The CBB
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The Keys to My Heart - updated 28th May p.5
http://www.the-cbb.co.uk/viewtopic.php?f=14&t=2601
Author:  Josie [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 1:15 am ]
Post subject:  The Keys to My Heart - updated 28th May p.5
I started this about two years ago (not sure that anyone actually remembers it!) but the bunny has bitten again so I figured let's start from the beginning again and I may be inspired to actually write some more!

Kevin Sibley could smell victory - just fifty yards more, and the win would be his. Head down, peddling as fast as his ten year old legs would go, he urged his Raleigh Chopper towards the finishing line with all his might. Forty yards – thirty – twenty – ten - five – and then suddenly there it was, the winners post. Slowing down as he crossed it, he threw his arms in the air. The crowds were going wild. The glory was his. He had won the Tour de France.

“Kevin – dinner’s ready!”

His mother’s voice brought back him down to earth, and turning his bike around and climbing down from the seat, he wheeled it towards his home. As he looked up, he caught sight of his next-door neighbour watching him from her kitchen window. She smiled and waved, and he returned it with interest as he passed her front gate. He was very fond of the ‘old lady’ as he thought of her. She always treated him kindly, unlike the people who had lived in the cottage before her, and he had wiled away many a rainy day in that warm kitchen, munching on her delicious cakes and listening to her tell him tales of her childhood.

The ‘old lady’ watched the young boy as he passed her house and turned in at his front gate. She had become very fond of the Sibley family since her move to Wisteria Cottage, especially young Kevin, and all of them were now regular visitors to her Sunday pot-roast lunches. Smiling to herself, she turned away from the window and surveyed her cosy kitchen. They had not long been in this cottage, just five months in total. The old house had got far too big and they had decided to sell up. Her new home fulfilled all her needs and she was happy here, now that she was settling in and making friends.

She chuckled when Kevin referred to her as an ‘old lady’. She hardly felt a day over thirty, and yet she would be sixty in less than six months time. She didn’t consider sixty elderly, but she still found it a shock to realise that she had reached that age at all. The years seemed to have flown by – she could remember it all as if it were yesterday. She loved to talk of her younger days, though of course, people were not always willing to listen. Kevin listened though – he seemed to just eat up the stories. Just last week, he had told her that he would be doing a history project on her, which had made her laugh. His mother had been embarrassed and told him not to be rude, but she was just touched that he was interested at all.

And of course, there was Grant. Dear old Grant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the whistling of the kettle, and making her way across to the stove, she turned off the gas and lifted it off the hob. Someone had tried to buy her an electric kettle once, but she had declined. Old-fashioned it may be, but there were some things that she just wasn’t willing to give up, and that old familiar whistle was one of them. Walking across to the table, she poured the boiling water into the teapot, put the lid on and added the teapot to the trolley. Then placing the kettle back on the stove, she pushed the trolley out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway towards the front room.

As she opened the door, a young man in his mid-twenties jumped up from his seat and rushed across to help. Thanking him, she let him wheel the trolley into the centre of the room and took a seat on one of the comfortable sofas. The tea would need a few minutes more to stew.

“Can I pass you some cake?”

“Well, if you’re offering, I won’t say no to a piece of Battenberg,” she replied with a grin.

Smiling, he turned to cut the cake and she watched him as he did so. He was very different from the young men back in her day, with his coloured, gelled hair and tight jeans, but he was extremely polite and charming. She had been very taken with him when they had met at a dinner party some eight months previously, and when he had approached her with the suggestion that he write her biography, she had readily agreed.

Grant Hooper returned to his chair, a plate containing a large slab of marble cake in his hand. He sat down, crossing his legs and shuffling to get comfortable, and then gave her a smile as he took a bite of cake. It was hard to believe that just a few months ago he had never even heard of her, let alone had any desire to find out more about her. He found her fascinating, and it wasn’t just because of his journalist’s curiosity to find out facts. She had lived through a part of history and led the kind of life that people of his generation could only imagine, despite their so-called freer lifestyles.

She got up from the sofa to pour them both some tea, and he picked his Dictaphone up from the table next to him and checked the tape. Then reaching down for his bag, he took out a pen and paper, just in case, and sat back again as she placed a cup of tea next to him and returned to her seat.

“Are you sure you don’t mind doing a few more hours today? I can always come back tomorrow if it’s easier. I don’t want to tire you out.”

Dame Margia Stevens, as she was known to the world-at-large, grinned as she sat down and tucked her legs up under her, with the agility of a woman half her age.

“I think I can manage – it’s not quite time for my afternoon nap yet!” she quipped back, and as he flushed and laughed, she took a sip of her tea and made sure she was comfortable. “Now, where were we?”

“You were just venturing into the big wide world, I believe.”

She smiled. “That’s right. 1937. That really does feel like a lifetime ago…”
Author:  Róisín [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 1:17 am ]
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Oh I *do* remember it and I loved it! The image of the kettle actually stayed with me and I always picture it when I read about Margia now in the books. Hurrah for this being back! :popper:
Author:  Dawn [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 1:52 am ]
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Waves hand in the air wildly - I remember too and I loved it first time around

so looking forward to lots and lots and lots more please Josie :D
Author:  Cath V-P [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 2:17 am ]
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I do remember this...looking forward to more, Josie.
Author:  Kathy_S [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 3:04 am ]
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Glad to see this back. :)
Author:  Lesley [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 8:32 am ]
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I remember too - glad the bunny's bitten again.


Thanks Josie.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 8:39 am ]
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As I wasn't around a couple of years ago I'm really glad you're reposting and that the bunny has bitten. really enjoyed the start
Author:  brie [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 9:18 am ]
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thanks josie this looks great- and i've never seen this before...
Author:  Rosy-Jess [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 10:16 am ]
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Oooh. I am glad this is back. Hurrah!
Author:  aitchemelle [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 10:20 am ]
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I remember and really looking forward to more!! :-)
Author:  Josie [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 8:06 pm ]
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Thanks for all the lovely comments. Am amazed that anyone remembers this at all! :lol:

There was only ever one thing I was going to do, of course. I’d known for as long as I could remember that music was my destiny. It was a funny feeling, that – being so certain of what I wanted to do. People have asked me since if I felt special at school, apart from everyone else, but I can honestly say I never did. I was just the same as my peers, I just played music better than they did, that was all. And I wasn't the only one anyway – I think I mentioned that Vanna di Ricci, the cellist, was at the Chalet School too, and Joey Bettany had her writing, of course.

As for my special group of friends, we all have our individual talents. Corney has the most beautiful singing voice, a heart of gold and could think up wicked schemes that even I couldn’t match. Elsie was a wiz in the science lab and on the sports field, and has more enthusiasm for life than anyone else I know. Lonny’s the peacemaker, the mediator, the most adult of us all in many ways, and Evvy, well, she can make people laugh until they cry, though not always intentionally if I’m honest, and possesses the world’s best shoulder to cry on. And she is hands-down still the best-dressed person I know. We made a good group, the five of us. We still do.

Finishing school was certainly the end of an era. I was leaving behind the place that I’d called home and people who had become my family over the previous few years – friendships so strong that some of them have endured the test of time right up to today. Not without their ups and downs, of course, but that’s what’s made them hold so fast. But I didn’t feel that wrench that some people did. I was excited at the prospect of venturing into the world beyond school. I knew that it was going to be tough, that our sheltered childhood by our idyllic Austrian lake had not exactly prepared us for life outside it, but I honestly couldn’t wait. Finally I was going to do what I’d wanted to all my life.

