Richard Lloyd

CHAPTER 16
Glorious Choirs – Geraint Evans- Phillip Langridge-The Joys of ‘Fixing’?
In the years preceding my ‘fixing’ days, and co-existing alongside my full time teaching job, I was very much a, ‘jobbing’ fiddler, accepting any gig that was offered- dire poverty providing a strong incentive! Years later, Margaret and I would nostalgically ruminate that we were so poor, we hardly noticed it. Skint, but happy!
For a number of years, I was called upon by my hero, Haydn ‘Quke’ Davies, to lead a small string ensemble for the excellent, Calvary Chapel Choir, in Treforest, Pontypridd. It was conducted by a charming lady called, Gwyneth Pearce, who had been a guide and mentor to a host of local young aspiring singers, including Stuart Burrows, who ultimately became the world’s greatest Mozartian tenor. Stuart asserts, to this day, that he is deeply indebted to this gifted, scholarly lady who afforded him such wise guidance when he was a young man. It was she who taught him the basic, ‘bread and butter’, repertoire of oratorios that would remain many a singer’s staple diet and earning facility for many years to come.
As previously mentioned, in the fifties and sixties the two main orchestral ‘fixers’ in South Wales were John Crouch, with his Cardiff Concert Orchestra, and Swansea based Morgan Lloyd. As I lived midway between Rhondda and Cardiff, I became a Crouch ‘regular’. For any of the more difficult works, he would invariably draft in a phalanx of seasoned ‘pros’ from the BBC Welsh Orchestra ( as it was then known ). For we humble, part-time freelancers, it was a delight to play alongside the likes of violinists-Barry Haskey, Francis Howard, Jeff Booth, Ralph Boothroyd, Dewi Owen, Simon Weimann, violist Jeff Yorke, veteran ‘cellist, Philip Kent, and so many other fine players. Another great character was Mel Davey, who had left the full-time drudge as a violinist with the ‘Beeb’ orchestra, once he discovered that owning a fish and chip shop in a Cardiff suburb was far more productive, and less stressful! Indeed, Mel’s emporium, in Birchgrove, could justifiably boast the best bag of chips ever to grace many a wrapped copy of the ‘South Wales Echo’!
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One of the most enterprising choirs to be found in the South Wales valleys was the Nelson and District Choral Society, which was based in the Rhymney Valley. Under its highly individual, but charismatic conductor, Graham Barrar, it performed works such as Carl Orff’s, ‘Carmina Burana’, Prokofiev’s ‘Alexander Nevsky’, and Elgar’s ‘Dream of Gerontius’. At the time, these works, with the possible exception of ‘Gerontius’, were way beyond the usual, standard works performed by most amateur choirs in Wales. So the Nelson choir, and their far-sighted conductor, are to be commended on their sterling, pioneering work in extending the choral repertoire.
One of my earliest encounters with this fine choir came in 1964, for their performance of Mendelssohn’s oratorio, ‘Elijah’, with the great Welsh baritone, Geraint Evans, together with soprano, Rae Woodland; contralto, Yvonne Minton; and tenor, Edward Byles. This choir invariably engaged the finest soloists of the day. For the first rehearsal, I travelled with Haydn ‘Quke’ Davies, who was unusually crotchety during the journey: he was, of course, very tense in anticipation of his exposed ‘cello solo in the emotive aria, ‘It is Enough’. Haydn’s glowering countenance did not improve when Geraint Evans halted the orchestra midway through this aria; but, in fact, it was to declare: ’Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I feel compelled to say that I cannot recall ever having heard that ‘cello solo played quite as movingly as we have just heard!’ ‘Quke’s’ bleak face was transformed, as a broad grin replaced what had gone before, and was enhanced even further by the spontaneous applause that erupted from orchestra and choir alike. As I was to discover over many years of working with him, this was typical of Geraint: whereas such superlative playing would usually be taken for granted by most artistes, Geraint Evans, then at the pinnacle of his fame, would take the trouble to offer a deserved compliment to a fellow performer, which was such a boost to morale. To the contrary, I cannot help but wryly reflect on the mischievously humorous maxim of conductor, Edgar Watkins’s, of Cardiff’s Municipal Operatic Society, who would wistfully proclaim that, ‘___the four most useless things in the world were, a broken elastic band, the Pope’s testicles- and a vote of thanks to the orchestra!!’
A concert with Nelson Choir was always regarded as an ‘event’; but not always for the right reasons! A performance of Elgar’s, ‘Gerontious’, in 1965 was fraught with problems from the outset. With Richard Lewis, arguably Britain’s greatest tenor, singing the title role ( it could have been written especially for him, such was his mastery and close affinity for the role!), the initial rehearsal a few days before the concert, stumbled along unsteadily from the first bar: Graham Barrar’s undoubted skill with his choir did not, unfortunately, transfer easily to his orchestral direction. The discomfort of Richard Lewis and his fellow distinguished soloists, the soprano, Patricia Kern, and bass baritone, Raimund Herincx, was painfully apparent. In the rehearsal break, Richard Lewis summarily dismissed the orchestra, explaining that, ‘___I and the conductor will spend tomorrow in a concentrated study of the score!!’ Consequently, the second part of this vast work remained unrehearsed. On the actual concert night, as we took our seats for the second half, ‘fixer’ John Crouch, was heard to sardonically pronounce: ’Ah well, ladies and gentlemen, let us proceed into uncharted waters!’ At variable points in the work, Richard Lewis was to be clearly heard beating time with his foot when the tempi became rather frayed. Strangely enough, despite the strain of this, their first encounter, messers, Lewis and Barrar developed a long-standing friendship. Being the genuinely nice guy that he was, coupled with his obvious passion for the music, Graham’s occasional wayward baton skills would be instantly forgiven.
Indeed, I remember a number of concerts with Graham and his Nelson choir which were very successful. One such was a concert at Cardiff’s New Theatre which included Manuel de Falla’s Spanish evocation, ‘El Amour Brujo’ (Love, the Magician). Graham seemed to be as much in his element in this work as he was in Carl Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’.
Following his retirement from teaching and his beloved choir, Graham moved to the picturesque sea port of Fishguard, where he took over a delightful guest house. During Fishguard’s annual Summer Music Festival, quite a few musicians who had worked with him over the years, would regularly receive a warm welcome at his comfortable B+B. One balmy evening after a particularly satisfying tea served by his attractive daughter, Rhiannon, Bill James, Peter Kingswood, Geraint John and myself, formed a string quartet for an impromptu chamber music session. As the sounds of Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven wafted through the open downstairs lounge window, a small audience of passing holidaymakers gathered on the pavement outside and, to our amazement, tossed in some coins and even a few notes as a mark of their appreciation! We then retired, with Graham holding court, to the nearest hostelry for a night of boozy nostalgia!
In the seventies, as a freelance ‘extra’ with the Orchestra of WNO, I made quite a few enjoyable forays to Fishguard. During my first visit, just before the afternoon rehearsal for an orchestral concert that evening, I was ‘persuaded’ to join trombonists, John Hendy and Aneurin James, for a quick pint of what they reverentially referred to as, ‘real ale’. These seasoned drinkers understood only too well the potency of this brew which was, hitherto, unknown to me; as it seduced my taste buds so potently, I contentedly downed three or four pints! It was only when I sat down to play the music, which had taken on an ominously hazy hue, that I became acutely aware of the true strength of this newly discovered beverage! I vaguely remember conductor, Richard Armstrong, welcoming to the platform a slender apparition in a tightly fitting, silver trousers ( as I was later informed), who turned out to be the then young, alluring Russian violin virtuoso, Viktoria Mullova. Her brilliant playing of the Mendelssohn concerto began to arouse me from my torpor, enabling me to limply latch on to the general flow of the music, which seemed to be staring menacingly out at me! Pals they may still be, but I’ve never quite forgiven those two errant brass players for getting me into such a state prior to a lengthy, arduous rehearsal!
