The Tale-Tell Trio Again

By Robert Purvis

We meet three retired amateur musicians who meet regularly to play together and entertain one another with impromptu story telling. Sometimes, but by no means always, the tales are prompted by musical associations: they are always whimsical, ironic, sad, thought-provoking, or heartwarming. The three musicians are Velly, the cellist; Traffy, the pianist; and Pickle, the violinist, and they are all determined to enjoy life in retirement. We must not leave out Jessie, Vellys wife, who provides the womans point of view as well as the coffee and cakes. Harmony is the keyword in both the music making and the storytelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496993526

Robert Purvis

I am a retired modern languages teacher from the south of England. I am originally from Essex, but now I am happily settled in North Yorkshire. My interests have been sports, especially cricket, and music. I play the violin and the viola as well as the piano. I play in the local orchestra and also play in a string quartet. My other main interest is my family, my children, and my grandkids. I also enjoy painting using oils.

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© 2014 ROBERT PURVIS. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/14/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9350-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9351-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9352-6 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

The New Boy

Jack’s Two-Seater

The Hermitage

Three Portraits

A Grandfather’s Promise

The Four Sketches

Mona

The Attic

The Tower Room

No Second Chance

A Box of Jewels

DEDICATION

To my brother Chris and my sisters Margaret and Mary.

FOREWORD

IMAGES%201.jpg

Jessie pours the tea for the Tell-Tale Trio. It will be noted that Traffy Kleitz, true to his name, is wearing red yellow nad green.

I n a picturesque

village somewhere in the English countryside you may find a certain house whose most important room is definitely -as far as we are concerned, at least- the music-room. From this little corner of the village you may, if you happen to be passing by at the right time, hear the strains of the masters of classical music played by three talented amateur musicians, for it is the house where live Somervell Constantine Geddes B.A.(thankfully, always known as Velly) and his wife of over forty years Jessie. Now, in a happy retirement that combines activity and leisure in equal measure, with their children grown-up and looking after their own families, they welcome Traffy and Pickle into their home on a regular basis. As readers of ‘The Tell-Tale Trio’ will know, Velly himself is a cellist, Traffy a pianist, and Pickle a violinist. Jessie is…..just Jessie: she plays no musical instrument but a key role in making the music sessions run smoothly by providing tea and biscuits and, if the menfolk are in luck, some of her excellent home-made scones. She is also an enthusiastic listener when the musicians take a break from their assaults on Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert and company to provide more entertainment with their tales. Skilled as they are in making music, the members of the trio are equally talented as impromptu story-tellers. Their subjects range over a very wide spectrum, though very few of the actual tales are about music, so that the book provides a varied selection of short stories to amuse and appeal to all readers, including any who may have no musical knowledge whatsoever.

Velly, a retired teacher of modern languages and lapsed cellist, happened, while out walking one day, to meet Traffy, a refugee from Nazi persecution who had found refuge in England and finally settled in Velly’s village, and a firm friendship was soon forged, based on their music-making. The duo were soon joined by another newcomer to the village in the person of Pickle. He turned out to be just the leader they needed to make their trio a perfect combination musically and an inspiring example of how three lively and talented senior citizens can combine to enrich the lives of all of them and keep them young at heart.

Incidentally, if ‘Traffy’ and ‘Pickle’ seem like strange nicknames, it is probably helpful to know that Traffy picked up his because of his German surname Kleitz, while, as for Pickle: well,what else can you call a chap whose surname is Dunyan?

Just relax, and enjoy reading their stories.

THE NEW BOY

T raffy would never

forget his very first meeting with Velly. He had moved to the village less than a month earlier, and had gone for a walk one afternoon. Arriving on some rising ground that afforded attractive views of the surrounding countryside he had found Velly, who was also out for a stroll, on a seat getting his breath back. The two had sat and chatted, and had become friends instantly. Traffy recalled how he had virtually told Velly the story of his life, and that Velly had been an attentive and sympathetic listener. He distinctly remembered telling Velly that to be able to talk to someone about his difficult childhood as a Jew forced out of his native Austria had helped him to come to terms with it. For that he was grateful to Velly and, later on, to Pickle, who had both done so much to make him feel at home in the village, where he had finally put down roots.

