We were recent American expatriates, and the naiveté this implies was a great advantage. We had no inkling of the restrictions and impediments in front of us when we dreamed up the music festival. As one friend put it, we could have called it the chutzpah festival.
It all started innocently enough. Stephanie played the recorder. The proper accompaniment for a recorder was harpsichord and if possible cello. So we sold Stephanie’s heirloom diamond ring and bought a harpsichord. Almost immediately musicians began to appear, much as cetaceans communicate through long-distance song. The first appeared outside our window as we played a Bach sonata. It was pouring rain, but someone stood drenched on the path shouting Bravo, an exaggerated response to our early efforts.
We invited him in out of the wet, handed him a towel. He saw the violin sitting on the piano.
The strings were loose because the soundpost had fallen.
This short piece was dated 17 January 2014.
Patrick Meadows 1934 – 2017.