Amy and I spent the summer with Mother and Dad up in Oslo. They’d flitted around all over the place for years, Mother following Dad’s work as much as possible, but Norway was one place they were comfortable in and they kept a house there, so we visited as often as we could. Dad managed to get a month free of assignments to join us, which was something of a first. He’d been covering the Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson affair, and made his way up to Oslo to join Mother as soon as that wedding was over. We had a riotous summer together – the best holiday that both Amy and I had ever had. Whenever I looked back on that month throughout the following few years, I always felt so glad that it happened. It was such long time before we were all able to be together again.

==

“Because of the war?”

Margia nodded. “That was the main reason, yes, though my touring beforehand didn’t help. The war was very divisive, you know. It ripped many families apart. We were just lucky we were strong enough to come through it; it could easily have been so different.” She took a sip of her tea, placed the cup back on its saucer and smiled. “Still, enough of that later. There’s a little more to tell before then…”
Author:  Vikki [ Sat Apr 28, 2007 11:22 pm ]
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It's fab to see this back Jo!
Well done that bunny! :wink:
Author:  Lesley [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 12:11 am ]
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Love Margia's descriptions of the Quintette.


Thanks Josie.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 3:07 am ]
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How good to see that they stuck together.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 7:39 am ]
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Thanks.
Author:  brie [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 10:06 am ]
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Thanks Josie. Margia seems so lovely here, and your description of the quintette is great. They were alwas some of my favourite characters.
Author:  Nell [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 11:04 am ]
Post subject: 
Fab to see this back - and of course I remember it!

Really must speak soon,

nell xxx
Author:  Miranda [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 11:36 am ]
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This is lovely Josie! I wasn't around last time, but I'm really enjoying it. I particularly liked her descriptions of the individuals that made up the Quintette. And it really made me realise what a change it would be when the girls left school - especially Margia (and Amy) who had been there so long.
Author:  aitchemelle [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 12:39 pm ]
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*happy dances*
Author:  francesn [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 1:06 pm ]
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I remember this!

Lovely to see it back, Josie
Author:  Josie [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 9:52 pm ]
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September saw Amy heading back to Austria to begin another year at school, and Mother and Dad travelled to Munich where Dad was on assignment for The Times, watching events unfolding with the Nazi Party. He had heard rumblings about certain planned activities of Hitler and co, though all those in power were denying anything of the sort, of course. Funny to think how different things would have been if they’d been stopped in their tracks there and then. Hindsight’s a great thing, as they say. But Hitler was so charismatic, so Dad said, that even the world’s most powerful people were taken in by him. That, or they just didn’t want to know.

As for me, I made my way to London to begin my study at the Royal Academy. I was only doing a year to begin with, just to see how it went. I didn’t want to spend too much time studying the theory of music – I didn’t feel the need. I just wanted to draw on the experience of some of the greatest teachers and pianists in the world. And that’s exactly what I did. I was placed under the care of Monsieur Henri Lemacq, who’d just transferred from the Conservatoire in Paris, and I can never overestimate the influence that he had on my career.

I still remember every single detail of my first day at the Academy – it’s one of those moments that has stayed with me all my life. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked down Marylebone Road – a mixture of anticipation, nerves and excitement that I’d never felt before. As I turned off the road and walked into the entrance hall, and saw all the honours boards carrying the names of people I’d admired all my life, I panicked and almost turned and ran out again. I felt like I didn’t belong, that I had no place there. These were some of the greatest musicians that had ever lived, and who was I? Just Margia Stevens, a nobody. I was only just out of school, for goodness sake.

I was just about to make good my escape when I heard someone say something and turned around to see another girl, about the same age as me and looking even more terrified. Her name was Anna Coleman, and she told me later that she’d already thrown up several times from nerves before she met me. She went on to be one of the most famous clarinet players ever to have lived, but you would never have thought it if you’d seen her that first day. She was as white as a sheet - even a little green in places, if I remember rightly - and she could scarcely speak.

By the time I’d calmed her down, I was late for enrolment and to meet Monsieur Lemacq and, in my panic, I completely forgot my nerves. I always joke now that I owe my entire career to Anna – if she hadn’t turned up when she did, I might have completely lost my nerve and run home again. Instead it turned out to be the very first day of what I like to call ‘the rest of my life.’
Author:  Sarah_K [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 10:17 pm ]
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Very glad to see this back Josie :D

It's always reassuring to discover there's smeone just as scared as you are (or more scared) when going somewhere new.
Author:  Lesley [ Sun Apr 29, 2007 10:20 pm ]
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Oh that's lovely - just what Margia needed. :lol:


Thanks Josie.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Mon Apr 30, 2007 12:28 am ]
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Oh God, yes, those first day nerves......

Thanks Josie
Author:  Karoline [ Mon Apr 30, 2007 11:35 am ]
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Lovely to see this back Josie :)
Author:  brie [ Mon Apr 30, 2007 5:18 pm ]
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Thanks Josie
Author:  Josie [ Mon Apr 30, 2007 10:05 pm ]
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“Studying under Monsieur Lemacq must have been such a privilege,” Grant said, fixing her with eager eyes. “He was widely held up as a genius in his field, wasn’t he?”

Margia grinned. “So you picked up my hint then?” she replied teasingly.

She knew full well that Grant had known very little about the classical music world before he had met her and, as soon as he proposed the idea of writing her biography, she had begun to drop little hints into their conversations, to help him out with his research.

Grant blushed and laughed. It was funny how she could get away with teasing him about his lack of knowledge without him minding, when almost nobody else could. There were very few people in the world for whom he had such a high level of respect, but this redoubtable, kindly, humorous lady had made that list.

“I’ve picked up on all your hints – you’re not nearly as subtle as you think!” he retorted, rolling his eyes in mock despair. Margia chuckled and he shifted slightly in his seat, making himself more comfortable. “So come on then, humour me. What was it like to study under the great man? What was he like?”

“Monsieur Lemacq? Where do I start…?”

==

The man was a genius, pure and simple. Anyone who ever met him will tell you that. It was his manner, his demeanour, his quiet charisma – you just knew you were in the presence of someone great.

As for how he was as a teacher… challenging would be an ideal word! He was difficult, bad-tempered, rude, patronising – the list is almost endless. But you know what? It was worth all of that for just one word of praise from him, one hint that he liked what I was doing, that I was on the right track with a new piece. Because that was what it was all about, why I was there. It became what I lived for, that odd bit of praise; it made all the work, sweat and tears worthwhile.

A great deal of my days at the Academy blur into one for me now. I remember specific instances, specific conversations, but when they happened, in what order or at what time of year, I’ve long since forgotten. My memories have faded over time, and names and faces escape me, like looking back at an old photograph and no longer recognising the person standing next to you. It’s an odd feeling, but I’ve sort of got used to it now. It’s all part and parcel of old age, I suppose.

You know what I do remember every detail of though? The music. I remember the sound of every note, the way it seemed to be absorbed into every brick and panel of wood in the building. I almost felt like I could smell it, taste it, reach out and touch it. I suppose that might sound ridiculous, especially to someone who’s never been there. It’s hard to put it into words that make sense.

