Upstairs at the Dying Glad

I have gone on in the past about my genetic predisposition for the sound of the bagpipes.

They are not, admittedly, the most tuneful of musical instruments but that undertone of melancholic hum and all of the historical back story for the Scottish peoples gives so much more depth and meaning to what could otherwise be quite a harsh set of notes.

That particular love definitely comes from my Paternal line as my grandparents came from the North and North Western extremities of Caledonia.

I have written a few lines on my attempt, a sorry one at that, to try to learn to play the bagpipes a few years ago now but that is best forgotten and just brought out on the occasion of the need for a humorous, self-deprecating anecdote.

On my Mother’s lineage I had a similar genetic attraction for music and that was for the sonorous tones of a brass band.

This came from my maternal grandfather who was a great bandsman and I naturally followed in his footsteps in joining a well established town band in my early teenage years, from 1976 to 1978.

Although a brass band in the meaning of the word this group of musicians styled themselves as a Silver Band, perhaps a bit of one-upmanship in what was then, and to all intents and purposes remains, a very competitive musical genre.

I cannot actually recall how I came to joint the band although I probably just tagged along with a school friend who was a very proficient player of the Baritone Horn and was very close to being recruited by one of the top regional brass bands which was seen as the pinnacle of anyone’s career in banding. He could list all of the leading national exponents of each of the sections of the band and if there had been equivalent sticker collection for bands as there was for football players he would certainly have had a full album.

In contrast I was a terrible musician devoting the absolute minimum amount of time, or even less, to practice of my cornet beyond the usual music lessons in the school curriculum either on a one to one basis with a tutor or in the larger sessions with the group orchestra which was made up of a number of local schools. Their practice times were usually after school or on a Saturday which were hours that I really wanted to devote to other activities such as watching TV, playing outdoors or just lazing about.

The Silver Band practiced above the old coaching house of a public house, The Dying Gladiator, in the centre of the town where we lived.

I was a bit of a squeaky clean geek and a Sunday school attendee and so the fact that I had to go to a drinking establishment was a bit against my set of principles and beliefs.

That was nothing compared to the smoke filled room itself and the fact that the band members, in particular the heavy Bass section always had a steady supply of pints of beer brought to them during the practice to keep their energy levels up, as they were quick to say.

The band members were the most diverse in terms of social background that I had yet come across in my youthful years and yet united in their dedication to banding. There were gruff old veterans, ambitious middle class types, housewives, a few kids even younger than me who had pushy parents, swotty music students and some groupies who just seemed to attach themselves to the Musical Director, who was an up and coming force in the band scene. The age range across the different cliques  was understandably wide  through to those in their mid to late seventies.

It was a great environment for an extra-curricula education, a warm and friendly atmosphere and I soon came to regard my fellow musicians as a second family.

After a disparate warming up and emptying out of the accumulated bile and spit from instrument valves each practice night started with the tap of the conductor’s baton and a rousing rendition of a well known hymn. It was a beautiful and harmonious sound which really set the mood for what could sometimes be a difficult couple of hours if we were preparing a Test Piece for a regional or even a national contest.

The bringing together of the multitude of instruments from my cornet, all ranges of horns, trombones and percussion to produce a solid melodious sound was like a major feat of engineering. All depended on each other for structure and form.

The actual competitions were usually held in the traditional coal mining areas of the Midlands where banding was strong and vibrant. This was against an increasingly desperate situation with Government and Unions lining up for what would, within a few years, become a very violent and demoralising industrial conflict. Bandsmen, for sure, would be on the front lines of many subsequent confrontations.

I travelled about widely with the band, Nottingham, Leicester, Brodsworth, Doncaster from memory but many other venues as well often getting home in the very early hours of a morning, my clothes infused with the dense and choking cigarette smoke of a Miners Welfare Hall or flecked with cheese and onion crisps from a packed lunch eaten on the bouncy seats of an old bus.

For all of the inspiring surroundings and personalities my own cornet playing skills did not really progress. 

I was perhaps the longest serving occupant of the seat of Third Cornet in the illustrious history of Brigg Town Silver Band that stretched back to the 1920's and until around 2008 when sadly it ceased to exist.  

My lack of application is something  that , upon hearing a brass band playing in full flow today, gives me a sense of regret, but I would not have missed that period in my life for anything.