Preserved Ginger

By Barry Johnstone

Preserved Ginger is a kind of loose biography, being the life stuff of a retired orchestral musician. (Old enough to know better and too old to give a s...)

I’ve developed some reasonably firm views over the years, and being utterly unknown I enjoy the complete freedom to have a stab at anything I feel like - right or wrong

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Johnstone
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465826534

Barry Johnstone

I got divorced from my first wife, (Sheila) in 1986, who then (sadly) died on July the 28th, 008.I got married again in 1993. My daughter Emily died on September 11th 1998 (there is absolutely nothing in the human experience that messes up your head more than losing a child!) which is why I have complete sympathy for people trying to live in places like Iraq or Afganistan etc. As if losing Emily wasn’t enough, my step-daughter Lauren died May 10th 2009! The only thing positive about these awful and tragic events is that ones attitudes are sharpened, re-defined and made more definite. Not necessarily militant, abrasive and opiniated! I’ve now retired from the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra (September 2007) and after 40 years of playing the double-bass sitting in front of the loudest trombone section in the known universe (John, Tom, Niel and Heinze - bless their hearts) I no longer play anything! Through-out my career in the NZSO, I have composed music. Now that I have retired, I can devote more time to this addictive and challenging pursuit (an activity that gives me great pleasure) and this does NOT mean that what I compose is of any great shakes. I write music only for the sheer hell of it, and generally only for me. My interest in composition doesn't necessarily make me a composer for much the same reason that my interest in physics does not make me a physicist. I have not formally studied i.e. counter-point or anything, so what I write tends to be quite vertical and quite boring, however, like anything else, it’s much easier to judge on what it isn’t, rather than what it is. The other thing is that I don’t actually care what is thought of any music that I may compose, because I’m only concerned with the very first stage of the process – that of actually writing it! (I have to reiterate – I’m only writing for me) If it’s any good – fine. If it isn’t any good – equally fine!

Book preview

Preserved Ginger.

The ramblings of a retired orchestral musician

by Barry Johnstone.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Barry Johnstone

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Rebecca Freeman.Foreword by Lewis Scott

Dedicated with love to my entire family

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Foreword

by Lewis Scott

If you saw Barry Johnstone walking down the street, the word enigmatic would come to mind even if you knew nothing about him. He has the air of a man whose mind is engaged with things and who quietly observes all that is around him.

If you know of Barry Johnstone, you will know that he is a professional classical musician, his instrument being the double-bass. But if you actually know Barry Johnstone, you will know that he is much more than a classical musician – he is a man of music. He is classical, he is jazz, he is blues, he is folk. He is a man who is always in search of the purest musical note with which to reflect humankind’s experience in sound.

And now Barry has taken up the medium of words and he plays this medium with the same clarity and ability to make his audience see and feel and hear as he brings to music. His autobiography describes a full and many-faceted life and we see it from all sides, from upright and upside down.

So we see his agony at the death of his daughter; a father struggling not to suffocate in the anguish of a young life of such promise being taken. But we also see how the tragic death of this gifted young women builds a bridge for Barry to make peace with his first wife, the mother of his daughter. And standing beside him through all of this is his soul mate, his partner, his wife, Val.

As well as his personal story, we are given an insight to Barry’s world-view. Barry does not believe in race – he believes in human-kind. In the people who traverse his life he sees either good or bad, and sometimes shades in between. He is adamant that humanity needs to stop defining itself by race. And he is equally impatient of the duplicitous behaviour of politicians who seek to manipulate those they are supposed to represent and of a system in which money is more honoured than life.

Barry Johnstone’s autobiography is as full of sound and colour and nuance as the life it portrays. It represents the rainbow of life, the quest for knowledge, the jagged edge of mis-steps, the deep hue of pain and the unshakeable belief that having been given the gift of life, we should cherish it, protect it, celebrate it and live it as honestly and compassionately as we can. This is a message and indeed a life that is real and honourable.

As his friend and as a poet, I give these words to Barry and his readers:

To spend one’s left-over life

unmolested by friends and dreams

come for a moment to the playground

and remember yourself

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Introduction

‘Preserved Ginger’ is a kind of loose biography, being the life stuff of a retired orchestral musician. I have a go at most things - sometimes right, sometimes wrong. Old enough to know better and too old to give a s…! I’ve developed some reasonably firm views over the years, and being utterly unknown, I enjoy the complete freedom to have a stab at anything I feel like! Right or wrong, I can write completely for myself and not aim for a particular target.