I loved it there to begin with. It felt like I was in hallowed halls, like I couldn’t help but improve, because it seemed that I could just absorb musical knowledge through my pores. And I made some incredible friends – ones who were to last the rest of my life. Anna, Shona Massey, a fellow pianist who came from Scotland, and a German violinist named Johannes Lohmann became particular companions of mine.

Within a month of starting there, Anna, Shona and I moved into a house together in Hampstead, owned by Anna’s father, and the three of us cemented our friendship, supporting each other through the ups and downs of life at the Academy, keeping each other going on the occasions when we’d had enough and just wanted to throw it all in and walk away.

As for Johannes, he was my first boyfriend, as I suppose you’d say nowadays, though that wasn’t what we called it back then. We ‘stepped out’, as they used to say. He was such a lovely looking chap. Tall, light brown hair, brooding grey eyes – he reminded me a little of Clark Gable in Mutiny on the Bounty. He could be very intense and serious – the absolute opposite to me – but he was also sweet and kind and considerate and intelligent. So very intelligent. It was never love, I knew that even then, despite my naivety when it came to the opposite sex, but we enjoyed each other’s company immensely and he gave me a wonderful introduction into the world of romance.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Mon Apr 30, 2007 10:43 pm ]
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This is so lovely. Thanks
Author:  Cath V-P [ Tue May 01, 2007 1:25 am ]
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Oh, that is so evocative....
The things that she remembers are the teacher, the music and the conversations, almost as if her experiences are in concentrate form.
Author:  Kathy_S [ Tue May 01, 2007 6:10 am ]
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Interesting how it's music that brings out the most evocative language.

Thank you, Josie.
Author:  Smile :) [ Tue May 01, 2007 11:40 am ]
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I don't remember this, since I wasn't around at the time but its looking good Josie.

Thank you.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Wed May 02, 2007 12:31 pm ]
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I can see the Margia I knew in the books in the older version of her. You've certainly caught the essence of her. Thanks
Author:  Josie [ Wed May 02, 2007 10:41 pm ]
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By early 1938, it was clear that Dad’s suspicions and stories about the activities of the Third Reich would be proven true. He wasn’t able to get home to spend Christmas with Mother, Amy and I, but I saw him in January, during one of his flying visits to London, and he told me that he and Mother had been in two minds as to whether to send Amy back to school at all. Mother had been reluctant, worried about Dad’s warnings regarding Hitler’s intentions in Austria, but eventually he persuaded her that Amy should go. As he said, the moment you give in to a tyrant, they defeat you. That principle served the British people well in the years to come.

Then on the twelfth of March it finally happened. The German troops marched unopposed into Austria. Initially I was worried for Amy, and my old friends. I know Doctor Jem had moved the school up to the Sonnalpe, but somehow I just couldn’t believe that they would be safe. And then just before the Easter, something happened – I didn’t discover what until a few months afterwards - and suddenly the school and San had to close. Joey told me later that it was only a matter of time, anyway; that the Nazi’s would have moved in and taken over as soon as they were given the opportunity.

Amy arrived home, frightened and full of half-informed tales of Nazi beatings and soldiers in uniform trying to take people away. She didn’t really know what had happened – understandably the school hadn’t informed the pupils, especially those as young as Amy. All she knew was that a group of them had had to flee for their lives, and nobody was quite sure where they were or if they were safe. She was fretting badly – her two greatest friends were in the party that had had to flee – and within a couple of days she’d made herself ill with a raging fever.

Her health had never been strong, though she had improved immeasurably over recent years, and I was torn between worry for her, and worry for Evvy, Corney and the others, of whom we had still not heard any news. As a result, my studying took a backseat over the next two or three weeks. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I had no desire to practise or to learn. Instead I drew comfort from old, familiar pieces that were second nature to me – Mozarts, Rachmaninovs, Bachs, that I had been playing for years and that seemed like old familiar friends.
Author:  Elbee [ Wed May 02, 2007 11:04 pm ]
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In Exile the story of the escape is very exciting so I tend to forget about the thoughts of those who are desperately waiting news about the group on the run.

Thanks Josie, this is very thought provoking.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Thu May 03, 2007 12:57 am ]
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And we know that it will be alright, but those waiting wouldn't....

Thank you Josie
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Thu May 03, 2007 3:25 am ]
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I had never thought that of course Amy's two closest friends were in the party that fled or that so were Margia's
Author:  Miranda [ Thu May 03, 2007 8:36 am ]
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Neither had I.

Thanks Josie for drawing out all these details that give the characters more life and *humanity*.
Author:  brie [ Thu May 03, 2007 4:45 pm ]
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Thanks Josie. You have brought this to life so vividly and intensely.
Author:  Josie [ Thu May 03, 2007 10:21 pm ]
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It’s funny looking back on those few weeks with the hindsight that we have now. At the time, we knew that it was the start of something big, that there was likely to be conflict, but we had no idea then that it was the beginning of a war that would last for seven years hence, and would change both our lives and the world forever. I don’t think even the older generations quite realised what was going on – with the exception of people like Dad, and others who were ‘in the know’. After all, The Great War was ‘the war to end all wars’, they had lived through that, lost their loved ones, almost an entire generation of young men had been killed or injured, physically or emotionally. They didn’t believe it could possibly happen again.

From my own point of view, everything seemed to be happening at once. A week after Amy’s return, while we were still waiting for news of Evvy, Corney and the others, Johannes was suddenly recalled to Germany under conscription law. He had escaped it up until now. Being such a talented musician – Hitler himself had heard him play once in a recital in Munich - he was made exempt and allowed to come to England to study instead. He was a strange dichotomy, Hitler. A man so ruthless and evil, and yet so in love with the beauty of the arts and with animals. Human nature can be a funny thing. I suppose it goes to show that even the most inhumane among us have their human and compassionate side.

It was terribly hard to say goodbye to Johannes. I had got so used to having him around. I’m not one for crying often – it just doesn’t come naturally to me – but I confess I shed a few tears as I stood in his arms on the platform at Victoria Station and we said our final farewell. It wasn’t so much the end of our affair that upset me; as I said before, it was never going to be forever. It was the fact that suddenly life felt so uncertain, that every moment spent with somebody felt like it could possibly be the last. I had no idea when, or if, I would ever see him again.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Fri May 04, 2007 12:26 am ]
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That terrible inevitability; war is coming closer and there is nothing anyone can do about it.....

Thanks Josie.
Author:  Elder in Ontario [ Fri May 04, 2007 1:24 am ]
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Quote:
It was the fact that suddenly life felt so uncertain.....

That sums up that period so well and so succinctly - as Cath V-P said, there was such an inevitability that war was coming.... that could only make the uncertainty so much worse for everyone concerned.

Thanks, Josie.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Fri May 04, 2007 2:35 am ]
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Not only that but now Johanns will be fighting on the other side :(
Author:  Kathy_S [ Fri May 04, 2007 2:55 am ]
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At best, she must feel immensely unsettled -- and how horrible for Johannes! At least Margia has the option of comfort music. :(
Author:  Josie [ Fri May 04, 2007 6:51 pm ]
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Oops - managed to miss the end off the last post! This is it - will post the next bit straight away too!


“And did you?”

Margia smiled sadly and shook her head. “That was the last time. Somehow I knew then that it would be, though I didn’t really know why I felt that. I only ever heard from him a few more times – some guarded letters when he first got to his barracks. Then even they stopped coming. It wasn’t the done thing for a soldier in the army of the Third Reich to be writing to a sweetheart in England, I suppose.”

