Magical Music

Everyone has times when, like Sliding Doors in the movie by that name, something magical happens, and a new path is forged in an altogether different direction than one believed possible.

Such a moment occurred when I turned ten. Factors did lead up to it. Looking back afterwards, I could scarcely believe how someone's quick thinking and generosity could make such a difference in my life.

I had been assigned to do a Bible Reading and had been practicing and practicing. When the day came for me to read it, I was ill. Because I had always been responsible, my mother left me in bed while she went with my siblings to Church to do the Bible Reading in my stead.

It had been my first assignment, and the Minister, Cecil Harry, invited me to his home to read in front of him and his wife. He intended to encourage and praise me so that on another occasion, I would feel even more confident. He appreciated the time and work I must have put in to perfect the reading.

Afterwards, we had a drink and snack and discussed various topics. We ended up on the subject of playing musical instruments. Out of the blue, I said, " I'd love to play the violin." It wasn't something I'd been pining for. But of all my siblings, I was avidly interested in Music and dancing. Science came a close third. I also tended to be impulsive. 

Initially, I had loved Ballet. I attended lessons for a few years until, because of a lack of family support, my parent's breakup, and the need to walk home after classes in the dark, even in inclement weather, I gave up. It had been my decision, but it came with regrets. Next, I wanted to learn the piano. My mother said we couldn't afford it, nor did we have the space for a piano. This was well before the compact electronic piano keyboard had been invented. I also loved the sounds a violin makes. My mother often played different styles of classical Music, which gave me an appreciation from an early age.

For whatever reason I said it, it led to a remarkable change in my life.

The Minister said, "Wait a minute." He left the room and returned with an unusually shaped case. When he opened it, I first saw an old violin. 

"This is now yours. It came to me from my parents, but no one in my family was interested in learning it. An instrument needs to be played."

I felt touched and surprised and could barely believe my eyes. It made being sick a few weeks before totally worth it! Who would have guessed that he even possessed such an instrument? My being sick had been such a letdown. The opportunity to still do the reading had been an intrinsic blessing. And now, I'd said I wanted to play the violin! Maybe the instrument, bored with sitting inside the top of a wardrobe in the dark for decades, had willed me to allow it to live again. So many coincidences left me with a feeling of a greater plan at work here. Could I really do this? Would my mother say yes? It seemed imperative to free the Music trapped in this old instrument.

"But Mum. This is such a great opportunity. You only have to pay for the lessons. Wherever they are, I can walk or bus. This violin wants an opportunity to be played!" 

"Lynley, please leave it to me. I'll look into it, and if possible, you'll have your music lessons."

My mother discovered that the city's Music School provided lessons for several instruments at the local Polytechnic on Saturday mornings. A combined orchestra lesson followed, including all students, even beginners.

My mother's friends across the road thought it was a brilliant idea and hired violins for their twin boys to also take lessons. I felt proud to have my own instrument. Every Saturday morning, the three of us headed out to catch a bus to the city. We looked out for each other.

To my utter disappointment, I couldn't play the violin. Like any instrument, it takes time to master the basics. The violin and other progressively larger stringed instruments have bridges to support the strings so that they sit at different heights above the area between two curved sound holes situated on the waist of the instrument. If double stopping is intended (playing two strings together) the bridge's top edge may be almost flat, and the instrument is played as a fiddle. As the bow glides across the strings, the bridge carries the vibrations into the violin's hollow body, enabling sound to resonate from the sound holes.

Despite the initial challenges, I was determined to learn to play the violin. I aimed to make clear, melodious sounds by playing the strings separately. The first and last string, G and E, posed no challenge. I quickly learned the fingering and could start and end my scales alright. Initially, anything played on the middle two strings ended up being an out-of-tune combination of sounds from both. I couldn't successfully keep my bow from touching the string next to it. But I was determined and practiced and practiced until I mastered it. Soon, I learned in a different class from my two friends. We still bused together and met at orchestra practice.

During my first session in the orchestra, I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. As I mastered my performance in class, I gradually contributed more to the orchestra practices.

Before long, complete and in-tune melodies—simple ones — emanated from behind closed doors when I practiced at home. My siblings still complained of caterwauling and deafening discord. They teased me, but I didn't expect anything else from such musically illiterate children.

I loved my life with its musical dimension. Time went on, and as the end of the year drew closer, we rehearsed set orchestral pieces to perform in an end-of-year show for our families. During one of these practices, a catastrophe happened—the type of disaster where one has a rug torn away from under one's feet so fast that one is left sitting on one's bum, bewildered.

