THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 23683, 17 September 1940, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.]

Music gives tone to the universe; wings to the mind; flight to the imagination; a charm to sadness; gaiety and life to everything.—Plato. Listeners to the lighter type of radio music must often have been delighted by recordings of the famous J. H. Squire Celeste Octet. But very few people, probably, are aware of the extraordinary story that lies behind the foundation of that small orchestral combination—only those, in fact, who have read the autobiography of the man responsible for it. There are individuals who ought not to write biographies. This particular autobiography is distinctly ono of the ought-to-biographies —lf 1 may borrow a jest of the author’s. I defy anyone to put it down unfinished once "he has begun to read it. A more enthralling book of its kind has never come under my notice. What could exceed the modesty and ingenuousness of its title—* . . . And Master of None’? Jack of all trades has Jack Squire certainly been in his time, and ho has definitely mastered several, including that of‘writing reminiscences.

Several columns of the ‘ Star ’ would bo needed to do anything like justice to a review of this outstanding hook. Mv chief regret is that I have only just road it, although it was published three veavs ago. Without exaggeration I can assert that—solely excepting Wallace, the composer of ‘ Maritana,’ whose adventures with Maori cannibals a century ago I have previously mentioned—no musician in history has had such an exciting life as J. H. Squire. Lot me enumerate briefly the highlights of his experiences. At 11 years of ago he ran away from home to escape his father’s brutality: “ Father was of tho ; old school, and believed in thrashings for boys, thorough and often, hut that day ho excelled himself. . . . Looking

hack, 1 regard that thrashing as the real start of 40 years of_ adventure.” Young .lack decided to quit. He made a bundle of belongings and crept downstairs. “ Here a new problem presented itself. What was Ito use for money?” The problem was solved by prising open his father’s desk and expropriating the sura of £4, but he is careful to tell ns that tliis “ loan ” was subsequently repaid with interest. Jack loved his mother, and it was a wrench to leave her. However, the die was cast, and a few hours later found him installed as ship’s boy on the Queen Anno barque, outward bound for San Francisco.

The crew of this ship comprised as choice a set of blackguards as any maritime novelist could imagine. “ But it was the first mate who loomed largest in the picture, and he started looming without delay. He was a brute and a bully.” He certainly was, and ho took a violent dislike to young Jack from the first day. A long course of ill-treatment culminated in a hideous thrashing with a tarred rope, on Christmas Day, of all days. Says Squire : “ I made a vow, then and there, to get my own back—some day, somehow.” The sequel came 11 years later, in a Hongkong hotel, -where Squire met an affable stranger whom he thought he knew. The stranger “ scanned my face in a speculative way. ‘ I’m sure I’ve seen you .somewhere before,’ he said. ‘ Any idea where it was? ’

“ I began to enjoy myself. “ 1 Remember the Queen Anne and her ship’s hoy? ’ I asked him. He gave a great laugh. “ ‘ Remember him? ’ he chuckled reminiscently. _ , . “ 1 I remember giving the little devil the heating-of his life, one Christmas Day.’ “ I stood up. ‘ I’m that hoy,’ T said. ‘ and I’ve waited 11 years for this.’ Then T let him have it; I heat him nearly to a pulp, and every blow was a joy to me!” The result was a summons for assault, and a fine of 10 dollars, “ but it was well worth it. The mate never again showed his battered face in Hongkong.’’

Yet, strangely enough, on that same Queen Anno there was another sailor, named Kerryman—■“ a rough old chap who, little though I then realised it, was destined to have a tremendous influence on my future.” For Kerryman had inusicj of a sort, in the soul of him. He possessed an ancient cornet on which he sometimes played uncertainly. It fascinated me. ‘ I wish you’d show me how to play,’ I said one day.” Kerryman did show him, and that was the beginning of Squire’s musical life. Within a few weeks he could play two tunes very well—viz., ‘ The Heart Bowed Down,’ and ‘ Tom Bowling.’ Again there came a sequel, a year or two later. Young Squire joined the Navy per medium of the training ship Arethusa. After a fight with the cornet player of the ship’s band, “of whom I certainly made a mess,” Squire was put on the mat and requested to explain. “ I can play better than he can, sir.” he said. “ Let’s hoar you,” said the bandmaster. So Squire promptly turned on bis repertoire of tlie above-mentioned two tunes. Bcsult: In a few months be was band sergeant and solo cornetist. “ Not only my naval career, but the whole course of my life was decided by that recital.” comments Squire. And it was all due to that drunken old sailor on the Queen Anne.

Squire was decidedly what we may call a “ tough guy.” I cannot do better than quote from the preface to his book, au eloquent tribute by Christopher Stone:

“ It was not until he sent mo the proofs of this autobiography that I began to appreciate the astonishing background of that Celeste Octet. I venture to predict that those who know J. H. Squire well and those who know him only through his records and broadcasts will be equally enchanted by the romance and the thrills and the candour of the narrative. The earlier adventures are in the tradition of Defoe and Smollett, and as the story progresses . . . you will gradually realise that you arc reading an epitome of the English character, and that in essentials Jack Squire has as much right as John Bull to go down to posterity as tho personification of the spirit of England.”

Aye, and the reader also realises the mad futility of Hitler’s plan to subjugate a people of whom J. H. Squire is such a typical representative. What is not easily realised is the fact that the conductor who so suavely leads his octet through melodious music and plays the ’cello so sweetly at 13 years of age killed a negro, and fought his way through life to a position that brought him in £6,000 per annum. Read the story for yourselves.

1 have heard excellent reports of the recent production by the Dunedin Repertory Society of Priestley’s comedy ‘ When We Are Married,’ and a friend who was present has expressed particular appreciation of the incidental

orchestral music. Ho says: “During the interval we were agreeably surprised to find an orchestra performing—a real, live body of accomplished musicians whose overture wo ' Unfortunately missed Most capably conducted by Mr J. A. Wallace, they played a selection from ‘ Pinafore ’ which was a real treat to hear, not least for the reason of it being such a welcome change from the horrid stuff commonly played at theatrical entertainments—and that usually by mechanical means. The play itself proved extremely enjoyable, but there is no doubt that the delightful music went far to enhance the general enjoyment.” * • » • When I read that my mind travelled away back to 1913, when I myself was a member of the orchestra which played in Dunedin for Fred. Niblo’s touring company in ‘ Get-Rich-Quick-Walling-ford.’ Wo also toured Dunedin’s streets in a lorry, appealing for funds on behalf of Captain Scott’s widow and family. Does any reader recall those days," and the immense popularity of that orchestra with Van Heck, exquisite violinist, as conductor? “ Ehcu ! f ugaces! ’ ’