But a target in particular I can aim at is the love of my life - my wife Val, who is the best friend I’ve ever had, and is my favourite person in the entire world! Our highly esteemed grand-kids, April and Nathan, my step-son Scott and his wonderful partner Sarah-Lee, (aka Slee) my son Nathaniel and his awesome wife Anna (our daughter-in-law), our grand-daughter Olive – these are the people in our family who keep me on-track and (reasonably) well focussed! Their love and support cannot be quantified. Also my deep appreciation goes to Rebecca Freeman for her editing skills.

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Preserved Ginger

In these writings I have tried to be as accurate and honest as I can. It will cover a few of the most important events that have happened to me over the past few years. It is an unskilled manuscript, but most of the essential events that have happened to me will be here.

All kinds of reading, people, situations etc have contributed to this, and being in a fairly full ‘burble’ mode at the present stage of this offering I have absolutely no idea how or when it will end. Furthermore I don’t really know why I’ve done this, because it will just evolve without any regard for form or content.

There doesn’t seem to be a ‘right’ time to do just about anything, but in this instance, it just so happened that this particular time was it. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time – but not badly enough to start, so when Val and I got a computer which obviously included a word-processor, I started.

The only ‘rule’ that I’m following is (for the purposes of this) that there are no rules. It is important to remember that throughout it is essentially a bunch of random thoughts, opinions, prejudices, the occasional sweeping generalization and I will quite often go off on tangents! In more than a few instances I will be quite wrong and sometimes quite right…

We are all the result of our upbringing, and consequently there is an old saying that one can choose friends, but can’t choose family. I now tend to disagree with some of these implications - which is not to say that I don’t approve wholeheartedly of my family!

To my descendants who might read this, stay with it, because it may get a little better the more I get into it and as an historical piece for the Johnstone family of the future, it might be quite interesting.

At some stage about the middle of the 20th Century, western societies seemed to move from the ‘us’ to the ‘me’ culture doing a complete 180° turnaround, in part probably caused by WW ll and the need for self-protection to a much larger extent than was previously needed.

It appears that the 1950s was a decade of post-war disbelief. A bloodied, bombed and bullet-riddled world settling down and consolidating after the extremely shattering traumas of WW ll. The 60s a decade of transition and deep social unrest in preparation for the decade of tastelessness in almost everything - the 70s.

The 80s a start of some big technological advances and new directions leading into the nasty 90s, the hurried and rushed decade that almost prepared us for this still new century.

However, to me that is what appears to have happened. That wonderful statement ‘all generalizations are false’ could apply.

I left school in August 1959, and started working with spare parts at Lewis Motors (a Ford dealership, which later became Lyon Motors) in Hurstmere Road, Takapuna.

After the Lewis Motors experience, (for which I was paid three pounds seventeen and six per week) I had various jobs in spite of my father wanting me to join the Royal New Zealand Air Force, which for us, was a strong family tradition.

Aside from my father (Bruce), his two brothers (Neil and Alan), my older brother (Tony), my mothers’ sister (Gilda) had all served in the RNZAF. In rebelling against my fathers wish, I joined the NZ Army instead – for five years in October, 1961.

After a six-week Basic Training in Waiouru, (which I thoroughly enjoyed) I was initially in the EME, (Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) at Fort Cautley, Devonport, in Auckland.

Then I went down to Burnham Military Camp, near Christchurch. I had joined the 2nd Battalion, New Zealand Infantry Regiment Signals Platoon.

The Regimental Signals Officer was Captain Bryan Wells (a born communicator) and the Battalion Commanding Officer was Lieutenant-Colonel Bob Gurr, (Frank Gurr’s cousin, the NZSO principal clarinet).

Frank’s son David is an excellent photographer, and Tim is an excellent yachty. A family of achievers!

The occasional unfairness of army life fell into two categories. The first was that if some individual erred, the complete platoon was punished. The second was when we had a church parade or function, and if one opted not to attend, the alternative was to work in the kitchen, or something similar.

It was an attitude that reflected the times in the 60s. Not conforming to the norm was considered unacceptable in those times and there was always a massive guilt trip available.