In Fishguard yet again, a year later, as I was getting ready for a concert with the WNO orchestra, I discovered that, having put on my white shirt, bow tie and tails, I had forgotten to pack my tuxedo trousers- calamity! As I gingerly made my way to the concert venue, immaculately attired in tails, which were rather bizarrely matched by a battered pair of Levi jeans, I was accosted by a lady member of the Festival Choir. ‘Duw luv, ewe can’t go in dressed like that mun!’ having had my predicament explained to her, she turned to her husband, suitably dressed in a smart dinner suit, with the words: \'Dai, take off your trousers and give them to this gentleman of the orchestra!\' The poor chap, obviously accustomed to obeying his fair lady\'s every command, promptly dropped his trousers, in the middle of the street, and handed them to me! he quickly scurried back indoors, returning in minutes, wearing a lesser quality pair of substitute apparel! Needless to say, my affection for Fishguard and its delightful inhabitants has remained with me ever since.
Another member of the BBC Welsh Orchestra who was often called upon to lead John Crouch’s Cardiff Concert Orchestra, was the courteous, Garfield Phillips. Surprisingly, as time went on, I found myself placed, at his bidding, next to Garfield on the front desk of the first fiddles. This was possibly because of my knack of turning the pages at just the right moment, allied to my apparent ability to play at a supportive level, but not louder than the leader, which seemed to please Garfield: hence his requests to join him ‘up front’. We actually developed a fine working relationship and musical affinity which led to a firm friendship. When he discovered that my main occupation was that of a schoolmaster, he expressed a profound sense of relief: ‘Jeffrey, my dear chap, music-making is surely the greatest of hobbies, but the world’s worst possible profession!’ As deputy leader of the BBC Welsh, he could be called upon, at short notice, to stand in for an indisposed Philip Whiteway: and this imposed a great strain on this most delightful gentleman. Whenever Garfield had a solo to perform in the course of a work, and even though he invariably played it magnificently, being in close proximity, I was acutely conscious of his intensely nervous state. Consequently, he developed high blood pressure and, sadly passed away shortly after his retirement. Garfield was a kindly man who, as his health was beginning to deteriorate, would regularly pass a great number of lucrative engagements my way.
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I shudder, even today, as I recall some of the truly difficult works that I was expected to perform with a relatively miniscule group of performers. Dear old Haydn Davies once asked me to lead a tiny ensemble for a concert with the Calvary choir in what was euphemistically referred to as: ‘___a bit of Bach or something, OK!’ When I arrived for the afternoon rehearsal, I discovered that the usual conductor, Gwyneth Pearce, had been taken seriously ill: and the choir which had ‘come to the rescue’, was the redoubtable Swansea Philharmonic – probably Wales’s finest at the time. Their founder conductor, Haydn James, was a legend in his own time: before settling in Swansea as a schoolteacher, Haydn had ‘cut his teeth’ in the London music scene, and had been a close collaborator with musical icons such as Sir Thomas Beecham. To my shock horror, the ‘bit of Bach’, casually alluded to by ‘Quke’ was, in fact, the mighty ‘B Minor Mass’! Quite apart from its length, technical intricacies and endless counting of bars rest, it had a few ‘tasty’ violin solos, one of which, the ‘Laudamus te’, was especially demanding. Haydn James was a perfectionist, and could be abrupt with performers who fell short of his high standards. I recall him being especially dismissive of a poor soprano soloist who had turned up two hours late for the rehearsal: he did not rant and rave, but his cold silence exemplified sufficiently his displeasure. But on the night, he afforded her all the help and support she could have wished for- a real pro! He was also most complimentary on my fiddle solos- a huge relief!
I played for Haydn James quite frequently over the years, and was eventually asked to ‘fix’ the orchestras for his magnificent Swansea Philharmonic Choir’s concerts. Much later, I was privileged to provide the orchestra and also play for, his final concert with the Philharmonic in 1984. The work he chose for his ‘swansong’ was Elgar’s ‘Gerontius’. After the rehearsal, whilst casually thumbing through a copy of the evening’s programme, I was astounded to discover that this highly respected, elderly musician had never actually conducted ‘Gerontius’ previously. When I politely asked the reason for this glaring omission in his vast repertoire, he shrugged his shoulders and said: ‘Quite simply, my dear boy, it’s only now that I consider myself sufficiently mature to do justice to such a profound work!’
It was also in that ‘B Minor Mass’ date at Calvary Chapel, that I first met the promising young tenor, Phillip Langridge. He was such a pleasant fellow that we seemed to ‘hit it off’ immediately. Thereafter, Phillip’s forays into the Rhondda would find him enjoying a warm welcome as a guest of the Lloyd household in Tonyrefail. We kept in touch for a number of years until his dynamic ascendency, as one of Britain’s greatest tenors, saw him travel worldwide. Phillip, who originally studied the violin at the Royal Academy, was a scholarly singer whose voice was especially suited to the works of Elgar, Britten, Tippett and other notable English composers, as well as the masters of the Baroque repertoire. He was an outstanding artiste, with an easy, engaging personality.
Playing with us on these ‘chapel’ dates, were the brilliant Welsh ‘cellist, John Cullis who later joined the ‘Orchestra de la Suisse Romade, in Geneva, two locally based ladies, violinist, Margaret Meredith and viola player, Catherine Hughes-Jones, together with Bill Rogers, Bob Swain, Vic Chamberlain and handsome Double Bassist, Alun Williams, whose tragic death at such an early age, shocked us all deeply. Our small band, reinforced by the ever reliable organist, Trevor Dummer, would tackle virtually all the standard oratorios, masses and miscellaneous liturgical works, and all for a fairly humble fee. After each concert, we would seek sustenance at the nearest pub in Rhydfelin, of which there was ample choice! Hard work though it undoubtedly was, these concerts provided us with a firm knowledge of the choral repertoire, which served us well into the future.
The Calvary chapel choir eventually became the Pontypridd Choral Society, which put on some excellent concerts under their conductor, Brian Phipps. Quite apart from the predictable musical fare, we seemed to perform, ‘masses of Masses!’ These were mainly those of Franz Joseph Haydn, who seemed to have written a glorious mass for every conceivable event in history! They were good to play, as the violin parts were quite demanding, and treacherously exposed, keeping us all ‘on our toes’. I also recall at the Hawthorne Leisure Centre, a fine performance of Elgar’s ubiquitous ‘Gerontius’. Brian Phipps, who was not a fit man, seemed to summon strengths which enabled him to present a memorable interpretation of this profound, complex work. It was an immense sadness for me to hear a few years later of dear Brian’s premature death: not only was he a fine musician, but also a delight to work with.
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In the years that I was ‘fixing’ orchestras, I and the various choral society treasurers or secretaries would thrash out the matter of orchestral fees well in advance, so that any financial ‘trimming’ could be happily resolved prior to the concert date. However, one choral society decided to challenge the figures, which I had supplied them with months before, on the very day of the concert, and during the actual rehearsal. Gleefully boasting that they had managed to ‘squeeze’ a reduction out of a young soloist’s fee a few minutes earlier, they demanded a similar reduction in my, quite modest, ‘fixer’ fee. I was, naturally, fuming at such effrontery, and told the cabal of committee members that, in future, they could recruit an orchestra themselves; but not to phone me when the lead ‘cellist cried off just before the rehearsal of, say, Verdi’s ‘Requiem’!
Apart from the more perceptive committee members, the general assumption was that a ‘fixer’ merely had to make a few phone calls to some musician chums, and an orchestra would magically appear-just like that! In actual fact, engaging a professional orchestra, especially for the more complicated works, involves months of forward planning and hours of phone calls, selecting available players who are not only competent, but can also co-exist with a particular desk partner, and a myriad other relevant factors, of which the choral societies were blissfully unaware. After all, why should they need to know that the ‘fixer’ had just spent hours on the phone, on the morning of the concert, trying to secure a replacement principal oboist, because the original player’s wife had gone prematurely into labour!? As a ‘fixer’ it was my task to solve these seemingly insurmountable problems: it was only I who had the specialist knowledge and expertise to resolve these ‘eleventh hour’ crises. That is what I was being paid for. In fairness, the majority of societies appreciated my efforts, and would amicably discuss any fiscal adjustments they wished to make, well before the performance date. The system I devised was also totally honest and transparent. Having agreed with the treasurer the overall figure, I would then provide him with a detailed breakdown of individual fees, strictly adhering to the current Musicians’ Union casual concert rate, including my own ‘fixer’ fee. Individual cheques would then be distributed on the evening of the concert to each player. No doubt, had I accepted a single full payment from the choir treasurer, and distributed the monies at my leisure, and with some fees well below the MU rate, I could have made a financial ‘killing’; but that was not my style. Many of the choir members and musicians I engaged were personal friends who trusted me to play fair with them: and this respect and trust meant far more to me than any amount of deviously acquired monetary gain. As a result, whilst I did not acquire a halo of sainthood, it did allow me to sleep at nights!