“So you’ve no idea what happened to him, then?”

“Ah, that I do know, though I didn’t find out until very much later – some eleven years after the end of the war.” Margia stood up and walked across to a dresser on the far side of the room. “I was giving a recital in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, not too far from Munich, and his sister came to hear me play. She sought me out afterwards and introduced herself - she remembered Johannes talking about me in the letters he wrote to her during his year in London. She told me he’d been killed in 1944, while fighting on the Russian Front.” Opening the dresser, she pulled out a box and took out a photograph. Then walking back across the room, she handed it to Grant and sat back down on the sofa.

Grant stared down at the photograph in his hand, into the face of a handsome, smiling young man, feeling the deep, intense eyes staring back into his own.

“It was a dreadful waste of a wonderful, talented young man, and so many others like him – on both sides of the fence, not just ours. And yet we never learn, do we? Look what’s happened since – Korea, Vietnam, now Northern Ireland. For all our intelligence, human beings can be so remarkably stupid. I suppose we just have to pray that one day, somewhere down the line, the message will be heard.”

Grant lifted his head to look at her again. “You think it will be?”

Margia smiled. “It has to be. Now,” she added briskly, getting to her feet and changing the subject, “how about another cup of tea?”
Author:  Josie [ Fri May 04, 2007 6:56 pm ]
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Grant took the fresh cup of tea that she handed him, with a word of thanks. Then taking a sip, he set it down on the table next to him and picked up his pen once more.

“So tell me about your friends? Did they escape in the end? How did they do it?” The idea of the flight from the Nazi’s thrilled him and, try as he might, he couldn’t keep the enthusiasm from his voice.

Margia raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. “Sounds thrilling, fleeing from the Nazi’s, doesn’t it?”

Grant turned red and began to stammer his apologies, and Margia got to her feet and walked out of the room. Grant was furious with himself. How could he have been so insensitive? He was still kicking himself for upsetting her some two minutes later, when the door opened again and she returned to the room.

“Margia, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Margia gave him a warm smile and shook her head. “Stop looking so worried, you haven’t offended anyone!” She handed him a book before sitting back down again. “To answer your question, yes they escaped, all of them safe and sound thank goodness. As for how, you’ll find the story in there.”

Grant looked down at the book he held in his hands. It was an old, battered hardback, obviously well read. The spine was somewhat broken, the dust-jacket torn. Turning it over, he read ‘Nancy Meets a Nazi’, a tale by Josephine M. Bettany, author of ‘Cecily Holds the Fort.’

“Josephine M. Bettany? As in Joey Bettany from your school? She was one of them?”

Margia nodded. “So were her now-husband and her adopted sister – Robin was one of Amy’s great friends. And Evvy and Corney were there too - you’ll remember me talking of those two earlier, I’m sure! Remind me to introduce you to them at some point, if we get the chance. They can all spin a yarn far better than I can and anyway, they were actually there. It's not really my story to tell. They’ll keep you on the edge of your seat with all they went through. But in the meantime, that’ll give you a fair idea of what occurred.”

“Thanks.” Grant slipped the book into the bag by his feet and then sat back in his seat. “So how long did you have to wait ‘til you heard they were safe?”

Margia took a sip of her tea and settled back on the sofa.

==

It was almost the end of May before we got the news. Amy had convinced herself that they had been captured, but I tried hard not to give up hope. I used to meet Elsie Carr for afternoon tea – she was studying at Royal Holloway and would journey into town now and then - and we’d joke about how we’d all go out when Evvy and Corney made it to London, and they could pay for us to have a slap-up meal in their honour. They could afford it, after all.

Even I had to admit, though, that by mid-May, things weren’t looking too good. Although I tried not to think about it, a nagging part of me kept saying that if they had got out safe and sound then surely somebody would have heard from them by now. The post was slow, but not that slow. Gradually mine and Elsie's teas took on a more desperate air, both of us trying to convince each other that everything would be alright, but neither of us really believing it ourselves.

And then finally the news came through. I remember it clearly. I had the morning off and was making a late breakfast in our house in Hampstead, before getting down to some practice, when the doorbell rang, and when I went to answer it, there was the postman standing on the doorstep, a wire in his hand.

Thinking it was something to do with Dad, I ripped it open hurriedly and found a message from Amy instead. LETTER ARRIVED FROM ROBIN STOP ALL SAFE STOP A. I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved or excited in my life. I ran around the house yelling and whooping like a prize idiot. It’s a good thing nobody else was there – they’d have thought that I’d lost my mind! After about half an hour, I managed to pull myself together enough to put a call through to Elsie letting her know the news. We arranged to meet that evening to celebrate and then I tried to get down to practising, but it was a complete waste of time.

I couldn’t concentrate on my afternoon session either. Monsieur Lemacq was furious, even when I tried to explain what had happened. He kept ranting on about me taking my talent seriously and how little things shouldn’t distract me, but I simply didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that my friends were safe.

Elsie and I went out that night to Café de Paris with her new beau, Paul, and a friend of his. Paul’s friend Archie was a member so we had no trouble getting in. He was nice, Paul – I liked him instantly – and he certainly adored her. They married, you know - they’ve four grandchildren now, though you’d never think it to see her. She doesn’t look a day over forty. Still, you don’t need to hear about that now.

Where was I? Oh yes, that’s right, our evening out. Well, it certainly went with a swing. I woke the next morning with a pounding headache, and vowed never to have so much champagne again. A vow I’ve also made once or twice since, as it happens. We never learn, do we?

Then the post arrived, bringing a letter from Evvy, giving details of how they had escaped and what had happened since. She was in Paris with her parents, and the three of them were heading to Guernsey in June for Jo and Jack’s wedding, before returning to New York. Corney would be there too, as her father had left her with Madame for the present, and Evvy wanted to know if I could make it. I dearly wanted to, but I knew it wouldn’t be possible. My exams were two days later and if I made the journey, I simply wouldn’t be back in London in time.

And suddenly I felt a twinge of resentment towards my study. I was having to miss a dear friend's wedding, the chance to catch up with others who I had feared I’d never see again, all for exams that I didn’t care about anyway. For the first time, I started to seriously question what had seemed such a natural path for me to take.
Author:  brie [ Fri May 04, 2007 8:37 pm ]
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Thanks Josie!

Margia seems so real here!
Author:  Cath V-P [ Sat May 05, 2007 12:09 am ]
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Fascinating that Margia has to explain so much of the context of her early life to Grant.

And how inevitable that Margia should start to question the focus of her life as she grows up - but even so it must have been very unsettling for her.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Sat May 05, 2007 12:49 am ]
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This is wonderful. Margia seems so real and love reading about things from her perspective
Author:  Fatima [ Sat May 05, 2007 4:13 am ]
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Yes, her joy was tangible there. Thanks Josie.
Author:  Miranda [ Sat May 05, 2007 11:29 am ]
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This really is lovely Josie!
Author:  Smile :) [ Mon May 07, 2007 10:19 am ]
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Brilliant Josie. Thank you!
Author:  Josie [ Mon May 07, 2007 1:08 pm ]
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Over the next few weeks my enthusiasm for life at the Academy began to wane more and more. Not for the music, you understand. That’s part of me, of who I am - even then I could never see it as separate from myself. Playing is as natural for me as breathing is for either of us. No, it was the studying that I was losing enthusiasm for. It may sounds pretentious but there’s something of the free spirit in me, as in all true musicians or artists, I suppose, and I began to strain at the ropes of the confines and constrictions of the academic world.