But on balance, life in an Infantry Battalion was excellent. For instance, there was absolute equality between Maori and Pakeha, and we had a very strong sense of identity as one result, which is only proof that any racial division is BS.

As well, the food we were served was excellent on every single occasion. To me, this equates to a 100 % success rate on the part of the Army Catering people!

When the Battalion Band was formed in 1963 I joined and for the rest of the time that I was in the army, I stayed in the band. This turned out to be a hugely influential period of time: a thoroughly enjoyable and satisfying experience, making some friendships that have lasted all of my life in the process.

The entire Battalion went to Malaysia in February/March 1964 to Terendak Military Camp, about 14 miles North of Malacca, on the West coast of the Malaysian mainland. We went as 2nd Battalion, New Zealand Infantry Regiment, and on our arrival in Terendak, (in deference to our predecessors) became 1st Battalion, New Zealand Infantry Regiment.

In July that year, the title ‘Royal’ was added, with the inevitable long and hot Trooping of the Colours Battalion parade. We became 1 Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment (1RNZIR) and part of the 28th Commonwealth Brigade Group.

We were taking an active part against the actions of the final few months of Indonesian President Soekano (of ‘Guided Democracy’ fame) and his policy of ‘Confrontation’ against Malaysia and its then Prime Minister, Tunku Abdul Rahman.

It was in the band that the seeds of music – well-sown by this time -- started to really grow! For consolidating, defining and enlarging my attitudes, Les Mooney was of enormous help, and for sheer spectacular musicianship, Graham Hanify was impossible to beat.

I played the double-bass in the Band of the NZ Army Dance Band, and always delighted in it. The drummer in this Dance Band was John Rowe (Jim Crint); the rhythm guitarist was Brian Hanify (Daniel); his brother, Graham, was the trumpet player and the sax player was John Hau (Babalu.

An integral part of the Battalion Band in a non-playing role was Sergeant Bryan Webb, the Band Drum Major. A man of enormous imagination and humour, his ‘Dead Ants’ routine is a part of Battalion history.

Some officers tried their very best not to laugh. Maintaining a ‘stiff upper lip’ was very important in those days. The influences of people like Bryan are absolutely essential to the progress of a young and naïve person like me.

Again, the entire Battalion packed up and in May 1965, went from Terendak to the tiny ‘town’ of Simanggang, in the 2nd Division of the State of Sarawak of Borneo, where we were based for 5 months. John Hau transferred to one of the rifle companies for the time that we were in Sarawak.

I think this division, about 120 miles in length, is one of the most beautiful places on earth. The bush (ulu) can be a very beautiful and friendly place, and one enduring memory is that of watching a small green tree snake very slowly and silently over a period of about an hour stalk and finally catch and eat a smaller frog.

We were on a listening and watching piquet in dense secondary bush and had to remain very quiet, hidden and still for a couple of hours. Leeches and other creepy-crawlies were almost, but not quite, nothings.

The river from Simanggang to Engkilili (a little settlement further upstream) was called the Batang Lupar river, (where the bottom floated on the top) and then at Engkilili, it changed its name to the Batang Ai river.

Despite the beautiful surroundings, a very scary trip of about 4 hours that sticks in my memory was a trip up the middle of the Batang Ai river from Engkilili to ‘A’ Company at Lubok Antu (only about 3,000 metres from the Malaysia/Kalimantan border) by outboard-motored, noisy, smelly long-boats.

Being exposed as we were, I was in a constant nasty, nagging fear of ambush by hostiles – based on the fact that there was absolutely nothing we could have done!

‘B’ Company was at Jambu; ‘C’ Company was at Batu Lintang; ‘D’ Company was at Sungei Tenggan and our home HQs company and the support companies were based in Simanggang (renamed Sri Aman.)

One casualty was our CO – Lieutenant-Colonel Bob Gurr - who accidently fell onto a ‘Punji’ stick – badly injuring himself, and simultaneously demonstrating just how effective they were! These punji sticks are sharpened bamboo spikes that are stuck at an angle into the ground – a simple, horrible, painful but usually non-lethal device that made any advance easy, but retreat impossible.

The only other casualty was Jim Negri, shot in the arm, near Soenpendok, during an ‘A’ Company operation. He had some time off, then returned a few days later to active operations.

The Battalion went back to the Malaysian mainland in late September 1965 on the troopship ‘Auby’ and after 5 months of being limited to two cans of beer per day, we resolutely and enthusiastically drank this ship dry!