Dear Haydn James, as he concluded his final rehearsal before retiring, publicly thanked me: ‘___for getting me such a lovely orchestra, for my last concert!’ OK, yes, you receive a reasonable fee, but a kind plaudit such as Haydn’s goes a long way to confirm that all your hard work has at least been recognised. Conversely, I once had to try and explain to an obdurate (and bombastic) choir committee chairman, why it was necessary to engage twelve violins when there were only three trombones! Thankfully, the likes of Haydn James, John Cynan Jones, Norman Harries, Graham Barrar, Kevin Adams and a few other ‘informed’ conductors, simply detailed their instrumental requirements to their respective committees, and that was that!!
One fairly small choir which was always a joy to work with was the Bridgend choral Society, most of whose concerts took place in Bridgend’s delightful, Nolton Church: they seemed to exude a warm friendliness that was not always as forthcoming with some others. Their musical director, Kevin Adams, was a skilled violinist, keyboard player and composer who displayed an instant empathy with his orchestral colleagues. Also, in addition to the central work in the programme, he would include, when appropriate, an orchestral work: this provided a satisfying incentive to us instrumentalists. So alongside a Schubert or Haydn mass, he would slot in a short symphony or overture, which complemented, admirably, the concert’s main course’. Kevin’s deep scholarship and assured conducting technique also made for a relatively uncomplicated rehearsal and performance. For me, however, a welcome bonus came in the form of a regular ‘Thank You’ letter from the choir’s secretary: such a kind gesture meant a great deal to me, and was much appreciated- this really was a genuine ‘vote of thanks to the orchestra’, which eroded dear old Edgar Watkins’s earlier cynical adage!

CHAPTER 17
Inimitable Glynne Jones – Bassoonist’s Early Departure in ‘Aida’ – Accompanists

As is already clearly evident, there has never been a dearth of exceptional personalities in the music scene: some outrageously comedic, many lugubrious, yet fascinating, and a few whose eccentricity permitted never a dull moment whilst in their presence. One of the most colourful and entertaining of these has to be the enigmatic Glynne Jones, of Merthyr Tydfil.
For many years, Glynne had been the Head of Music at Cyfarthfa Grammar School, in Merthyr, where he had created a magnificent school choir that was capable of tackling most of the standard oratorios. With Glynne, each concert was a ‘special’ event. The afternoon rehearsal would invariably be fraught with tensions, as when timpanist Dr. Gerry Gould set up his large timpani in the chapel’s ‘set fawr’ (big seat) which had been designated for the violins. Neither of the protagonists, Glynne and Gerry, being equally inflexible and eccentric, would relent. It was only the diplomatic intervention of respected leader, Bill James, aided by some ‘persuasive’ intimidation from a less tolerant ‘Quke’ Davies that secured a truce, thus enabling the rehearsal to proceed.
For the first of my many professional encounters with Glynne, I sat next to the unflappable Bill James, who had previous experience of Glynne’s –‘Gala Nights’. On the night of the concert itself, whilst awaiting the arrival of the maestro, I quietly expressed my admiration of the specially constructed, and highly decorative, raised rostrum that must have taken the school’s woodwork master many hours of labour to perfect. Bill turned to me with a knowing wink and said, ‘Jeff, you ain’t seen nuttin yet!’
The full drama then unfolded. A young, cherubic choirboy with a head of blonde curls solemnly ascended the steps of the rostrum carrying the conductor’s leather-bound full score which was duly placed on the music stand, and opened reverentially to reveal the first page. Rigorously maintaining that same dignity, the young lad then descended the sturdy wooden steps to be met at the bottom of the stairs by Glynne, immaculately attired in full regalia- top hat and tails and white gloves, which were complimented by a magnificent Wagnerian opera cape! The white gloves were ceremonially handed to the youthful valet, followed by the top hat and opera cape. Then, and only then, did the maestro, head held high and baton grasped firmly, make his way to his ‘power base’ on the rostrum. This mesmerising theatrical tableau could not have been more inspired by the great Russian choreographer Ballanchine himself! Entranced as I was, I had to pinch myself into the humbling realisation that I was about to play in a performance of Handel’s ‘Messiah’ in a Merthyr chapel, and not in Wagner’s ‘Ring Cycle’ in Bayreuth! But Glynne’s histrionics invariably paid off, and his choral forces responded magnanimously to his baton. Then, with the concert over, it was an Olympian dash to the nearest pub, where Glynne would be purchasing copious rounds of drinks for all and sundry. His generosity knew no bounds- if you were in his favour!
Occasionally, however, Glynne’s concerts would encounter their hiccups. I well recall a rehearsal of Verdi’s opera ‘Aida’, to be performed in concert form, for which ‘fixer’ John Crouch had wisely recruited a number of BBC Welsh players, to be on the safe side. Things could , and should, have gone smoothly; but, as it was a concert version of the opera, Glynne had ‘blue pencilled’ in a mass of cuts, double repeats and double choruses etc, so complex that it made the actual page turning back and forth to locate these changes almost impossible. Consequently, the rehearsal was a morass of confusion. Midway through the actual performance, I was tapped on the shoulder by George Tofield, veteran BBC bassoonist. In a thick Northern accent, he enquired: ‘Eh, lad, d’ ya know where in’t ‘ell we are?’ I shamefully replied: ‘I’m afraid not, Mr. Tofield’. He quickly retorted: ‘Aye lad, me too. So bwgger it, I’m off to catch blwwdy train!’. And off he went – in mid performance!
To my mind, Glynne’s natural forte was the male voice choir, with which he especially excelled. After some time with the ‘Silurian Singers’, he took over the conductorship of the internationally acclaimed Pendyrus male Voice Choir, with which he remained for over thirty years. To attend one of his rehearsals was an entertainment all of its own. He would often berate a hapless chorister with a flow of colourful expletives that made one’s hair curl and was likely to earn a robust physical response from most men. But his ‘boys’ ( many of them, hardy miners) loved his bluster and never took offence. The only person of whom Glynne was eternally wary was his dear mother, whom he adored, and respectfully dubbed, ‘The Duchess’. It seems that this frail, elderly lady ruled with a rod of iron.
Glynne eventually left the classroom, to become Music Advisor to Gwent Education Authority where he spent many fruitful years. Glynne sadly died suddenly on Christmas Eve, 2000, and his funeral must have been attended by virtually everyone in Wales, and beyond, who was remotely connected with music. A number of distinguished senior figures from the Welsh arts fraternity and broadcasting, related many humorous anecdotes concerning Glynne. Consequently, many mourners were heard to comment, as they were leaving the packed Merthyr church, that it was ‘___the jolliest funeral service they had ever attended!’ That there were far more laughs than tears was an eloquent tribute to Glynne- a truly remarkable musician, whose extrovert presence enriched and brightened so many lives.
