Death of a Friend

There is sadness in my household these days. Many tears are being shed.  First, my piano.

I have had this piano for thirty-five years.  It was made by Chappell and Co, a London company of good repute, in 1906 and has been my faithful friend for many years.  But in this country, termites and humidity attack pianos, eating the wood from inside, rusting the metal parts and causing the glue to fail.

I reluctantly decided to scrap it, and began to dismantle it.  After removing the keyboard lid, front panels and action, I removed the keys, which were themselves falling apart.  Then I removed the strings and wrest pins.

After some correspondence with an old friend in England, I began to wonder if restoring it was a possibility.  That would give me something to do for a year or two and perhaps result in a playable instrument.  But then it would be starting to disintegrate as soon as I had finished, and since no-one else here is interested in playing it, and I no longer play well, it would really be pointless.

I stood close to my old piano and said to it, "My old faithful friend, I am afraid I shall have to dismantle you completely and dispose of the remains".  I seemed to hear from inside, its reply: "Yeeess" in quiet, hollow tones.  The soul of this good instrument was going to be released into wherever the souls of old pianos go - oblivion, I guess.  I know that well-loved and well used objects retain around them, or in them, impressions of those who have loved and used them, which can be sensed by certain people.  Perhaps those impressions constitute the soul?

So I proceeded with the work of destruction. It became ever clearer that restoration would have been impossible - the whole carcass was partially hollowed out by termites, and every glue joint could simply be pulled apart with the fingers.The very heavy cast iron frame I could not lift on my own, and with help we got it off and put it aside. I am giving the rest to a neighbour for firewood.  The scrap metal will buy shoes for Claude and more.

Alas!

I remember the joys of accompanying my second wife in songs - Schubert, Schumann, Elizabethan love songs were our favourites.  My present wife has no interest in playing, singing or listening to such music.  Before I married her she told me she could read music, but that was a lie, though she is usually truthfull in practical matters.  I find it hard to get past that lie, long ago though the saying of it was. I did mention my disquiet over it once, but she tried to defend it - she never apologises for personal failings of that kind.