By the time the exams were over, I had made up my mind. I didn’t want to study anymore. I wanted to perform. I’m an exhibitionist, if I’m honest, and as much as I wanted people to derive pleasure from my music, I wanted them to hear me, to come and see me, to embrace my music and take it to their heart. I was ready and deep down I knew it. It was time to move on.

==

“You set off to perform at nineteen?”

“Well not quite twenty, really, but yes I did. It does seem a bit foolhardy looking back now but at the time I had no fears whatsoever – the arrogance of youth, I suppose!” Margia returned with a grin.

“So what did everyone say when you told them?”

“Ah, yes…the difficult bit…”

==

Most people did their best to dissuade me, as you’d expect. Mother was furious. I knew she would be but it was so much worse than I imagined. I took her out to tea on one of her visits to London, hoping that telling her in a public place would lessen the blow, but no such luck. She kept her voice down, of course. It wouldn’t have done to draw attention to our argument, but she still managed to give me her unvarnished opinion of me and my irresponsible attitude, and then got up and walked out, leaving me sitting there alone to finish my tea and pay the bill.

I can see her point, now that I’m older, though I like to think I would never react in quite the same way. But she wanted the best for me and in her eyes that was completing my degree at the Academy, to ‘give me a good grounding’ as she termed it. Of course, I didn’t see it like that at the time. I saw it as her trying to restrict me, to hold me back, to make me do what she wanted me to. And if I’m honest, I resented it. She and Dad had sent us away to school – a fact that never bothered either of us, I have to say – but Mother had never played a very big part in either mine or Amy’s lives, or not after we went to the Chalet at least. And suddenly here she was, telling me how to run things, what I should be doing. It was a while before we talked again.

Anna and Shona tried to dissuade me too, each for different reasons. Shona was a natural scholar, a lover of the study and theory of music, and she couldn’t understand why I’d want to give up my chance to study in such a prestigious place. Anna just said she’d miss me. I steadied her nerves and kept her sane, so she told me, and she was scared of how she’d cope without me there.

Others were against the idea too. Fellow students accused me of being arrogant, the masters told me I was too young, that I didn’t know what I was doing. Other relatives weighed in, telling me I was selfish to upset my mother in the way that I had. Only Amy and my four schoolfriends seemed to be on my side. Then, just as I was beginning to wonder whether I was being stupid after all, support and understanding arrived from two totally unexpected corners, without which I’m not sure I would have had the courage to go through with it after all.

I’d told Dad about my decision by letter, knowing full well that Mother would have got her oar in first. I was expecting a rant back, all about throwing away my life and my talent, but when his response arrived my fears were proved utterly unfounded. He said that he understood why I felt the need to bring my music to an audience, to really begin to follow my dream. "Don’t worry about your mother", he said, "I’ll make sure she comes around". I was utterly dumbfounded and more than a little touched. I spoke to him years later and asked him why he’d reacted in the way he had, and he said I reminded him of himself in so many ways. Different careers, of course, but he said that my drive and passion was so similar to how he felt when he was a young man, just wanting to tell his news and tales to the rest of the world. And most importantly of all, he told me that he was proud of me. It was the first time he’d really said that and it meant more than I can possibly say.

Monsieur Lemacq, on the other hand, stared at me doubtfully and then, to my great surprise, agreed to hear me out. He listened while I explained that I wanted to play my music for an audience, for it to reach and touch people, not spend hours tied to practice rooms, repeating scales and chords over and over again for nobody but my teachers to hear. There was a deafening silence when I had finished, and I sat and waited for the tirade to begin – but it never did. He questioned me a little more about my intentions and what my plans were to be, and then he fell silent once more. Eventually, after pacing the room several times, he stopped and looked me directly in the eyes and told me that I was ready, that it was my time to fly, and that one day I would be great.

I walked out of his office in a daze, headed through the hallowed hallways and across the vast entrance hall that I had first stood in almost a year before, and then I walked out through the heavy front doors back onto Marylebone Road. I stopped and looked around me, taking in the traffic on the busy road, the pollution from their exhausts, the sound of children's voices carrying on still air as their parents walked them towards the zoo and Regents Park. This was it, what I had so dearly wanted – suddenly I was free!
Author:  Smile :) [ Mon May 07, 2007 4:29 pm ]
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Lovely, a really nice long update, thanks Josie. However I feel I have to point out that at the top it says its been updated twice but there's only one :( Its just 'cause I want to read more!
Author:  francesn [ Mon May 07, 2007 7:41 pm ]
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Glad Mr Stevens is understanding, and M. Lemacq's approval obviously means a lot to her.

Thank you, Josie
Author:  brie [ Mon May 07, 2007 8:46 pm ]
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Thanks Josie, this is brilliant as always. I suppose it is too early to start chanting for more?
Author:  MaryR [ Mon May 07, 2007 9:29 pm ]
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Josie, I have just read all of this and am awed by the beauty of your story, the essence of Margia appearing in front of us through the power of your words.

Thank you.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Tue May 08, 2007 12:36 am ]
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Goodness, that was hard for her, especially in the face of such opposition, and she did well to stay calm and focussed in the face of it. The support of her father and teacher was crucial....I can understand her mother's pov, (and Margia's reaction to it as well!); it may also be that she wants Margia to be safe in the face of what is coming and studying for her degree means that she will be, if only in the short term.

And how well she knows herself...
Quote:
I wanted to perform. I’m an exhibitionist, if I’m honest, and as much as I wanted people to derive pleasure from my music, I wanted them to hear me, to come and see me, to embrace my music and take it to their heart.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Tue May 08, 2007 12:43 am ]
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Josie that was wonderful. I really loved that update and could understand Margia's POV especially towards her Mother. What else could she expect if she had hardly seen her daughter since she was 11. She lost her back then.
Author:  Miranda [ Tue May 08, 2007 3:30 am ]
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I'm so glad that Margia's dad was very supportive, at least she could feel that she hadn't *completely* lost her parents by her decision. She's being very brave - but she certainly seems ready for it.
Author:  Lesley [ Tue May 08, 2007 10:24 pm ]
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How nice that Margia had the support of both her father and her tutor.


Thanks Josie.
Author:  Chair [ Fri May 11, 2007 9:51 pm ]
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Thanks, Josie. I have just read this from the start to the last updated post. I was here nearly 2 years ago, but I have to admit that I don't remember this drabble from the 1st time. It's really great so far and I look forward to reading more.
Author:  patmac [ Fri May 11, 2007 11:31 pm ]
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I decided that, as I eased myself back into the board, I wouldn't follow any drabbles - but this is too good to miss. I remember the start so long ago - thanks for bringing it back.
Author:  Josie [ Sat May 12, 2007 11:43 am ]
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Thanks for the lovely comments. :D


I was so excited at the opportunities I could see before me, that it was a couple of days before I could get myself together enough to start planning. Monsieur Lemacq had given me a list a contacts who he thought might be able to help me, so as soon as I was ready, I set out to find myself a manager. It was so strange. I had never thought about a manager – that was something that film stars and famous musicians had, not a nineteen-year-old unknown like me. But as he pointed out, who did I think would be planning and promoting my tours and performances? I could hardly do it all myself – apart from anything else, I had no idea where to start!