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Another fine musician who also became successfully involved with a number of male voice choirs was my old mate, John Samuel, from Caerphilly. I got to know John when he was a member of the choral staff at Ogmore. A first rate accompanist, John was also an accredited Welsh Rugby Union referee: and if he was officiating at a local match during the week of a choral course, a few of us would sneak off to the game, and call the ref ‘rotten’ from the relative safety of the touch line! After one such game, however, he extracted his revenge at supper back at Ogmore, by momentarily diverting my attention to a passing, attractive female student, whilst surreptitiously pouring some tasty beef gravy – over my apple crumble! But no amount of John’s tomfoolery could mask his impressive keyboard skills, conducting ability and profound musicianship. I was privileged to enjoy quite a few musical collaborations with John and always perceived his conducting technique to be decisive, and his interpretation apposite. Following Glynne Jones’s death, John ‘Sam’, as he was universally known, became conductor of ‘Pendyrus’. He had long since left his teaching post at Caerphilly Grammar School to become a lecturer at Barry College of Education, before gravitating to Cardiff’s College of Music and Drama, where he did sterling work, particularly as a coach to young vocalists.
When, from 1983 onwards, my official duties frequently took me to the WCMD, I would instantly recognise John’s distinctive voice as he was persuasively perfecting a phrase with an aspiring young female student: so I would pop my head around the door for a brief exchange of social pleasantries, whereupon he would instruct the confused student to hide beneath the piano, explaining that I was a deranged sex maniac who had absconded from a local lunatic asylum!
John ‘Sam’ had struck up a long-standing friendship and fruitful working relationship with the glorious tenor, Stuart Burrows, and many a young singer has benefitted, handsomely, from the combined expertise of these two superb artistes.
Among a veritable host of highly competent accompanists who had originated from the South Wales valleys, there were a select few, like John ‘Sam’, who were exceptionally gifted. Janice Ball from Cardiff, Jennifer Jones from Ferndale, Meryn Williams from Llantrisant, Clive Stubbs from Port Talbot, Alan James from Neath, Jonathan Gulliford from Merthyr and Heather James from Pontardawe are all prominent examples; but, arguably, the most outstanding of them all, was Bryan Davies from Ferndale. For many years, Bryan was a junior school supply teacher in the Rhondda but, over the years, his brilliance as a pianist came to the attention of a number of top professional artistes and he became much sought after on the recital circuit, eventually becoming a regular accompanist to no less an artiste as Wales’s premier bass baritone, Bryn Terfel. Totally self-effacing, and entirely bereft of the merest hint of conceit or pomposity, Bryan, together with John ‘Sam’, eventually ended up as a member of staff at the WCMD where his vast contribution was recognised with the award of a College Fellowship.
One day, over a cup of tea with Bryan at the college canteen, I happened to mention that I would shortly be conducting the Katchaturian suite ‘Spartacus’ with the South Glamorgan Youth Orchestra. I was quite taken aback when my companion casually said that he had enjoyed an interesting chat about the work, ‘___with Aram, many years ago’. This was no case of ostentatious name dropping, because that simply was not Bryan’s style. A self-avowed socialist, he had actually met the great man – Aram Katchaturian, at a cultural exchange conference during the era of the ‘cold war’. So here I was, with a direct link to one of the great twentieth century Russian composers- amazing! Curiously, his universal popularity and easily recognisable persona meant that he only needed to stand outside his house for a few minutes, before an offer of a lift was forthcoming! My major regret was never having the wisdom to invite Bryan to perform a concerto with the RSO.

CHAPTER 18
Adieu, Pontcanna - The Advent of HTV - Abundance of Television Work
Since it’s inception in the late fifties, ‘Television Wales and the West’, better known as ‘TWW’, with its two studios based in Bristol and Cardiff, provided many lucrative engagements for freelance musicians on both sides of the Bristol Channel. The excellent players of the old BBC Welsh Orchestra were debarred from accepting work with the new commercial broadcasting company because of their contractual commitment to the BBC: and this ruling was strictly enforced. TWW’s Musical Director in Pontcanna was a Northern gentleman called Norman Whitehead: and it was he who spearheaded the pivotal musical element of the aforementioned ‘Gwlad Y Gan’ with its regular Sunday afternoon slot ideally timed to attract, nationwide, millions of viewers. Sadly, Norman, a brilliantly gifted musician, died whilst still a relatively young man.
Norman Whitehead’s place was eventually taken by Eric Wetherall, as MD at Pontcanna. Another fine musician, Eric had been a professional horn player, was an accomplished pianist, a skilful musical arranger and a talented conductor who had wielded a benevolent baton for a few seasons with the WNO. A thoroughly eclectic musician, Eric was also a very capable jazz performer.
I was fortunate enough to be invited fairly regularly, by Eric, to Pontcanna: and as the MU had negotiated substantial fees for TV engagements, with extra payment if you happened to be ‘in shot’, I earned an attractive supplement to my rather meagre teacher’s salary! The music we were required to play was quite varied in both style and difficulty: and, as mentioned earlier, most of it was performed ‘live’, with no facility for ‘retakes’. A good sight-reading ability was, therefore, essential.
During this era, the various technical unions were all powerful, and so called ‘demarcation disputes’ were rife in industries throughout the country: and I was soon to discover that broadcasting was certainly not immune from such a malaise. I once turned up at the Pontcanna studios for a morning rehearsal session scheduled for ten o’clock, only to be told by Eric to grab a coffee, as the ‘scene shifters’ were in dispute with management. We musicians comprised only a half dozen players who, in anticipation of an imminent resolution to the impasse, were sitting in our chairs which had been set out prior to the union problem. Within a few minutes, however, Eric happily announced that an agreement had been secured, and we could start the rehearsal very shortly. Wishing to be helpful, I and a colleague went over to pick up the shiny new music stands which had been standing forlornly, just a few feet away. But we were abruptly stopped in our tracks by Eric, with the words: ‘For God’s sake, don’t touch those, or we’ll have another strike on our hands!’ This, I discovered was the exclusive province of the studio’s scene shifters. I then looked on, in amazement, as each of six muscular men picked up a solitary, lightweight music stand, and placed them in front of us. They then retreated to the far edge of the studio floor, where they busied themselves with an arduous game of cards for the duration of the three hour rehearsal. At the end of the rehearsal session they once more came over and returned the stands to their original ‘resting place’. This operation was then repeated for the actual broadcast: I estimated that their ‘working day’ had involved a maximum of ten minutes actual labour, as there was no other scenery that required ‘shifting’! No doubt, during other sessions, it was quite likely that they might be kept very busy with a more complex programme to crew; but, nevertheless, the words ‘restrictive practice’, resonated in my psyche for a long time. My good friend, Bill Rogers, who worked for many years in the Port Talbot Steel Works, cited a similar case of industrial lunacy when a fully qualified electrician, together with his ‘mate’, had to be summoned to perform the highly complex operation of switching off, and later back on, an electric switch – something that could have been done by a child! Such idiotic practices as these could not, of course, be allowed to continue: and when the ‘bubble’ eventually burst, thousands of jobs disappeared overnight. In the music industry a similar decline occurred, with top orchestras like the RPO and LSO losing lucrative film recording contracts to their cheaper, and less restrictive competitors in Eastern Europe.
Meanwhile, back in those crazy days, with vast advertising revenues pouring into the studios, money seemed to be no object. Consequently, one could expect to back a programme with a full orchestra boasting a large string section: and Eric Wetherall’s flush arrangements became a joy to perform. My former university tutors, Freddy Wang, Stan Popperwell, Gordon Mutter and George Issac were just a few of the distinguished musicians who regularly appeared at these sessions. I recall with much affection, a particular occasion when the fine Cardiff baritone, Bryn Williams, recorded a series of beautiful ballads, including ‘On a Clear Day’, with a succulent string backing provided, again, by the creative talents of Eric Wetherall. Whilst rehearsing one particular number, he asked me what was written on my part in a thickly harmonised ‘cluster’ chord. When I confirmed that it was a ‘B flat’, he told me to change it to a ‘B natural’. Despite being deaf in one ear, he still managed to pinpoint this tiny written error amongst a section of forty players. I am convinced that he could possibly hear the grass grow!
