Village Squire, 1979-03, Page 27MUSIC
Good music
is a gift
for all seasons
BY G.P.
March '43? That's more than half a life
time ago. The place was RCAF Station.
Rockcliff. where I had been posted for an
intensive six weeks course in Aircraft
Recognition. It was also the base where the
New Woman's Division was being trained.
On my second evening. I wandered off to
the recreation -hall to see what might be
, going on. There at one end was an informal
game of basketball, while at the other, four
girls were playing badminton.
As 1 watched idly. the strains of a piano
drifted through an open door, half way
down the hall. I moved in the direction of
the sound.
When I walked into the room. I found a
darkhaired girl sitting at the keyboard. My
first impression was that she must have
recruited on the very birthday that she was
old enough to join up. Off duty, one was
free to dress informally. She had let down
her hair. and the middy and skirt she wore
added to the little -girl appearance. The
expressive face reflected genuine delight
in the melody her deft fingers were urging
from the shop-worn old piano.
Some minutes later, she finished the
composition she was playing and straigh-
tened up. Sensing the presense of a
newcomer. she turned with a sunny smile
and asked. "you like music?"
"Me? Oh, yes. Please go on."
That was an outrageous lie. 1 was 30 at
the time. Had I told the truth it would have
been that my sole acquaintance with music
was limited to bawling out Onward
Christian Soldiers; Do You Ken John Peel,
or maybe at Christmas time, Hark the
Herald Angels sing in concert with family
and friends. while my older sister chorded.
. Turning back to the keyboard, the girls
commensed'what I was later to learn was a
sonata. She played on totally absorbed,
while I watched her face, observing with
delight its shifting emotions like the
changing colours of a sunset.
Later she permitted me to take her to the
snack -bar for a malted. There I discovered
that her name was Marielle laRocke. Her
home was in Montreal. A member of a
large family, all devoted to music, her
proudest boast was that Wilfrid Pelletier
was her uncle. Ignorant as I was, the name
meant nothing to me. Later one of
Marielle's friends told rice he was the
distinguished conductor of the Montreal
Symphony.
Every evening after that, I went to the
music room to watch Marielle play, or
accompanied her to the camp Musical
Appreciation Hours offered on a windup
gramaphone. Those were the days of the
old '78's. The disks contributed to those of
us in uniform were often the worse for
wear.
Bless you! I even took her up town on
occasions to see and hear the Columbia
Opera Company perform at the old Ottawa
Forum. I was quite unaware that the
accoustics left much to be desired.
My sole reward for all this was to be
close to Marielle and enjoy the total delight
that reflected in her face as she played or
listened.
The weeks past swiftly. I was posted to a
new base. Here I found myself going,
much to my surprise, to the Musical Hours
at the new camp. True, I carried a book but
found I was soon listening more than I was
reading. New bars like raindrops were
filtering down deep into the marrow to
germinate dormant seeds; marked, love of
music. I was 'hooked.
The war ran its course. I was discharged
and returned home.
With my wife and year-old daughter, we
set up housekeeping, in a rented flat. The
essential furnishings had to come first.
After that our first purchase was a record
player that could be plugged into our
elderly mantel radio. I still recall the price.
$13.95. We started our collection with 17
records mixed 10 and 12". That collection
is still growing 33 years later.
My wife of whom I had seen little in my
five years in uniform was delighted to
share my new enthusiasm. Raised in a
background not dissimilar to my own, she
had had her indoctrination into fine music
at college.
We have enlarged our listening range
year by year. Exposure to fine music has
had its magic influence on our girls now
married and busy collecting on their own.
To -day. I am a total prisoner, caught for
ever in a web whose strands are made up of
symphonies, love lyrics. operas and
concertos. Purcell at one end , of the
musical ladder soothes my nerves of an
evening. At the other the show tunes of
Rogers and Hamerstein set my toes a
tapping.
God bless you, Marielle, wherever you
may be, for you gave me in those March
days so many years ago a gift as
imperishable as diamonds, and infinately
more precious in sharing with me your love
�o CK
THE GIFT THAT...
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Wedding Bells...
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So. your wedding date has
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Your flower order is
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We would
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Listowel Florist Ltd.
Ed V.,. G•111.1
LISTOWEL, ONT•RIO
170 Wallace N. United No. 461
Listowel FTD No. 752675
Phone 291-2040
When you "say it with
flowers" from Listowel Florist,
"you've said it all.".
March 1979, Village Squire 25