To Pine Croft

Much of choir practice passed in a daze of more breathing exercises, where I became very aware of my shortfall howls.  I ran out of steam well before Dame Fanny and I noticed her extraordinary, if rather tremulous range.  I am told that she was a beautiful, resonant contralto soloist in her youth.  Brahms says that Uncle JS Bach was in love with her, but her mother encouraged marriage to  his rival, Felix Mendelssohn Beagle instead, because he was younger, wealthy and had artistic leanings.  She discouraged Uncle JS, who was a rough diamond and had knocked about a bit.  Brahms says that after that, Uncle JS gave himself completely to fearless Rootling as a way of getting over a broken heart.

At 2.30 pm, I made my way over to Dame Fanny's residence of Pine Croft for three o'clock.  I left loads of time because I didn't want to arrive breathless.  Already, I am becoming aware of the effects of exercise on my voice.  I arrived at the iron gate.  It was open, but I felt awkward about entering without knocking.  I looked for a bell.  Instead, I found a laminated sign instructing, 'New arrivals, please howl in A Minor.'  Whilst reading, I felt my hackles rise and realised that I was not alone.  I sniffed:  I could smell Wharfedale (Bradford end).  I turned and through the gatehouse door could see a white whiskered beagle dozing in front of the grate.  I was disconcerted.  Should I howl?  Was it his turn?  In Beagle culture we venerate old age, so it would be unthinkable for me to howl first.

I coughed politely. No reaction.  I coughed a little louder.  His corrugated lips continued to flutter and his feet twitched spasmodically.  This was no nap and Beagle etiquette forbids approaching the unconscious elderly without due warning.  What to do?  'Swing on the gate lad!' boomed a familiar voice.
'Uncle JS - is it you?'
'Non-other. Now do as I say - we haven't got all day - in fact you're very nearly late - for a very important date!  Gate! Now! Swing!'  I powered to the gate and threw myself onto the rungs. It moved surprisingly easily and emitted the most  delectable, sustained squeak.  It did the trick!

White whiskers started and juddered to consciousness.  He fluttered his jowls and squinted at me.  'Now, young 'un, what di' thee want?'
'Well, I ...'
I was rudely interrupted. 'What's the good of a well without a bucket?  Come on young 'un - spit it out!'
'Well, '
'You've done it again!  Now, think before you speak - no welling!'  I was beginning to feel like the White Rabbit, trapped and wasting time with this old codger.  'Bartok!' boomed Uncle JS, 'pay attention and mind your manners - you are late!'

I gathered my thoughts. 'My name is Bartok. I have come for a singing lesson with Dame Fanny and I must howl - I didn't want to jump the queue sir - in case it was your turn?'
'Nay lad, I've had my turn.'
'Oh!' I said. 'Why haven't you been admitted?'
'Because, young 'un, I haven't hit A minor yet.'
'Yet?' I asked. 'How long have you been trying?'
'Years - I was like you when I started.  I don't mind though - I landed this job as gatekeeper - I keep Miss Fanny safe.'
'Miss Fanny?'
'She says that I'm her knight protector and I remind her of when she was a maiden beagle.'  He paused and peered between droopy lids, 'I,' he emphasised, 'am the only person who is allowed to call her Miss.  And you must address her as Ma'am, or  Madame - you may not use her name until you are given permission - respect Bartok!'
'And how do I address you sir?'
'Well done Bartok,' boomed Uncle JS.
'I am Sylveste.'
'But you're not French?'
'No - Bradford - and you're not Hungarian.'
'Ah! Yes, of course.  Er, should I howl now?'
'Aye - you get three tries and then you'll have to come back tomorrow.'
'But I have a lesson - I'll be late!'
'Best hit it first time then.'

I can tell you, by the third attempt, I was sweating.  How would I be able to face Brahms if I couldn't even gain admittance?  'Remember the gate Bartok,' urged Uncle JS, 'howl the squeak.'  I concentrated, imagined myself swinging on the gate and howled.  A bell jangled in the gatehouse. 'You can go up to the house Bartok.  Well done lad.'

I've never had a singing lesson, apart from when I was very young and in the Cub Beagles.  Madame is a legend amongst singing teachers.  Brahms says she can trace her singing lineage back to the magnificent Maria Callas Beagle.  As I padded up the gravel drive, I nipped myself - I really didn't know why she wanted to teach me, but I felt very lucky to be here.