Bryn Williams was a delightful person who had left his post, as an art teacher in Whitchurch High School, to pursue a career in show business. He appeared for many years with the popular TV series, ‘The Black and White Minstrel Show’, and later became a firm fixture at BBC Wales, partnering the popular duo of Ryan and Ronnie ( Ryan Davies and Ronnie Williams) in their hilarious Welsh medium programme, ‘Fo a Fe’ ( Him and Him) in which the fairly stocky frame of Bryn was miraculously squeezed into a schoolboy’s blazer and short trousers, in which he so convincingly depicted a stroppy adolescent. Quite apart from being a fine performer with a relaxed manner, Bryn was also a kindly guy who would willingly interrupt a busy working schedule to perform freely for some charitable event as a singer, comedian or compere. He was truly a lovely man whose early death robbed Welsh entertainment of a versatile talent; but, more importantly, of a wonderful human being.
Most sessions at TWW were great fun, with just the everyday tensions of a busy studio permanently enslaved by the studio clock. But one day, a rather disgruntled ‘rising star’ invoked the wrath of the assembled small group of musicians by his rudeness. One of the musicians, a superb pianist and arranger, had been asked to write a suitably florid backing for a simple Welsh folk song to be sung by the guest ‘star’. Unfortunately, the arranger had not been made aware of the singer’s highly individual style; but, nevertheless, he had devised a subtle arrangement which we all thought was very good- except for our cantankerous ‘star’ artiste, who publicly lambasted the arranger and his creation in a quite offensive manner. After his tirade had abated, we musicians sat ominously silent for the remainder of the session – a doom laden ‘death knell’ sign for any overtly cantankerous artiste, big or small! Then, whilst rehearsing his last number, the singer found difficulty in pitching a low ‘B’ flat note. So he asked our double bassist, Alan Williams, if he would kindly oblige him with the cue note in the actual ‘live’ transmission. To our amazement, Alan , gushing with a friendly reassuring smile, readily agreed. What a creep, we thought. However, in an hour, and with the studio floor manager counting down for the ‘red light’, our stroppy ‘star’ singer reminded our ‘turncoat’ bass player to give him the crucial note, to which Alan curtly replies: ‘No, you can find it yourself, you insolent bastard!!’ The singer, who had met his match, was mortified; but Alan, being a true pro, delivered the vital cue note at the crucial moment and saved the singer’s ‘bacon’! After the broadcast, I spotted a senior TWW executive stride over to the ‘star’ with the comment: ‘You’ll do well, in future, young man, not to antagonize the musicians, as you’ll invariably rely on their usual goodwill!’ This particular performer went on to achieve much acclaim; but I would like to think that he had, in the interim period, entered a far better ‘charm school’ !
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In 1967, TWW lost its franchise, and a new independent TV company came into being under the patronage of Lord Harlech: initially known as Harlech Television, it was later called HTV, and broadcast from its sumptuous new studios at Culverhouse Cross on the Western outskirts of Cardiff. This, also, was to become a profitable source of income for us free-lance musicians. Another bonus came in the form of a free cooked breakfast and coffee for those involved in an early morning call!
In the meantime, however, there was plenty going on to keep us gainfully employed elsewhere. BBC Wales’s Head of Light Music at the time, was Benny Litchfield. He literally bubbled with energy and enthusiasm; but he was also highly organised in his dealings with professional musicians. I would receive a phone call: ‘Jeff Lloyd?’. ‘Yes’. ‘Benny here. April 10th. Studio 1. Ten till five. Tuxedo. Can you do it !?’. ‘Yes’. ‘Fine, cheerio!’ And he’d be gone. Like a flash! Benny was such a friendly, amiable guy to deal with, I once asked him why he was so abrupt on the phone. He replied: ‘My dear Jeff, when you have to book a band of fifty plus musicians, you ain’t got time to discuss the bloody weather!’ Among the many shows in which I played for Benny, were the annual ‘Miss Wales’ beauty competitions, broadcast by BBC TV in association with Eric and Julia Morley’s company, ‘Mecca Ballrooms’. Their Musical Director, Phil Tate, really was the most laid back MD to be found in the frenetic world of show business: in fact, he made that other ruination of the tranquilizer industry, Derek Holvey, resemble a ‘fix’ deprived junkie !! All hell could be breaking loose in the studio, but Phil would be calmly observed sitting calmly on his conductor’s high stool, smoking his beloved pipe, and seemingly oblivious to the mini war of chaos waging around him! But when it came to ‘the business’, he was highly efficient and as alert as a fox!
I recall with great amusement, even now, rehearsing a ‘Miss Wales’ TV show at Porthcawl’s Stoneleigh Club, which the BBC had kitted out with a suitably glamorous studio set. Taking part as a cabaret artist in the show was the multi talented Ryan Davies, whose impersonation of Charles Aznavour was better than the real thing. Ryan’s versatility as a singer, comedian, pianist, harpist and actor, placed him in a class of his own as an entertainer. This particular day, whilst waiting to rehearse a number with the mysteriously absent Ryan, we in the band became rather more engrossed by the ill-tempered tantrums of the effete choreographer, whose abusive comments to the line-up of prospective beauty queens was beginning to get up our collective nostrils: with one of the poor, distressed girls reduced to tears, a few of us in the band were ready yo ‘sort out’ this demented bully boy, there and then. But from the side of the stage, slowly emerged a cleaning lady, complete with hair net and curlers, with thickly applied rouge, and ominously wielding a bucket and mop. Unnoticed by the fiery dance man, the mystery ‘char lady’ approaches him from behind and nudges him, none too gently, with her broom handle and utters the words: ‘Eh now, good boy, don’t ewe talk to my Blodwen like ‘at, do iw ‘ere me? Or I’ll shove this rite up ewr___!!’ The startled choreographer took one terrified glance at his would be assailant and scarpered, never to be seen again! Of course, we’d realised instantly that the fearsome harridan was none other than Ryan – in drag!! Just like his old pal, Bryn Williams, Ryan was a delightfully engaging personality who always had time for everyone, and was a delight to work with. His sudden death, from an asthma attack whilst holidaying in New York, was yet another blow to the cultural life of Wales.
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There were also visits to the UK from top American artistes, such as Jack Jones, Neil Sedaka and Gene Pitney, who would drift over to Wales for a few appearances: and I was fortunate to perform for each of them. Jack Jones and Gene Pitney would only be seen on stage during their actual show: we would have a cursory ‘rehearsal’ session with their respective MD’s, and it was then straight into the show. But with Neil Sedaka, it was different, as he insisted on a thoroughly detailed rehearsal of each number, and it seemed to pay off. A quite brilliant musician, he had studied as a classical pianist at the internationally renowned Julliand School of Music in New York. Despite his insistence on perfection, Sedaka was a pleasant guy to get on with, and would frequently enjoy friendly chats with the members of the band.
Meanwhile, very much on home territory, I was occasionally brought in to play, in the early ‘eighties’, for the second series of the highly popular BBC TV programme, ‘Stuart Burrows Sings’, starring the inimitable Stuart in a mixture of ballads and arias. These were televised at Aberdare’s sports complex, the Sobell Centre, which was ingeniously transformed into a large, lavish studio. Whilst much of the orchestra were members of the BBC Welsh Orchestra, it was strictly an ‘ad hoc’ ensemble recruited by the BBC orchestra associate leader, the dynamic Barry Haskey, and was affectionately ascribed the unofficial title of ‘Barry’s Band’! Over many years, Barry had seen orchestra leaders of varying degrees of ability and impact come and go, whilst he had remained as the orchestra’s dependable ‘rock’, frequently deputising as leader, with distinction. It was always a mystery to me that he was not actually given the job of leader, as he was obviously far better suited to that pivotal role than many of those that were drafted in, at great expense, from London. There were, of course, just a few admirable exceptions, like Christopher Warren-Green, who was appointed leader of the BBC/NOW whilst still in his early twenties. Chris was a superb player who later went on to become leader of London’s illustrious Philharmonic Orchestra. He was also the nephew of an old fiddler friend of Benj and I, Gerry Richards, himself a well established London ‘ session’ player. Chris’s violinistic talents were complimented by youthful good looks: and this became something of a problem for Margaret and I, as our impressionable daughter, Catherine, fell head over heels in love with him via the Telly! Indeed, so consumed with passion for her icon, that the only way I could dissuade her from amorous thoughts was to confide in her Chris’s secret – he was gay! That he was, in fact, manifestly ‘straight’, I did not convey to her until a few years later, long after her intense ‘pash’ for him had abated!! I mentioned this to Chris during a trip to the Festival Hall many years later: and he was suitably amused – thank God !
