my mouth, believing it could be George. I was in panic mode and walked quickly through the house towards the front door. The door was already open, and two or three of the adults had come to check what was going on. And yes, there was George but not as I had remembered him. Not the George I recognised from the tube subway. George was dressed in an immaculate mid blue suit. I would call it electric blue. I had a kind of shimmer and the kind of suit he might wear for a wedding. He carried a large black case and he opened it to show a gleaming, state-of-the art accordion. Gleaming red in the sunshine. This was definitely not the accordion he had used in the Underground station at Kings Cross.
I was in shock, and said to George, “didn’t you get my message?” And he answered “No, no, I come, I play.” (He must have used the maps I had given him.)
I took a deep breath, shook his hand and said “Good to see you, come on in and start playing as you go through the house. Everyone is waiting for you in the garden!”
So, George began playing, music from Paris, Hungarian dances, and all manner of other tunes, entertaining us all. His music could even be heard in Morden Park at the end of my brother’s garden. It was absolutely wonderful. Grandma (whose 80th birthday it was) was in seventh heaven. In one musical break, my brother invited him to tour the garden. I remember George pointing to my brother’s pond and saying “Look. Fish, fish, we don’t have this where I live.” (He had come from east London.)
Ninety minutes had gone by when there was a shower of rain. Nearly everyone one rushed into the house for shelter, many of us, including George, going into the dining room, where a Yamaha upright piano was. Some of the ladies put out a delicious buffet for everyone to tuck in. But George continued playing his accordion. My brother, a gifted pianist and accompanist at the Royal Ballet School, accompanied George on many a tune. It was just wonderful. You name it and they played it.
In a quieter moment my brother had asked me, “Who is he, how do you know him.” I paused, thinking what the hell would I say. I lied and said I know him from Holloway Prison!
My brother was so taken by George’s ability that he said to him, “oh you must come again.” And George said “Yes, yes, I bring my wife.” We fed George from the food table and invited him to take some home with him for his family. I gave George the agreed £100 and topped it with another £10 or £20, I can’t remember. And I had been drinking!. I think he had been there for three hours.
My brother offered to take George by car, back to Morden tube, and I joined them for the ride. It was quiet in the car; little was said. I suspect my brother was thinking of what I had told him. How would I have met him at Holloway Prison? Unless of course George had been a guest, after all, it is a prison for women.
After we had said goodbye to George and were driving back to the party, my brother questioned me, “Really, who is he?” “How do you really know him.” He hadn’t believed what I had said.
This time I told him the truth. “I found him in an underground subway.” I think at this point my brother decided that he wouldn’t invite George back. And he never did. I think he believed his wife would not tolerate the idea, that they wouldn’t befriend him, even though he had duetted with him at the piano. They also may have thought that I had taken liberties”!
And I never did see George again. He had told me when we first met, that he travels around. He had a kind of circuit of underground stations. I regret not keeping in touch with him, though I may have his number on my records somewhere. But George had taught me a lesson: never to make assumptions about people, how they look or the circumstances in which one first meets them. I had let George down. When there were dark clouds in the sky, I became negative, full of mistrust. But George never let me down. In fact, he rose sublimely to the occasion.
And my brother fell into the same trap as I had done. To allow negativity to influence his judgment. Do not presume you cannot befriend someone just because they are poor or live off the street. Nobody who attended that 80th birthday party will ever forget George’s brilliant musicianship and courtesy. I’m proud I booked him.
What a difference a day makes!
You couldn’t make it up!
Recovery pneomonia...making progress, a struggle
Absence makes heart grow fonder
Brother in hospital with pulmonary fibrosis 