These thoughts came to him as he was reading a book he had recently picked up in a second-hand bookshop. It was the autobiography of a German Jew, Jacob Oberstein, who, just like Traffy, had been obliged to flee the country of his birth with the rise to power of the Nazis. He had gone first to Switzerland and then on to England, where his family had finally settled in Birmingham. The story made a deep impression on Traffy, and he was keen to share it with his two great friends at the next session of music-making. There was one incident in particular that occurred during the Oberstein family’s early days in England that Traffy found very moving, and that was because it was a sad example of how the mere fact of being a German affected the life of a young Jewish boy in England all too soon after the war.

Traffy had warned Velly that he had a story to tell that was not a very cheerful one; so, when Jessie came in with refreshments for the break in music-making, the mood was a rather solemn one as Traffy began his tale.

Although they came from different backgrounds and social classes, the thirty or so boys gathered in Room E had a common identity in being members of Form 3C(the C was for ‘Classics’, not ‘third-class after A and B’). It was December 1947, and memories of the war and the consequent austerity it entailed were still fresh and present. These boys knew the meaning of such familiar expressions as ‘making do’, of ‘doing without’ of sharing, because their childhood had been shaped by these necessary practices. All who attended Duke Leven Grammar School for Boys did so on the basis of academic merit and aware of how fortunate they were.

On the last day of the Autumn term, when each form gathered in its form-room for the end of the day at the conclusion of the final assembly, Mr. Hamilton, the form-master of 3C, addressed his boys before sending them home for the last time of the year.

Now, boys, he concluded, I hope you will all enjoy a good Christmas, however and wherever you may be spending it. I hope, too, that you will employ your leisure time to good purpose during this brief holiday, and come back refreshed mentally and eager to work hard throughout the Spring term. You will, I trust, find ways of being helpful to your parents, and refrain from making nuisances of yourselves to your families or your friends and neighbours. Waste no opportunity to learn something. He paused to allow these improving words of exhortation to sink in. Finally, I have a piece of news for you: we have a new boy coming to join us next term. I trust you will all do what you can to make him feel at home in your midst. That is all.

This final item of news concluded his homily, just as the bell rang to dismiss everyone. Adjusting his gown, Mr. Hamilton gathered up his books and papers, glanced at his watch, and strode out of the room, to a chorus of ‘Merry Christmas, Sir!’ that he acknowledged with a smile and a raised hand.

The term was over. The boys dispersed, and within minutes Room E, which a quarter of an hour earlier had been alive and echoing to the noise of excited chatter and schoolboy banter, was as dead and silent as the grave.

Christmas had come and gone, and the new term at Duke Leven had begun. The new boy had arrived and was introduced to his new form-mates. He was a shy, awkward-looking lad, his glasses giving him the air of an intellectual. His name, Mr. Hamilton informed the class, was Jacob Oberstein, and he was Jewish. His awkwardness was probably due, as much as to his being in unfamiliar surroundings, to the fact that he did not speak English very well.

Following Mr. Hamilton’s pre-Christmas request, some of the boys of 3C tried to engage Jacob in conversation. They gathered round him during break on the morning of his first day, curious to find out what they could about him. Poor Jacob was subjected to a barrage of questions.

You’re not English, are you?

No.

So what are you?

I’m Jewish.

No, I mean what country are you from? Are you German?

Ja. I am German.

This may have touched a raw nerve among some of his interrogators. It was not that their questions had been intended in a hostile way, but this was only just 1948 after all, and the war, in which all Germans had been lumped together as ’the enemy.’ It was no easy matter for these boys to see it as their duty to make this German boy feel at home among them, here in the same England that German planes had bombed mercilessly a few short years ago. There was an awkward silence for a moment, each boy busy with his thoughts on the situation.

So why are you here?

It is because I, that is, my family, run away from Hitler in the war.