The conductor for Stuart’s TV series was Robin Stapleton. When I first set eyes on this tall, gangly figure with the gravy stains on his scruffy T-shirt, I assumed him to be a menial studio ‘hand’; but when he suddenly leapt onto the podium clasping a baton, I was astounded! Sartorially elegant he may not have appeared in that rehearsal session, but he turned out to be a very skilful conductor who was also very conversant with the technical aspects of television production: he could speak to the cameramen and the studio crew in their own technical jargon. Having worked at the Royal Opera House for a number of years, he eventually moved around the world enjoying a most successful career as an opera conductor in a number of countries. As a freelance, he still continues to tour the globe as a much sought after maestro.
On one of the ‘Stuart Burrows Sings’ series, held during one of those scorching hot summers the nation basked in during the seventies and eighties, Stuart’s guest singer was the voluptuous and brilliant New Zealand soprano, Kiri te Kanawa. Whilst rehearsing her movements on the studio’s fairly restricted raised dais, Kiri almost took a tumble. As a consequence of the producer’s directions: her displeasure in that hot, uncomfortable studio was palpable, and was eloquently expressed with a few strident expletives! Some months later, and in complete contrast to my first recollection of this true diva, I, together with the whole nation glued to our TV sets, was spellbound by Kiri’s riveting rendition of Handel’s aria: ‘Lo, The Bright Seraphim’, during the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana, Princess of Wales. A keen rugby supporter and devoted golfer, Kiri te Kanawa remains a formidable artiste with a glorious voice.
CHAPTER 19
The Numerous Attempts to Secure a National Orchestra with a Welsh Identity
For many decades, various efforts have been made by different groups and individuals to establish a national orchestra of Wales, quite separate from the BBC which has its own regional ensembles.
I vividly recollect attending a concert at Maesteg Town Hall, in 1954, given by ‘The Orchestra of Wales’. The leader was Roy Davies, a native of Treherbert, who was a prominent member of the LSO’s first violin section: and the conducting was shared by Rae Jenkins and Sir Adrian Boult. The distinguished Welsh actor and playwright, Emlyn Williams, was the narrator in Prokofiev’s ‘Peter and the Wolf’. The orchestra’s player-manager was the eminent ‘cellist, David Ffrangcon-Thomas, who had been principal ‘cellist in Sir Thomas Beecham’s London Philharmonic Orchestra and also for the grand maestro’s International Opera Seasons at Convent Garden and the Queen’s Hall. The ‘Orchestra of Wales’ came into being under the auspices of the Orchestral Association of Wales. For the first time ever, a large number of Local Government Authorities had combined with the avowed object of establishing a professional Welsh orchestra. When, in 1953, proposals for the foundation of the National Orchestra of Wales were turned down in Cardiff, it was generally assumed that that would be the end of the project; but sufficient keenness and enthusiasm was shown by the local authorities, which had assented to the scheme, to form an Orchestral Association of Wales, and to promote orchestral tours in districts of the country which could not normally enjoy such facilities. However, whilst the orchestra was comprised of many top-notch London players of Welsh descent, it was too small to be even remotely described as a full symphony orchestra. Nevertheless, with only four desks of first violins, three of seconds, two of violas, two of ‘cellos and just one desk of double basses, they delivered a stirring performance of Elgar’s exacting ‘Introduction and Allegro’ for Strings, a work which today’s professionals would not dare attempt with such meagre forces.
A similarly small orchestra, brought together by the Llanelli born conductor, Wynne Morris, also gave a few concerts in the principality; but this venture ended on a sour note, with many of the musicians receiving no payment. As a young teenager, I actually attended one of these concerts which featured the violin virtuoso, Alfredo Campoli, in the Beethoven concerto. My old mate, Tony Randall, was playing first horn and he recalls, with much amusement, being mildly chastised in the rehearsal by the great violinist, for rushing the horn triplet figure in the concerto’s last movement. Campoli rounded on the two horns, in mock Cockney accent: ‘Oy mate, go easy, they (the pubs) ain’t open yet!’ Quite apart from being one of the world’s greatest violinists ( though this was never acknowledged by the musical ‘establishment’ because of his penchant for ‘saloon music’), this rather portly virtuoso was remarkably swift on his feet, as I once discovered as an uninvited, inquisitive student in the BBC’s former Charles Street studios in the centre of Cardiff one afternoon. With the studio clock ominously ticking away, and with the programme announcer poised ready to introduce the Beethoven concerto, Campoli was just finishing off a hectic game of table tennis with a studio staff member. Having decisively won the game, Campoli picked up his precious ‘Stad’ fiddle and strode calmly, in his slippered feet, into the main studio to give another winning performance – of the concerto!
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It was Tony Randall himself who made the bravest and most realistic effort to establish a Welsh orchestra of truly symphonic strength, with his ‘Sinfonia of Wales’ in 1967. With a full complement of sixty eight players, it had drawn in the ‘crème de la crème’ of London’s Welsh orchestral players, plus some of the BBC Welsh orchestra together with a few locally based freelancers- including myself! The leader was Cymmer Afan born, Granville Jones, a former leader of the LSO, Boyd Neel Orchestra, and both the London and Delme String Quartets. My old chum, Benj Thomas, was orchestral manager and played in the viola section. Various principal players included such eminent musicians as Gwynne Edwards, viola; Roy Gillard, violin; Michael Evans, ‘cello; Cecil James, bassoon; Laurie Evans, trumpet; and Terry ‘Drac’ Johns on horn. This was a fine body of players which could have formed the basis for that national ensemble that had eluded Wales for so long. Unfortunately, despite an ecstatic audience reaction at the orchestra’s inaugural concert at Cardiff’s New Theatre, the Welsh Arts Council was less than helpful and pompously dismissed any possibility of financial support. I know that both Tony and Benj lost a considerable amount of their own money in this heroic venture which was so full of promise. However, the orchestra played for quite a few seasons for the WNO, before its own resident orchestra, known as the Welsh Philharmonia , was formed by the aforementioned Dai Trotman in 1968, and took up permanent residence in the early seventies, eventually to be known as the Orchestra of Welsh National Opera.
The next attempt to create a viable ‘national’ ensemble came in 1986, with the arrival of the Welsh Chamber Orchestra. This was the ‘brainchild’ of Anthony Hose, former Head of Music at WNO, and received the invaluable support and patronage of Sir Geraint Evans. It initially received sponsorship from HTV, The Mid Wales Development Board, The North Wales Association for the Arts and The West Wales Arts Association: and Swansea City Council kindly provided the Brangwyn Hall for rehearsals.
I remember being thrilled to bits when I was invited by orchestral manager, Griff Harries, to join the orchestra on its inaugural tour in May, 1986. The leader was the much respected London violinist, Trevor Williams, who had earlier been leader of the BBC Symphony Orchestra: he was the most affable of men who never seemed to become agitated during any crisis. Sitting alongside him was Kenneth Moore, the long standing principal second violin of the Philharmonia Orchestra. I vividly recall one day, during breakfast, being proudly shown a photograph of Ken assisting an aging maestro on with his coat at the end of a recording session with the Philharmonia. The doddery old gent was none other than – Igor Stravinsky! Later on, Trevor was joined on the front desk by the LSO veteran sub leader, Hans Geiger, who would also delight me with fascinating anecdotes from his lengthy career in the orchestral world.
The inaugural tour of Wales was great fun, with some arduous rehearsals thrown in for good measure. Once, whilst checking into a small hotel in Mold with messers Griff Harries and oboist, Alan Good, they insisted on approaching the attractive receptionist ahead of myself, so I instantly sensed that something was afoot. When asked for their names, Alan announced: ‘I’m Alan Good and he’s Griff Novak – Novak and Good!!’ The young receptionist hesitated momentarily, and then burst into laughter, good humouredly feigning mild offence at their risqué taunting. ‘Goodie’, as he was affectionately known, was quite a brilliant musician, but was always full of japes – especially after a few ales!
