A Recorder And A Rolls!

A Memory of Penzance.

It was August 1955. School summer holidays and when they were over, it would be time for me to begin junior school back in my Midlands home town. My mother had been preparing for that big event, purchasing embroidered cloth school badges to sew onto a new blazer and matching cap.

She'd purchased a new brown leather school satchel amongst other things such as a splendid set of pencil crayons and a geometry set which had lethal looking points on several items.

The use of all of those was to follow in September but now, sun, sand, and sea in Cornwall for a week or two with school quite absent from my mind.

We were staying at a very cosy B & B near Buryas Bridge run by a Mrs. Guard, a warm-hearted, elderly, rotund lady. Her husband, an old sea Captain, smoked his beloved ancient, gnarled pipe, wound the grandfather clock now and then, sounded a brass gong to call us to breakfast, told fabulous stories of his time before the mast in an evening with a miasma of grey pipe smoke wreathing him and not too much else.

You wouldn't call the place luxurious. A transfer decorated simple ewer and bowl served as the sole ensuite facility. The beds were brass framed, with deep mattresses and layers of blankets. It was simple and I loved it.

One day my parents and I drove into Penzance. I loved the raised footpaths with those sets of steps down to the street level, the statue of Davy dominating the top end of Market Jew Street and the museum.

Then, I spotted a music shop well down the street towards the station. In the window was a clear varnished, light coloured wooden recorder, a simple musical instrument similar in shape to a clarinet but much smaller. It had a white coloured plastic mouthpiece and bore the name 'Dolmetsch'.

That prompted my mother's memory. I would be needing one of these recorders at my new school. The music teacher, Mr. Lionel Bennett, favoured these for beginners but left it to parents to supply one. We went in and this magic flute was duly purchased for ten shillings and sixpence.

I don't know why but I took to this instrument so quickly. There was a simple logic to covering the assorted holes with my fingers to make credible and recognisable tunes. It seemed so natural to me and it seemed to amaze my parents. Neither of them were musicians of any sort but there was always music in our home, either from the radio or records.

My new treasure was rarely out of my hands during the remainder of that holiday. I tooted tunes by ear in the car and especially on Sennen Cove's beach. I don't think I drove my parents mad as we drove back to Staffordshire; at least they didn't say so, possibly partly due to my rapidly growing repertoire.

Back to school. Recorder lessons with Mr. Bennett. He seemed rather surprised at what I had already achieved whilst the rest of the class chugged shrill, monotone wails from their instruments.

I've enjoyed music ever since and learned to play far more sophisticated instruments but I will always remember how that so important part of my life first began in a tiny music shop in Penzance.

That's the 'Recorder' : now for the 'Rolls' in this article's title.

It was on the same holiday that I saw a very battered and very old black Rolls Royce wending its way down the same street belching grey smoke from the exhaust. Students' scarves were flying out of the windows and the young, bearded driver was hooting as he drove. Everyone stared, turned to the source of the commotion and saw a placard tied across the back of the leviathan which read as follows: 'Don't laugh madam, your daughter may be inside'. Ah! Students knew how to be proper students in 1955!