The first man I visited, one Bob Costin, was possibly the oddest person I have ever met in my life. He even made Plato look positively sane. It took me less than two minutes to realise that working with him would never be a good thing. The next two people told me in no uncertain terms that they had neither the interest in nor the time to represent me, the fourth refused to even let me in the door, and the fifth was a woman that I wouldn’t have trusted with my pet gerbil, let alone my career.

By the time I arrived at the office of Peregrine Janes Esq., I was tired, fed-up and beginning to think I was on a road to nowhere. It seemed like no reputable person would ever want to represent me, and I was wondering if I should just give up now and start at the bottom, playing for the locals in the village hall near Mother’s Hertfordshire home. But the idea of her saying “I told you so” was too much to bear, so spurred on, I pulled myself together, dragged myself up the stairs and opened the outer door.

A pleasant, well-dressed secretary greeted me and told me that Mr. Janes was out at present, but was due back within the next fifteen minutes, and if I’d like to wait in his office, I’d be very welcome. Thinking that I had nothing to lose, I thanked her and walked in the direction she pointed, through the open office door. One look at the office, and my heart sank back into my shoes. The shabby, mismatched furniture was almost hidden by haphazard piles of papers and folders, each one threatening to tip over imminently. A half-eaten bowl of cereal stood on the desk, a cold cup of coffee next to it. There were more piles of papers on the threadbare carpet, a couple of withered plants on the windowsill and a pile of jackets and assorted jumpers were thrown onto an armchair in the corner. A filing cabinet against the back wall had it drawers wide open, each one empty, which was no great surprise as their contents were probably all over the floor.

I would have turned and walked out there and then, had it not been for one thing. The man obviously loved and cared about music. A rare Guarini violin hung reverentially on the wall next to a Fagnola, and on a chair underneath, an open case revealed a LeBlanc clarinet. An old but well-kept Rogers upright stood against the near wall. I walked across, ran my fingers along the lid, and lifted it. Then instinctively, I reached out and played a couple of chords. The tuning was perfect, the sound rich and resonant, and I was drinking it in when I heard a voice from the door, asking me what I was doing.

Spinning around, I saw a shabby, unkempt man in his fifties, his wild salt-and-pepper hair, tatty corduroys and leather-patched cardigan giving him an air of an eccentric college professor. I stammered an apology and began to back out of the door saying that I must have made a mistake. Giving me a knowing smile, he simply said ‘You think so? First impressions can be deceiving, you know,’ and then walked straight past me and sat down in the chair behind his desk. There was silence for a moment, and then suddenly he instructed me to play. 'If you don’t, how can I be expected to know if I’m interested in helping you?' he asked. Ignoring my protests, he stood up and pulled some sheet music from a precariously balanced pile on his desk, and thrust it into my hand.

It was Mussorgsky’s ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’, one of the last pieces I had studied with Monsieur Lemacq. I glanced at him, wondering how much he already knew, and then walked across to the piano and began to play. As the music flowed from my fingers, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, playing with a balled-up piece of paper, a bored expression on his face. The longer this continued, the angrier it made me, but I refused to stop playing, channelling the anger into the music instead. I was determined to wake him up, make him listen to me, force him to give me some respect.

Suddenly, his feet dropped to the floor and he sat bolt upright with an exclamation of ‘that’s it!’, giving me such a shock that I jumped, almost causing the lid to slam down on my hands. It was the final straw and I got to my feet and began to berate him for being so rude. I may have only been a novice in terms of performing, but I was good and I knew it – nobody was going to treat me in that way. When I’d finished, there was silence for a few moments and then, sitting back in his chair again, he told me that he had decided to take me on. He admired my spirit apparently.

Then without waiting for my reply, he jumped up and began to outline his terms. He would advance me living expenses that I would have to pay back in full, and would take twenty percent of all of my future earnings whilst I remained working with him. He would begin planning my itinerary that very afternoon, and he would have me on tour by September, or so he said. My job, he told me, was to practise, for every spare minute of every spare hour of the day. And I was to go and see Monsieur Lemacq. He would help me arrange a programme. Lastly I should return to the office in exactly one week’s time so he could update me on his progress and vice versa. His secretary would prepare my contract and we would sign it then too.

He returned to his desk and I remained rooted to the spot, more in shock than anything else. After a couple of minutes, he looked up at me with a smile. ‘You’re worried about Monsieur Lemacq? About whether he’ll help you?’ I nodded. ‘I’ve known Henri Lemacq for many years,’ he replied, ‘and you are the first student he has ever recommended to me. He will help you,’ and without waiting for me to reply, he stood up, guided me to the door and shut it behind me.

I remember his secretary grinning as I walked mutely out of the office, still wondering if I had imagined what had just happened. But I hadn’t. I had found myself a manager, and despite the bizarre first meeting, I had a strong feeling that I was on my way.
Author:  Becky [ Sat May 12, 2007 11:58 am ]
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I've just found this and it's excellent, thank you. Margia has always been one of my favourite characters.
Author:  Chair [ Sat May 12, 2007 12:17 pm ]
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Thanks, Josie. I'm glad that he has agreed to take Margia on.
Author:  Lesley [ Sat May 12, 2007 1:08 pm ]
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Excellent - I thought Monsiuer Lemacq would help her.

Thanks Josie. :lol:
Author:  brie [ Sat May 12, 2007 1:12 pm ]
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Thanks Josie.

I do love Margia in this, you have her character spot on!
Author:  La Petite Em [ Sat May 12, 2007 1:47 pm ]
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Awwww wow I do love this!! Having just re-discovered the CBB, this is a brilliant 'first' read.
Emma
Author:  BethC [ Sat May 12, 2007 6:57 pm ]
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I missed this last time round, so I'm really glad you've reposted and continued it - thank you!
Author:  Cath V-P [ Sun May 13, 2007 6:07 am ]
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What a splendid encounter! I think Margia will find that she has found the right person....
Author:  Rosalin [ Sun May 13, 2007 2:16 pm ]
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I'd always wished we'd heard more about Margia. I'm looking forward to seeing more of her. Thank you. :D
Author:  francesn [ Sun May 13, 2007 5:56 pm ]
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Her manager is blatantly bats, but knows about clarinets so that can only be a good sign :D

Thanks Josie
Author:  francesn [ Sun May 13, 2007 5:56 pm ]
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Her manager is blatantly bats, but knows about clarinets so that can only be a good sign :D

Thanks Josie
Author:  Josie [ Sun May 13, 2007 10:07 pm ]
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The first thing I did the next day was go and see Monsieur Lemacq. He wasn’t surprised to see me – Perry had already been in touch with him, which I should have expected really. “I knew that you would choose Peregrine,” he said with a smile. “He is a little odd, perhaps, but he knows his music and he is a good man. He will serve you well.”

We set to work straight away and by the end of the week we had a full program prepared, though it did change once or twice over the coming days. He was truly wonderful, Monsieur Lemacq. He gave up so much of his time over the summer to help me plan, practise and listen to me play, and he refused any attempts I made to repay him. My success would be his reward, he said. I can never overstate how much his belief and support meant to me – I’m not sure I’d have had the strength to do it all alone, especially in those early days. As the summer went on, he began to treat me more and more as an equal, and over the weeks our relationship changed from that of student and teacher to one of fellow musicians and friends. He remained my mentor and one of my dearest friends right up until his death, and I owe him more than he ever knew.