Returning to New Zealand at the end of 1965, and during my last year (1966) in the army, I went to Canterbury University where I did ‘Music 1’ with composer/lecturer, John Ritchie whose class of students included Gordon Burt and Ross Harris. John Ritchie’s son, Anthony, has also turned out to be an imaginative and gifted composer.

During this period of time, Gordon told me that ‘If God wanted people in the army, they would have been born with loose green baggy skin.’ The basics were what I was after, and I could not go along with their very conservative approach to harmony - which was essentially 17th century.

After failing the written exam, I now find it very interesting that at no stage did I even contemplate doing anything other than music.

It was during this time that Ashley Heenan, son of Sir Joseph Heenan - a former Director General of Broadcasting in NZ, recruited me for the National Youth Orchestra. Any decisions surrounding my choice of future direction were made much easier and clearer.

From the very first rehearsal of the NYO, I knew instinctively that playing in a symphony orchestra was the only direction that I could possibly go in. The lower part of the frequency spectrum always appealed to me, the bass-trombone or the double-bass fulfilling that particular appeal.

Amongst the pieces for the NYO audition was a wonderful excerpt from ‘Petrushka’ by Igor Stravinsky: ‘Dance of the Coachmen’ No. 240 and on. Playing bass-trombone, I later joined the ‘Training’ orchestra, then run by Ashley Heenan.

This scheme – whatever its alleged faults were, was probably the best way to study and play the orchestral repertoire in NZ, because at that time, it was virtually the only intensive grounding available here. None of the alternatives were as intensive as the then NZ Broadcasting Corporation scheme.

After about 4 years of playing trombone in the band of the NZ Army, I had the embouchure endurance that seemingly knew no bounds. Shortly after I joined the scheme in 1967, I gave myself the self inflicted task of changing from the trombone to the Double Bass, with much more chance of employment than as a trombonist.

During the day in the training orchestra, I would play bass-trombone (an ‘Olds’ Imperial Bass, with a Bb/F trigger, nine and a half inch bell, and a Vincent Bach One-and-a-half G mouthpiece), grab a hamburger or something, go to one of the NZBC studios at night, and practice the Double Bass until about a million o’clock. The studios then were free, and for a while, I kept on running out of breath on the Double Bass.

At that stage, I was doing numerous gigs, and consequently, I was sometimes earning more money than some of the members of the Symphony Orchestra of the NZBC, which back then, caused a few ructions! (Igor Stravinsky was alleged to have said, ‘If I want to talk about music, I go and talk to my bank manager, and if I want to talk about money, I go and talk to a musician.’

Life in the training orchestra was interesting, to say the least. My double-bass teacher was Benjamin (Benny) Dick, and my teacher for the bass-trombone was Neil Dixon, an excellent teacher from who I gained quite a lot.

I had some embouchure problems – such as changing my mouthpiece position according to the register I was in, but Neil was able to fix that to the extent that I was able to maintain a stable and unchanging embouchure position through-out my entire register. I also had a slight problem in holding the slide.

Neil's premise was that I shouldn't have the slide-stay between two fingers (as Stan Holland had taught), but that the slide-stay should be lightly held with several fingers.

The conductor for the Training Orchestra, Ashley Heenan, was a very colourful character, and he seemed to know the repertoire inside out. If one could survive Ashley, one could survive just about any conductor.

I then spent a year in the National Orchestra of the New Zealand Broadcasting Service before going to Australia and joining the Australian Broadcasting Corporation Training Orchestra in Sydney, then run by Bob Millar, a retired Sydney Symphony Orchestra Concert-master, and a keen and good fly fisherman.

Australia was a very different country, with much better beer available than in New Zealand during the late 60s to early 70s. But why is ‘Waltzing Matilda’ not in triple time? And when one stands on the truly ancient Australian soil, it is ‘cooked’ as opposed to the geologically young New Zealand soil, which hasn’t yet finished cooking.

It was in Sydney that I met my first wife, Sheila, who was a violinist in the Training orchestra. After being in the ABC Training orchestra for a few months, I was sent to the ABC Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra to temporarily replace Mick Davis, the Principal Bass, who had had a heart attack and needed some recovery time.

I was met at the Hobart Airport by Tommy Meyer, the then