(Post by John Allan of Bridgetown, Western Australia)

The other day I was watching the telly, gogglebox, moving wallpaper or whatever you want to call the ridiculous plasma screen that takes up a good part of your living room, when a documentary came on about Paul McCartney.

I’m not a great McCartney fan but I appreciate his vast body of work. That and the fact the remote’s buggered and I wasn’t getting off the recliner to channel hop ! So there he was giving it “I wrote that” and “that’s me there (or thurr as he puts it) ”.

Okay Paul, we know you wrote some pretty damn fine tunes. You’re over eighty and still want to be thought relevant but give it a rest pal !

I don’t know if it was on the soundtrack or me drifting off, but a certain tune from 1967 came to my mind.

THANK YOU PAUL !

Let me take you back to the Allan household of the mid 1960s. I came from a musical background…………………. let me rephrase that. I came from a family that had a lot of musical stuff in the background. Records, sheet music, books and instruments were to be found in most rooms. We all played or attempted to play something.

Let’s start with father. He had a violin or a fiddle depending on what he was trying to play. He’d attempt to scratch along with the classic or fiddle with Scottish jigs, reels and strathspeys. He even attempted a bit of gypsy swing. I greatly appreciate him introducing me to Django Reinhardt’s Hot Club of Paris but he was no Stephane Grappelli. When confronted with a flurry of notes on a written score my Dad had the philosophy that if you took a good run at it you could get over it as if it was a high wall. He inevitably would be left dangling by his finger tips with his feet swaying – musically speaking of course. Impossible for anyone to accompany him or listen to !

Mother played piano. We didn’t have a piano until I was 14 so we took her at her word. When we did eventually purchase an upright, the forty years hiatus from her last lesson came to the fore as she couldn’t remember anything. Nothing was ever said. Poor Mum.

I tried piano lessons but didn’t get far, my teacher was a twenty-something year old with a ridiculously short mini skirt, generous thighs and a bouquet like Fraser’s cosmetic counter.
You try and concentrate on the ebony and ivories while sharing a piano stool with that !

Eldest brother moved effortlessly through violin, classical guitar, double bass, electric guitar, flamenco guitar, electric bass, ragtime guitar………………….you get the picture. High achiever.

Middle brother fought with the euphonium before settling on accompanying himself on acoustic guitar to Neil Young and Joni Mitchell.

That left me.

I’d try anything.

In later years, my wife taught music at a local school in Perth WA (told you I was from a musical family) and would bring back all sorts of instruments for the weekend. Trumpet, bassoon, bass guitar – you name it. I got to know the neighbours well at this time. One came to visit at 2 in the morning. I didn’t know they stayed up so late. It was nice of them to visit even though it did curtail my trombone practice !

Anyway, what did I get ? Recorder. Not the coolest thing in the schoolyard though my first descant work on “Doctor Finlay’s Casebook” was legendary.

Much as I loved my music I kept my recorder hidden in it’s cord pull sleeve in the depths of my duffel bag away from the prying bullies, rapscallions and ne’er-do-wells.

That was until the winter of 1967 when The Magical Mystery Tour rolled into town and there it was. “The Fool On The Hill” with it’s recorder refrain.

After days and days of practice. I found my spot in the school playground, unsheathed my 12 inches of wood and put it to my lips (!)

Te-to, to-to

Skipping ropes slowed from their steady rhythmic pounding. Keepy-uppy balls rolled into the gutters. Chinese ropes slackened and lay discarded.

Te-to-to-to-too

Teachers came out from the staff room coffee mug and fags in hand.

Te-to-to,te to-to-to,to-to-to,to-to-to,to te to too.

A large arc of curious excited bodies had formed around the solitary pied piper. Lollipop Lady and janitor synchronised crossing sign and mop aloft.

‘And nobody seems to like him
They can tell what he wants to do‘

The assembled chorus sings out in a soaring mellifluous cadenza.

‘And he never shows his feelings‘

Passing cars slow to a stop. Heads appear from neighbouring windows and doorways.

‘But the fool on the hill sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head see the world spinning ’round‘

Tutti ! Tutti ! Arms raise, bodies sway, tears of joy and happiness as love and goodwill abounds.

……………………Well that’s how I remember it.

So thank you Sir Paul for making the recorder credible………….and you are very much still relevant today.

So here it is for all you Macca Mob.

https://youtu.be/l6Mg-CrIN5c?si=0DizXQRfjXtvcs49

…….and for you recorder nerds (like me)

* I attended Castlehill Primary school in the late 1960s. For more school orchestral manoeuvres, see below….
https://onceuponatimeinthe70s.com/2022/04/22/orchestral-manoeuvres-in-the/#comments