The soloist on that first tour was the beautiful and talented harpist, Caryl Thomas, who performed a rather lovely concerto by the fairly neglected composer, Carl Ditters Von Dittersdorf, who was a contemporary of Mozart and Haydn. As the narrator in Prokofiev’s musical fairy tale, ‘Peter and the Wolf’, Sir Geraint Evans was incomparable with those elasticated grimaces which conveyed a silent eloquence that only he could execute so convincingly. But at the rehearsal for the last concert, with Geraint having performed the wretched work so many times, in exasperation he opened with : ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the story of, Peter – and that BLOODY WOLF!’
Having Geraint as the orchestra’s Patron, and with him holding a directorship of HTV, the Welsh Chamber Orchestra became, unofficially, the studio’s ‘house orchestra’. Consequently, we were kept fairly busy with a series of light classical programmes such as ‘Whom the Gods Love’, which were presented and narrated by Sir Geraint. The orchestra continued to tour outlandish areas of Wales, as well as the more prestigious venues. Even though its founder, Anthony Hose, is now domiciled in America, the ensemble is still technically in existence, but gives far less concerts than previously.
In more recent years, WNO staff conductor, Gareth Jones, has also formed an orchestra of very talented students who are on the verge of joining the profession. Whilst this is, ostensibly, an admirable preparatory training ground for these young unpaid musicians, concern has been expressed that such work should be the preserve of full-time professional musicians whose livelihoods depend on such engagements. Arguments can be promulgated in support of either viewpoint; but it is certainly the cause of much controversy in Welsh orchestral circles.
With the salaried BBC National Orchestra of Wales and the full-time Orchestra of Welsh National Opera now firmly established fixtures in the nation’s cultural identity, I can only regard any other ensemble bearing the title ‘Welsh’ or ‘National’, that appear from time to time, to be merely peripheral adjuncts to the two permanent orchestra of the BBC and WNO. This, of course, should not prohibit the emergence of new ensembles, such as Owain Arwel Hughes’s excellent ‘Camerata Wales’, which is made up of top flight London based professional musicians. But I, again, still maintain that such orchestras, very fine though they often are, sadly lack that durability which the BBC and WNO continue to enjoy. Therefore, whilst it is admirable to see them perform in Wales, these additional ensembles can only be realistically regarded as welcome visitors. Oh, that it were different!
CHAPTER 20
The Things that Children Say, and Do – Some Personal Reflections
In common with a multitude of parents, I feel an overwhelming sense of pride and joy in our children, Richard and Catherine.
From the very early age of three, daughter Catherine would absorb facts like a sponge, learning to read quite early. She also displayed a child’s healthily natural fascination with the human body and its ‘constituent parts’. Consequently, Margaret, wishing to be a thoroughly ‘modern mum’, purchased for our daughter a ‘Little Girl’s Guide to the Human Body’: stupid references to ‘willies’ and ‘little Marys’ would, henceforth, be replaced with the accurate anatomical nomenclature. Whilst Margaret’s approach was educationally sound and enlightened, it did, however, result in some embarrassing moments. One such incident occurred during a visit to my parents’ home for Sunday afternoon tea. My mother noticed that Richard was continually scratching himself in his nether regions, and gently chided him thus: ‘Don’t do that Richard, it’s not nice for little boys to do that’. Whereupon Cathy, her five year old head eagerly bursting with ‘Grey’s Anatomy’, leaped to her brother’s defence authoritatively declaring: ‘It’s alright Grandma, yesterday he fell on his bike and hurt his-VAGINA!!’ My poor mother, very chapel orientated on the Sabbath, was rendered apoplectic, and ‘thoroughly modern’ Margaret was suitably chastised for : ‘teaching these children such rude words!’ many years later, in Catherine’s wedding which was attended by a host of medical friends and associates, I simply could not resist the temptation to relate this tale, and expressed the fervent hope that six years of expensive medical training had gone some way, at least, in correcting her original diagnosis!
Whereas Cathy possessed a rather studious attitude to her school work, reinforced with an element of competitiveness, our beloved son was decidedly more laid back, academically. Having been a sickly child from birth, who seemed to have been susceptible to any and every airborne contagion, including TB, Richard spent far more time out of school recuperating than inside, gathering essential knowledge. We were so concerned, and thankful, for our son’s very survival from his assorted ailments that we allowed his education, albeit temporarily, to be a secondary factor. As a result, Richard, like myself at his age, was allowed a certain degree of latitude in his school studies. He certainly was not lacking in intelligence, but would excel only in those topics that really interested him. I well recall him returning home after sitting his ‘O’ Level History paper. When I tentatively enquired how it had gone, he enthused over a ‘fabulous essay’ he had written on the ‘Rebecca Riots’. Having scanned the exam paper, I protested: ‘But Richard, I don’t actually see a question on the ‘Rebecca Riots’!’ His reply was priceless: ‘I know that, Dad, but I enjoyed reading about the ‘Rebecca Riots’, and I wanted to tell the examiner all I knew!’ On another occasion, we were watching, as a family, the BBC TV programme ‘Mastermind’, chaired by its amiable grand inquisitor, Magnus Magnusson. A contestant was about to be grilled on Greek Mythology, when Richard, who was lazily slumped in a comfy armchair casually reading a comic, suddenly sat bolt upright and proceeded to answer virtually all the questions – correctly! Margaret, Cathy and I looked at him in disbelief! In a fit of exasperation, Margaret then angrily challenged him: ‘If you can answer these so easily my boy, why can’t you do the same with your school subjects?’ His reply was demonstratively simple: ‘Because I happen to like Greek Mythology!’ Obvious really, I suppose!
As he suffered from a stammer, Richard inevitably attracted some bullying in school, until one day he decided that enough was enough and thumped his tormentor. This signalled his emergence as a man, and a robust one at that. After he had left ‘Y Pant’ Comprehensive School in Pontyclun, Richard soon became employed as a photographic printer for a design company in Bridgend which took him on to Blackpool and finally Peterborough. He then returned to Wales where he worked as a cellar man in a busy Cardiff pub, before returning to the family home in 1985. With no particular job on the horizon, for a few weeks he idled away his time at home, much to his parents’ annoyance. Then one day, a friend of ours suggested that he might like to occasionally join her as an unpaid ‘volunteer’ at the local Mental Hospital, Hensol Castle. The thought did not exactly appeal to him, but next day he reluctantly went with her, more out of politeness than any real interest. Richard’s natural interaction with the patients so impressed the nursing staff that he was soon invited to apply for a job at the hospital. He seemed to possess an intuitive empathy with people handicapped in mind or body.
Within a few weeks of being employed as a nursing assistant, he brought home to us for tea, a patient who we will call ‘Joe’ who was severely physically handicapped and had no control of his flailing limbs; but once you ‘decoded’ his speech pattern, his mischievous sense of humour would reveal itself. ‘Joe’s’ disabilities were purely physical, and he was actually possessed of a sharp mind and should never have been placed in such an institution; but psychological medicine decreed otherwise in the less enlightened time of his initial admission. One day Richard suggested we took ‘Joe’ for a run in my car, and having arrived in Porthcawl, a visit to the fairground was inevitable. Richard immediately took our guest in his wheelchair to the shooting gallery: I was aghast as John unsteadily tried to aim a gun in the general direction of the targets. My own alarm was shared equally by the stall holder, who showered an exultant ‘Joe’ with free prizes, just to steer him away from his stall. When I lightly scolded Richard for encouraging ‘Joe’ in such a reckless, non-productive venture, he smiled wickedly and pointed at ‘Joe’s’ haul of free gifts: ‘Non-productive, eh, Dad!!?’
