The Concert by John Barclay
THE CONCERT
Thirty four years ago, almost to the day, I was shot as I walked beneath the arches near the Pier and Aquarium in Brighton.
I was unlucky, according to the surgeon, to be caught in the crossfire of two rival gangs, but also lucky to be alive. The bullet remained embedded in my brain, inoperable, switching off the power and turning out the lights for ever.
I was only twelve then and neither particularly bright nor sporty. My recent geography report from school described my work as ‘outstandingly bad’, whilst it seemed my talentlessness for games was exhaustive. Teachers told the truth in those days. And now I was making heavy weather of Braille where my fingers lacked the necessary sensitivity – but I struggled on.
I found my social life somewhat dried up after the shooting. ‘Friends often forsake those whom fortune forsakes’. And so it was to music I turned, my greatest love, along with my black labrador Brutus, not in fact a guide dog (I was considered too young), but my most trusted friend despite his name with its suggestion of infidelity. With neither the dexterity to play the piano or strings, nor the puff for wind instruments, I settled down to write a letter.
‘Dear Jim,’ I wrote. ‘Could you please fix it for me to conduct an orchestra in a concert?’ I think it was the Braille that did the trick and one Saturday, shortly after Christmas, I travelled with my parents to the Royal Festival Hall. There I was to conduct the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in a performance of ‘Peter and the Wolf’, narrated by Johnny Morris.
After brief introductions but little rehearsal, I was ushered to the podium ready for the off. Johnny Morris began to tell the story and, as I raised my arms and began to wave them about, it seemed the musicians knew exactly what to do. It was Sparky and the Magic Piano all over again. The Cat (clarinet), the Bird (flute), the Duck (oboe), the Grandfather (Bassoon), Peter (strings) and the Wolf (horns) all came in right on cue as my arms moved up and down in an effort to keep up with Prokofiev’s rhythms and melodies. The rich sound of the orchestra and the gentle voice of the narrator set my heart on fire as I had never known before.
The applause at the end, and some cheers too, echoed about the Hall in appreciation of a performance well done. I turned to the audience, bowed and savoured my special moment.
I was then aware of Johnny Morris at my side.
‘I want to introduce you,’ he said, ‘to Mr Previn.’ I turned and the great man shook me warmly by the hand.
‘Well done,’ he said, ‘and thank you. I couldn’t possibly have done it without you.’
For many years I treasured my Jim’ll Fix It badge until, much later, it became quite clear that this was no longer a badge of honour.
Is this a story of a real person, because to me the story itself seems real, which I guess is a mark of good storytelling.
My heart went out to this stoic child and his matter-of-fact acceptance of his life. And then the great treat and honour of that special day, and the sadness we feel that he is, quite literally, in the dark.
The complexity of human life…joy and woe woven fine, as Blake said…interesting issues raised here.
This is a bitter/sweet piece and could perhaps be two stories 1) (assuming the narrator is male) how the boy adapts to his disability and relationship with Brutus and 2) the actual concert which is very atmospheric and colourful with the personages of Johnny Morris and Previn and, of course, Peter and the Wolf the but gives the reader a
bumpy landing. The writing conveys good contrasts. I liked the story.
From Simon: This had a great first line, which reminds me of the shock opening to James and the Giant Peach. I liked the uncomplaining tone of the narrator’s voice and also his recognition of his inadequacies. He is someone to whom life has dealt a rotten hand, but that doesn’t stop him trying to realise his ambition. The boy’s love of music and the excitement of conducting the orchestra are made more powerful by the unadorned style. Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, the hairs on the back of most readers’ necks swill tart to stand up when they realise the narrative is about Jim’ll Fix It, but there is a neat pay-off in the word-play with the noun ‘badge’. Two tiny cavils… Charlotte Brontë is misquoted – she actually wrote, ‘Friends often forget those whom fortune forsakes.’ And the third sentence in the fourth paragraph is a bit unwieldy. I think that’s an instance where, if you’d read the piece out loud to yourself, you would have been aware of the awkwardness. I’m a great believer in reading anything you write out loud. Another effective cure for an unwieldy sentence is making it into two sentences. But a nice piece of writing, which fulfilled the brief well.