In 1966 I was 13 years old. Whilst at primary school one of my teachers used to teach the recorder, I begged my father to buy me one. We went along to our local music shop and priced them. He could have afforded to buy me a plastic one, but stated that if I was having one it was to be a nice wooden one and that we would return when he had saved enough to buy it. I waited excitedly until the day came and we went along and purchased the recorder and a book of simple tunes. I had attended about half a dozen lessons when the teacher “disappeared”. (No one said she had left to have a baby in those days!) A replacement could not be found (I think she did it for pleasure, not remuneration!) so that was the end of my lessons. However, I continued to pick it up from time to time and practice the little that I had learned.
In 1966 we were watching the World Cup Final on TV, and at half time I got out my recorder and book for a little practice. When they kicked off for the 2nd half I carefully put it on the nearby table. When it was a draw at full time I got my recorder again for another little practice, again replacing it carefully on the table. Halfway through extra time I had another little go, but was getting excited by now so instead of placing it on the table out of harm’s way I just put it on the arm of my chair. When the final goal went in I jumped up and down and shouted excitedly, but as I sat back down in my chair I heard a crunch! My treasured recorder had rolled under the cushion and I had sat on it , breaking it. My Dad just looked at me and said “Well, you don’t get another one!” I have since always blamed Sir Geoff Hurst for my lack of musical ability!
Wendy Williams
Memory added on December 5, 2016
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