My brilliant violin teacher was checking my precious violin's fine-tuning when the scroll broke off. He was mortified. I stared in horror. How could such a thing even happen? The teacher looked embarrassed. Closer inspection revealed an old injury to the scroll, which had been deftly repaired. Invisible to most eyes, it was clearly visible now that the strain had reached its maximum and the inevitable had happened: an old wound with its scar ripped open—a weak point that could no longer remain intact.

I walked from the bus stop with a heavy heart. It felt humiliating to have had this happen in front of all the children and teachers at orchestra practice. What could I do with my poor, ailing violin? Could it be repaired?

My mother looked astounded when I showed her the instrument. She called Pastor Cecil Harry, who had given it to me. He had no idea it had ever been repaired and felt very sorry.

The following week, my mother discovered the violin couldn't be affordably repaired. Also, it would leave the violin with the same weakness as before, and the tension of the strings would cause a similar mishap in the future. 

No other violins were available to hire. I couldn't imagine any other friends of ours with another to bestow on me on short notice. It felt strange not having my violin to practice. I felt my future as a musician was torn away for good. What was the point in the miracle of being able to learn to play, only to have this happen? And, tragically, my poor violin would never be played again. I didn't know who I felt sorrier for.

I found it difficult to laugh or smile but stoically carried on despite my tortured thoughts and feelings of disappointment. At night, I cried myself to sleep. I didn't want my mother to feel the pressure of having no money to solve the situation. All the hard work I'd done seemed to be for nothing. 

The following week, my mother's manfriend commented on my sadness. He sensed something must have happened, so my mother told him the sorry tale.

'I've heard you love playing your violin, Lynley. I'm really sorry for what happened. Look, I'd love to help. If your mother is OK with it, how about I buy you a violin of your choice, and you can work in my shop on Friday nights to gradually pay me back. I always need price and advertising stickers put on new stock. Do you think you could do it?"

I nodded my head and felt a lot brighter. My mother looked dubious, but he convinced her to let him do this for me. I believe he would have done anything to earn my mother's favor.

***

We went shopping for my new violin. After trying out several, I chose a golden-colored Japanese one. It didn't look like my old one, but it had a superior tone to the others I tried out. It was beautifully shiny and new. My mother gave me a couple of silk scarves to wrap around it to protect it in its case.

Afterwards, as promised, I caught the bus into town on Fridays after school to do my tasks in the shop. I did as many weeks of Fridays as I was asked to. It wasn't until I reflected back as an adult on the cost of a violin compared to my work that I realized what a generous man my mother's beau had been. She married him, and he continued his generosity throughout my life. He, too, had nurtured my dream of playing the violin.

What a wonderful surprise my fellow musicians and my violin teacher had when I turned up for class and orchestra after being away for a fortnight. I had plenty of time to perfect my playing for our small concert for family members. My new mentor came along and was impressed with our efforts. He saw me fully immersed in my playing with everyone. His support had not been wasted.

My new father bought a piano, and two younger sisters had lessons. My mother said I had to be content with my violin and wouldn't let me learn the piano as well. When they had finished practicing, I tried playing on my own from my sisters' books. I went on to have lessons in music theory up to the level required for studying Music in secondary school. This also required playing a musical instrument, though most other students played the piano.

I never became a Yehudi Menuhin. But I enriched people's lives with my playing. I played in numerous orchestras and ensembles. In my twenties, I took my son to practice. He sat and lightly strummed his ukulele, keeping him out of mischief while we played. The pianist wasn't amused, but it instilled in my son a love of Music. 

Some friends of mine made up a group, including drums, singers, and guitars, with me on the violin. I am nothing like the rebel player Lindsey Stirling, but we had a lot of fun and played at friends' weddings for free, just for the invites and the opportunity to play.

Decades later, one of the young guys from the family who opened their home for us to practice back then, mentioned that he remembered me playing the violin. He assumed my love of Music had been nurtured from an early age. As a father, he decided he wanted his child to have an opportunity to learn a musical instrument. 

I told him my story. It is a remarkable story. But being a musician didn't become a career for me. Like many young people, I settled for marriage and children. I had no desire for fame. I may not have ever attained such a standard. The last time I played my violin, a memorable time I will never forget, was when my son, the musical one, acted and sang in the musical, The Boyfriend. He put my name forward to play the violin part of the music score with a talented elderly violinist and a brilliant pianist.

I've always been grateful for Music's part in my life. All thanks to a crippled violin which found its way into someone's dark wardrobe decades ago. It wanted to play some magical music before it died. Creativity needs an outlet, and a musical instrument requires a player.

***

Now, Lynley seeks to entertain differently: writing. She has always been a typical writer, forever putting pen to paper, writing poems, and telling stories. There is a callous on the side of her middle finger to prove it, though using a P.C. has made writing easier. Reedsy Prompts provides an endless supply of prompts to inspire her.

The End