Perry turned out to be quite a surprise. He was right when he said that people aren’t always what they first seem to be. He was an absolute case in point. Despite the chaos that seemed to surround him in his everyday life, he was an expert at organising others and threw himself into managing me with an enthusiasm that shocked me at the time. By the end of the summer he had set up a tour of halls and venues around England, Scotland and Wales, including everything from small village halls to larger concert venues holding hundreds of people, and finishing with a recital back where it all started, at the Academy itself. I wasn’t sure whether the prospect terrified or excited me – a little of both I suppose.

In turn, I practised and practised for all I was worth. Shona had returned to Scotland for the summer and her absence meant I had the piano all to myself. I certainly made the most of it, spending day after day running over every chord and every note until I knew them all back to front and could have played every piece in my sleep.

My enthusiasm inspired Anna, who threw herself into her own study and began to improve by leaps and bounds. Her talent had never been in any doubt, but her nerves and lack of self-confidence had been holding her back. Now they seemed to fly out of the window, never to return, and as the summer progressed she became a different person. I can’t put it all down to my inspiration though, if I’m honest. It had a great deal had to do with her new beau, Alan Bradley; the first and, as it turned out, only love of her life. He was loud, outgoing, a little brash and tactless - everything, in fact, that she wasn’t - but they complimented each other perfectly and he boosted her self-esteem like nobody else ever could. When I watched them together, I admit I felt the occasional pang of jealousy. Part of me wanted dearly to have someone who would love me like that. The letters from Johannes had dried up by now and one side of me missed, almost craved, the attention and affection I had been used to from him. But I knew, if I was serious about my career, about my aim to be the very best, then there would be no more relationships for a long time to come. My music had to come first, above everything else, and I knew it – the sacrifices were essential, it was something I would have to get used to if I wanted to succeed.

The only thing, or should I say person, who really diverted me from my practise was Amy. Mother had taken herself off to Germany for the summer to be with Dad in Stuttgart, and not wanting to stay in Hertfordshire alone, Amy came down to Hampstead to stay with me. She had withdrawn into herself slightly, with all the upheaval and worry over the past few months, and I noticed how much our relationship had changed. She had grown up a lot since the move back from Austria and instead of just being my little sister, she was rapidly becoming my friend.

She was also writing more and more poetry – looking back now I realise it was a channel for her introspection – and it was really very good. She gave me several pieces that were just beautiful, and I still have most of them today. They’ve even inspired a couple of my compositions.

There was only one that I didn’t keep. I’ve never told anybody this before, but confession is good for the soul, or so they say. I sent that one on to Dad. We’d seen him so little as we grew up that I doubted he even knew that she wrote poetry, let alone how good it was. Maybe it was wrong of me to do it, but I just thought he should know.

==

“What did Amy say when she found out?”

Margia smiled and shook her head. “She never did find out – or at least, not as far as I know. Dad didn’t even say anything to me about it, so I very much doubt he did to her either. He wasn't one for gushing or being demonstrative in any way. But I know he started looking at her differently after that. He took her more seriously, and stopped treating her as just his little baby girl.”

Grant flushed a little. “I’ve got one of her anthologies at home. I was going to ask…well…”

“Ask what?” Margia enquired with a grin.

“If you’d ask her if she would mind autographing it for me.” Grant's cheeks were burning as he spoke. “She’s one of my favourite poets, you see, and it would mean a lot.”

Margia chuckled at the cringing look on his face. “Well aren’t you full of surprises?” she replied, with a twinkle in her eye, “I wont do anything of the sort, I’m afraid.” His face fell and she relented. “She’s coming to visit tomorrow with one of her two girls and her granddaughter. You can ask her yourself.”

“Really?” He couldn’t contain the enthusiasm in his voice and Margia laughed.

“Yes, really. Now,” she added, checking her watch quickly, “how about I just wrap up the summer and then we call a halt for this afternoon. I’ve had almost enough of talking about myself for one day!”

"Sounds like a good plan to me."

==

I was so busy preparing that the summer just flew by, and before I knew it, the day had come for me to leave. I took Amy to the station that morning and hugged her goodbye. Mother was home now, and she had to return to Hertfordshire and her new school. She looked so despondent as she boarded the train that I nearly ran after her to bring her back with me. She was missing the Chalet School and her friends terribly, and no other school would ever be quite the same. Joey had made mutterings in her letters about the school starting up again in Guernsey, and as far as my little sister was concerned, it couldn’t happen fast enough.

Once I had waved her off, I returned to the house in Hampstead, to finish gathering my things together and say my goodbyes. I spent the remaining two hours sitting with Anna in the salon, talking about nothing of any importance, her trying to pretend that I wasn’t really leaving and me not quite believing that I really was. Then at three o’clock a fantasia sounded from a car horn outside, and pulling back the curtains, I saw Perry waving from the window of his battered, old Austin Ten. Turning to Anna, I hugged her tightly and we said our goodbyes - me promising to write often and her promising to come to see as many of my recitals as she could. Then, picking up the two suitcases that contained most of my worldly possessions, I opened the front door and made my down the steps to begin my new life.
Author:  La Petite Em [ Sun May 13, 2007 10:37 pm ]
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I so glad that Amy took her poetry further; she's my favourite CS character!! Thank-you Josie
Author:  Lesley [ Sun May 13, 2007 10:39 pm ]
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Thanks Josie - so pleased Margia had Monsieur Lemacq to help her in those early days. Love the way she teases the young journalist.
Author:  Elder in Ontario [ Sun May 13, 2007 10:57 pm ]
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It's lovely to see Margia being helped so much to plan the start of her career, and that she has the confidence to be going ahead, despite all the uncertainties posed by the inevitability of War by now.

She is so lucky that M. Lemaq encouraged her to follow her instincts and start playing professionally now rather than complete her training - he could so easily have washed his hands of her for that. And Perry is clearly a 'find' too, despite the apparent chaos of his office!

Thanks, Josie - I'm really enjoying this.
Author:  Cath V-P [ Mon May 14, 2007 12:24 am ]
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Lovely to see the developing relationship between Margia and Amy, and how interesting to see Margia's matter-of-fact assessment of how she will have to retain her single-mindedness.

Do I detect some strain between Margia and her mother that may not have been resolved?
Author:  Kathy_S [ Mon May 14, 2007 1:52 am ]
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Good for M. Lemacq and Peregrine. :)

And the Amy vignette is lovely.
*enjoys Grant's blushes*

Thank you, Josie.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Mon May 14, 2007 6:44 am ]
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This is just so lovely
Author:  Chair [ Mon May 14, 2007 5:28 pm ]
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Thanks, Josie. I'm glad that Margia and Amy have grown closer. It seems strange to think that Amy is now a grandmother!
Author:  brie [ Mon May 14, 2007 6:30 pm ]
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Thanks Josie, I like that Amy gets to become a successful poet, and I look forward to meeting her!
Author:  Josie [ Mon May 28, 2007 5:29 pm ]
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Apologies for the huge delay in updating. RL has been somewhat overwhelming since Christmas and I've hardly known whether I'm coming or going, let alone found time to write. Hopefully things should settle down in a month or so. Anyway, here's an update. I'm just going to update SFW as well and then I'll catch up on everyone else's drabbles as soon as I can, I promise!