Richard’s innate empathy and understanding of his patients seemed also to extend to animals. Even as a toddler, he would exhibit a fearlessness of dogs that approached him. I well recall one day, a ferocious hound barking menacingly at me whilst I was slowly pushing Richard in his tricycle. I was about to pick up my young son and make a run for it, when he reached out his tiny hand to stroke the barking beast, and the damned animal rolled on its back in a blatant display of euphoria: it then got up and excitedly licked Richard’s face. He seemed to have no fear of dogs and other domestic creatures, whereas I was petrified! A dog owner neighbour of mine argued that my obvious fear and antagonism would be instantly conveyed to the animal via my scent, and Richard’s lack of fear would be similarly registered in the same creature.
Catherine had learned to play the violin from an early age, and eventually became a member of the Mid Glamorgan Youth Orchestra and the RSO. But our attempts to instil in our son an interest in the cornet was not quite as fruitful. Even though we were fortunate enough to secure the services of my friend and musical compatriot, Derek Holvey, to teach him, Richard showed no sign of progress despite the inordinate amount of time he seemed to spend ‘practicing’ in his bedroom. Then, one day, I discovered the reason for his diligence. In the field behind our Tonyrefail house, grazed ‘Jenny’, our neighbours’ beloved donkey. With his bedroom window wide open, Richard’s excruciating cornet blasts would ring out loudly, to be answered by jenny’s neighing!! It was akin to some bizarre conversation between kindred spirits!
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For wholesome, old fashioned, homespun humour, one does not need to venture far outside the confines of the Welsh mining valleys, and in my case, the Rhondda. I am still amused by the nicknames accorded to various working men in the locality. ‘Dai the Bread’, ‘Dai the Milk’ and ‘Dai Coffin’ were fairly predictable pseudonyms for the village baker, milkman and undertaker; but the subtlety that was devised for many others displayed a high level of ingenuity. For instance, the collier whose pregnant wife delivered him with a beautiful set of twins, became, ‘Dai Double Yolk; the pugilistic front row forward who had half his ear bitten off in a ferocious scrum, was dubbed, ‘Dai Eighteen Months; whilst Dai Evans, another miner, who elevated himself into the chapel pulpit as a lay preacher, bore the ‘non de plume’, ‘Evans Above’. Treorchy’s illustrious Male Choir once had a chorister who laboured under the sobriquet, ‘Dai Puff, Puff’ because he drove the small old steam engines that used to operate on the colliery surface; but when his coal fired engine was replaced by an oil driven vehicle, overnight he became known as ‘Dai Diesel’!
If requested to ‘say a few words’ at weddings or similar special events, I take great delight in quoting some of these vignettes of ’Rhonddaesque’ badinage. My particular favourite is the tale of the ‘chopsy’ gossip-monger, Mrs Thomas and her shy, reserved neighbour, Miss Jones, spinster of the parish, while they are out busy hanging their washing on the clothes line: it goes something like this.
Mrs Thomas: “Good morning, Miss Jones. I heard that you went to the pictures last night then”
Miss Jones: “Yes Mrs Thomas, I did”
Mrs Thomas: “And did you enjoy it?”
Miss Jones: “Well, yes and no, I suppose!”
Mrs Thomas: Why, was the film poor?”
Miss Jones: “No, the film was nice enough, but___”
Mrs Thomas: “What was wrong then?”
Miss Jones: “Well, I had some trouble with – men!”
Mrs Thomas: “What sort of trouble?”
Miss Jones: “ Well I had to change my seat five times”
Mrs Thomas: “Were you molested?”
Miss Jones: “Yes – EVENTUALLY !!!”
For me, that’s pure Rhondda magic !
As a teacher in the schools of the two Rhondda Valleys for over twenty years, it was inevitable that I would encounter my fair share of funny moments. A particular pupil of mine at Tonypandy Grammar School was showing much promise; but, struggling on a battered old school fiddle, his full potential was not being realised as quickly as it would with a decent instrument. Acutely aware of this deficiency, his concerned mother, a charming lady, came to discuss with me the possibility of purchasing a new violin for her son; but she was uncertain as to whether to buy him a ‘First’ or ‘Second’ violin ! I dispelled her misgivings with the utmost discretion. Another pupil at the same school was having trouble with his violin ‘bridge’ which kept collapsing. The thin wooden bridge is a free standing part of the instrument which is held in position by the tension of the four strings that it supports, and is the vital, slender conduit that allows the vibrations to travel from the strings to the hollow ‘belly’ of the violin from whence it emerges as pure sound. So it has to be poised with the utmost delicacy to perform its task efficiently. This lad’s well meaning DIY fanatic father brought the instrument to school one afternoon to proudly announce that he had permanently solved the irritating matter of the collapsing bridge. He had stuck it in position with unyielding and fast-setting glue! A well meant gesture, but with a disastrous outcome.
I arrived at Porth County Comprehensive school one frosty winter’s morning to find very few pupils in attendance: an overnight fall of snow had provided a heaven sent excuse for many of the kids to claim an unofficial holiday. I, and my peripatetic colleague, ‘Big Dave’ Williams, anticipated a quiet morning and set about making ourselves a welcome cup of coffee. Within a few minutes, however, there was a gentle knock on the door, and in strode one of my pupils, a diminutive, pretty, blonde haired girl called Amanda, armed with her violin, ready for tuition. I instantly complimented her on her determination to attend school in such inclement weather, and got ready to deal with her lesson. On the previous week, with a full complement in her group, I had been teaching them the tiresome technique of developing a ‘vibrato’ ( a gentle shaking of the left hand which enriches the tone quality). In pursuance of my goal, I had suggested that the girls place the scroll ( peg end ) of their violins gently against the wall of their practice room at home: this would provide support for the instrument, thereby allowing them to manipulate their wrists more freely. With ‘Big Dave’ quietly sipping his coffee behind a dividing partition, I proceeded with my lesson. ‘Now then, Amanda’, I enquired, ‘Have you been practicing that vibrato exercise I taught you last week?’ ‘Oh yes, Sir’, she enthusiastically replied, adding the mind-shattering comment: ‘Shall we do it up against the wall again, Sir?’ ‘Big Dave’ was around that partition like a shot!!
When, in 1984, I was appointed Head of Strings and Orchestra Studies to the South Glamorgan Education Authority, it was like a dream come true. It also heralded the start of a whole new phase in my life which could quite easily occupy another separate volume. My new job took me on exciting tours to various countries in Europe and to the USA, as well as conducting the South Glam Youth Orchestra in concerts and competitions in the main concert halls in the UK, including London’s Royal Albert and Festival Halls, together with our own St. David’s Hall, Cardiff. Whilst, understandably, intoxicated with the heady euphoria associated with performing in these splendid venues, it was the unpublicised happenings at rehearsals that afforded me greater satisfaction – and amusement. Within a year of taking up my new post, I had established a string ensemble which became the South Glamorgan Youth Chamber Orchestra, initially as a means of strengthening the string section in the existing South Glam Youth Orchestra; but it went on to achieve considerable success in the National Festival of Music for Youth, such as scooping the ‘Outstanding Performance Award’ at the Festival Hall in 1985. As a direct result of this accolade, we were regularly invited to participate in the annual series of School Proms throughout the country. Often, whilst rehearsing with the Chamber Orchestra, I would wistfully affirm my avowed intention to include an especially tender item that we had just played, together with a host of similarly nostalgic pieces, in my funeral. This, of course, was done in jest and was probably dismissed by the kids as the idle ramblings of a maudlin, sentimental old fool! A few months later, however, at a break in rehearsal, I was approached by a rather serious, bespectacled, professional young viola player who politely offered the following advice: ‘Excuse me, Mr. Lloyd, but according to my calculations, in the unfortunate event of your demise, your funeral service is likely to last in excess of four hours: therefore, may I respectfully suggest an interval?!’
With incidents such as these upon which to ponder, my life has never been drearily humdrum. I have certainly experienced my share of annoying days, frustrating days, tiring days, worrying days and thoroughly ‘pissed off’ days! But I have never had a boring day in my life. And this I largely ascribe to the joy and involvement of music, writing, stimulating conversation and my insistence on maintaining an optimistic viewpoint. Emulating the zany humour of ‘Monty Python’, I have simply sought to ‘Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life!’ And that is why mine has been such a satisfying one: and I confidently recommend it!
THE END…………