A Broken Reed

Iwas the youngest of six brothers, three of us at home- the older ones had already left. Some of my elder brothers had studied music, learned to play an instrument, but when my turn came, family financial problems intervened; I was not offered any musical education. Just as well, perhaps, because I was tone-deaf.

First Bosun, then Colin, learned to play the mouth-organ, becoming quite proficient, experimenting with bass-harmonicas, reading sheet music, playing duets and eventually forming the melody section of a small amateur band, "The Happy Harmonics". I loved to hear them practice, but whenever I tried to sing along with them, the resultant discord had me banished from the room.

I compensated by learning the words of all the songs they played; this gained me little satisfaction, and I longed to be able to join in the fun. Eventually, I was offered a bone. A reed on one of the instruments broke, and I was given the discard to play with. At the end of our back garden, behind the vegetable patch, was a cucumber frame. The glass was broken, it was choked with weeds, but the concrete surround made a comfortable, and sufficiently remote, seat for me to experiment. Gradually, over some months, with written instructions on which numbered note to play, I managed a few simple melodies, and, to my surprise, and my brothers', I found that I could hold a tune.

A war intervened, "The Happy Harmonics" was disbanded; I clung to my mouth organ and my new-found ability to make music. By the time I volunteered for military service I had progressed to an instrument with all its reeds, and over the next few years, initiated many a sing-song in camps in North Africa and Italy.