Whereabouts in Germany?

I come from Ravensburg. Ravensburg is a town in the south of Germany. It is by the Bodensee.

The Bodensee, remarked one of the boys, a tall, serious character with a somewhat superior air. It’s what we call Lake Constance. It’s between Germany and Switzerland, he went on for the benefit of the others.

Ja. That is so.

I know about it because my uncle and aunt went to Switzerland for a holiday before the war, and they stayed beside Lake Constance.

Ignoring this un-asked-for information, the others pursued their questioning.

So what happened to you, and your family?

I am German, ja, but I am also Jewish. So, to stay in Germany, it was dangerous. My father led into Switzerland my family when the Nazis started to take our people away. Many died.

Yes, we know. The concentration camps.

Ja. So we go over the Bodensee in a boat one night to escape to Switzerland. Switzerland was not in the war. My father found in Switzerland some work and we live there. Until last year. In Switzerland I start to learn a little English.

Are you going to stay in England now?

I do not know. My father seeks work. We live here now with my mother’s cousin, but we are not happy. My father has in the city of Birmingham a cousin. He tries now to find work for my father. Perhaps we go there.

It must feel strange to be a German family living in England. So soon after the war, I mean.

Ja. It is strange. But we are Jewish, as well as German. We are as much Jews as we are Germans. Perhaps more. So, we had to leave Germany. One day we perhaps go back.

One by one, the boys dispersed to their various games of football and other break-time activities, until only Adam Hamilton, the form-master’s son, remained.

Have you any brothers or sisters? he enquired.

Ja. One sister I have. She is two years older than I.

Same here, except that I have an older brother, not a sister. He wants to join the RAF. He’ll be old enough soon. He’s called Julian. He’s in the cadets now. He hates the Germans.

I understand. There are many Germans whom I too dislike. The foolish rulers of my country who made war. The Fuhrer, he was an evil man. He had many Jews killed. They had done nothing wrong. They were not wicked people. They were put to death only because they were Jews. Why should anyone think it is wrong, or a crime, to be a Jew?

Ironically, it did not take long for his classmates to find a nickname for the new boy: they called him Adolf. It was not necessarily malice on their part, but it was certainly thoughtless.

The news that a German boy was attending Duke Leven soon spread around the neighbourhood, and there were local people who had suffered bereavement at the hands of the Germans through losing loved ones in various theatres of war who were outraged and found ways of making life uncomfortable for the Oberstein family. The Jews received hate-mail, they were jostled in the street, cat-calls were directed at them, they were greeted with Nazi salutes and cries of ‘Heil Hitler!’ In these demonstrations of hostility they were unfortunately copied by young people who seemed, like their elders though more forgiveably, not to appreciate that the long-suffering Jews were hardly likely to be sympathetic toward the Nazis, but derived some mean satisfaction from taunting the Jewish family, safe in the knowledge that they were unlikely to risk any form of retaliation.

Friendship of a kind had sprung up between Adam and Jacob, whose lodgings were near the house of the Hamiltons. Jacob soon knew that he could talk to Adam in a way that was not always possible with the other boys. He soon showed himself to be highly intelligent; indeed, he was, intellectually, the equal of any boy in his age-group in the school, though the limited nature of his mastery of the English language was a definite handicap. However, by serious application and with encouragement from Adam he improved steadily; in any case, he had to. He was grateful to Adam for his kindness, as were his parents: Adam would lend him books and explain difficult new words and phrases to him.

One day, the two of them were walking home together from school. It was early February and already dark when they set off, and the section of their route that passed down an inadequately-lit lonely lane bordered by thick hedges looked ominously gloomy and uninviting. They could have gone a different way that was more open and public, but it would have added ten minutes or so to the time taken. They had each other for company, so they saw no need to make a lengthy detour. Even so, Jacob was nervous.

With you I come this way, my friend, he confided. But without you I come not.

We shan’t meet anybody unpleasant, replied Adam Come on.

Adam was, unfortunately, much mistaken. Just where an ancient street-lamp cast a pale