It was dusk by the time we reached Leicester, which was to be the first stop on my tour. We were staying at the Regency Hotel but before going there to check in, I persuaded Perry to drive alongside Victoria Park, past De Montfort Hall. As he drew the car to a halt in front of the striking, white building, I climbed out of the car, staring up at the imposing columns, and felt a flicker of excitement in my stomach. In just four days time I would be playing my first ever public recital here. It didn’t seem real, and I had to pinch myself hard to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t of course – I just ended up with a nice blue and yellow bruise on my arm!

==

Grant laughed. “That must have been very fetching when you had your recital dress on!”

“Nothing a little carefully-applied make-up couldn’t solve!” Margia retorted with a grin.

“I’ve never understood how you women do that. A few dabs of powder and blemishes just disappear!”

“Ah, the talents of being a woman,” Margia replied with a wink. Then frowning, she added, “Well, not all women, if I’m truthful. My friend Corney would be the first to tell you she’s hopeless at things like that! In her own words, give her the most feminine of dresses and she’d still manage to go out with a tear in a seam or the hem tucked in her underwear!”

Grant burst out laughing at this. “I’m looking forward to meeting this Corney one day. She sounds quite a character.”

“Oh she is, believe me! Now, how about we get back to talking about me?” she added with mock-indignation.

“Quite the primadonna when you get going, aren’t you?”

“As befits my renown,” she replied, grinning. “Now, where was I?”

==

The following few days simply flew by, and before I knew it, it was September the fifth. My first night as a true performer. I remember it as if it were yesterday; every detail is etched on my mind, every sound, every word, every note. I’ve performed in some incredible arenas since that night back in 1938, but that first one will always hold a special place in my heart.

As the afternoon wore on, I became more and more sick with nerves, until by early evening I could barely even speak. It was all so alien to me. I had never been nervous before a performance before, not at school or the academy. Maybe it was the arrogance of youth, or maybe the fact that I’d always played to a friendly crowd, but I had never experienced anything like this before and I had no idea what to do.

There were people milling about everywhere, other musicians coming up and introducing themselves (for I wasn’t alone on the bill) and wishing me luck, but all I could do was nod and smile in return. I was terrified that if I opened my mouth I would be sick all over them, and that would hardly have been the most auspicious start to my professional career! In the end I actually was sick, three times in fact, though thankfully in the privacy of the bathroom. It's something I still do to this day, every time I perform. I just can’t help it – even after all the performances I’ve given over the years, the nerves still take over in the couple of hours leading up to me going on stage, and my reactions are taken out of my control. In a strange and horrible way, it’s almost become part of my ritual now.

The only thing that steadied me slightly was the messages from my family and friends. Messages of good luck from Anna, Shona, Elsie, Amy, Dad and most touching of all, Mother. We still hadn’t spoken since that tea back in June and I assumed that she still disapproved of my choice of path, so the card and short letter were a welcome surprise. She didn’t apologise of course, or admit that she was wrong. No, my mother never could do that. But she had broken the deadlock between us, and for that I was grateful. I would write back to her as soon as I could find the time, maybe even invite her along to one of my recitals. Smiling to myself, I returned the letters to my bag, keeping out the four-leaved clover that Amy had sent me for luck. It was clearly a normal three-leaved clover with an extra leaf stuck on, but I didn’t care. The sentiment was there, and I tucked it into the bodice of my dress. It would be my lucky charm. Then taking one last look at myself in the mirror, I breathed deeply and made my way out of the dressing room towards the stage.

As I waited in the wings whilst the compeer introduced me, I felt the butterflies return to my stomach with an even greater intensity than before. He said my name and as planned I walked onto the stage to a smattering of applause. He wished me good luck as he passed me and then I was there alone, abandoned to my fate, staring out at the auditorium, momentarily blinded by the lights.

I wasn’t the only person on the stage. There was a small local orchestra who would be accompanying me on some of my pieces – I had spent the last few days rehearsing with them – but I had never felt so alone. I was gripped by a sudden panic. What if the few days of practise had not been enough? What if I forgot what I was playing, if they forgot when to come in? What if it all went wrong? Staring straight ahead of me, I could only see the people in the front row, but I could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into me, judging me, waiting for me to fail. I just knew it. I would have run off the stage there and then, except when I tried to move, I found myself rooted to the spot.

I had been standing there far longer than I should have been, and I could hear Perry hissing at me from the wings, as a low murmur broke out in the crowd. I scanned the front row trying desperately to see the expressions on people’s faces, my panic rising, and then all of a sudden, there they were. Sitting in the front row, beaming up at me, eager anticipation and pride mingling on their faces, were Anna and Alan. I’d had no idea that they were planning to make the journey up there and the unexpected sight of their familiar, friendly faces somehow jolted me out of my trance.

It was just the catalyst I needed to move me and, smiling back at them, I turned, made my way across to the piano and sat down on the stool. Then, giving the Page-turner a nervous smile, I took slow steady breaths to calm myself and closed my eyes, imagining I was back in Hampstead, practising, being listened to only by my family and friends. I could do this, I knew I could.

I took a deep breath, opened my eyes again, and then as I played the opening bars of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, the nerves suddenly vanished, and I felt incredible, on top of the world. I realise this sounds terribly pretentious, but as the music flowed from my heart and soul, through my hands and out via the keyboard into the auditorium, I knew that everything would be alright. This was where I was meant to be.
Author:  Lesley [ Mon May 28, 2007 5:37 pm ]
Post subject: 
How lovely - so good of her friends to make the trip - must have meant so much to her. Her description of stage fright sounds so real too.


Thanks Josie.
Author:  brie [ Mon May 28, 2007 5:38 pm ]
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Thanks Josie

This is great!

I hope everythings going alright in RL for you... :)
Author:  francesn [ Mon May 28, 2007 6:24 pm ]
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I really felt Margia's stage fright then, and the relief when everything settles down to exactly where it's meant to be.

Thank you Josie - hope RL comes down soon so you write lots more of this!
Author:  patmac [ Mon May 28, 2007 7:05 pm ]
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Thanks, Josie. Good as ever.
Author:  Chair [ Mon May 28, 2007 7:20 pm ]
Post subject: 
Thanks, Josie. I hope RL will stop being so overwhelming soon. Margia did well to overcome her nerves.
Author:  Fiona Mc [ Mon May 28, 2007 9:49 pm ]
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How lovely Anna and Alan made it there
Author:  Cath V-P [ Tue May 29, 2007 12:40 am ]
Post subject: 
That description of her stage fright was so realistic - even down to her being sick! And I loved Amy's 'four-leaved' clover.... :D
Author:  Miranda [ Tue May 29, 2007 5:00 am ]
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I am another fan of the 'four-leaf' clover! :D

I'm so pleased that Margia managed to overcome everything to give a wonderful performance.

Thanks Josie, it was great to have an update. I hope that RL will settle down a bit for you soon.
Author:  LizB [ Tue May 29, 2007 9:03 am ]
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Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

Thanks, Jo - Great to see this back :D
Author:  Rosalin [ Tue May 29, 2007 5:02 pm ]
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Thanks for the update. Hope RL is going OK.

It's nice to hear about Amy as well, I'm looking foward to seeing her.
Author:  Smile :) [ Tue May 29, 2007 5:15 pm ]
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Great, thanks josie.
Author:  La Petite Em [ Tue May 29, 2007 8:29 pm ]
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Yay!!! I love this drabble, and I can empathise with Margia's nervousness completely there.
Thank-you Josie.
Author:  Dawn [ Wed Jun 13, 2007 6:15 pm ]
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I'm really enjoying this Josie - I hope RL is calming down for you by now
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