Oh bugler

I trotted down to the newsagent and bought the papers and took them to church because it was the café service today, where bacon, sausage or toasted cheese sandwiches are served, crafts provided for children and newspapers for anyone who wants to read them.  Later, there’s a very informal service including songs – not really anything you’d call a hymn – where Andy plays the keyboard and I play the clarinet.  And Andy greeted me with enthusiasm, which is always slightly worrying, because it was evident that I was going to be asked to do something.  Would I, he asked, be available for Remembrance Sunday?  Well yes, that wouldn’t be a problem, I always go to the Remembrance Day service and it so happens that the Sunday is the 11th November this year so it’s the right time on the right day.  Would I play the Last Post and the Reveille? asked Andy.  We haven’t got a bugler this year.

Well, I could hardly say no, though I’m not sure how they will sound on the clarinet.  But I’m a bit daunted.  I’m okay with accompanying or playing in a group, but I don’t like anything that approaches a performance – not that this is, of course, but it’ll be dead silence apart from me – indeed, I’ll break the silence and if I make the smallest error it will reverberate round the church and … oh blimey.  I’d better spend the next fortnight practising like some sort of dedicated musician.  Yes, scales and stuff, the lot, sort of thing I don’t usually do because I normally dive straight into Mozart.  You know where you are with Mozart.

Right – as ever, it’s just telling the tale that gets it out of my system.  Backbone in place again, darlings.  As I always say, it’ll be fine.

But oh bugger.  If it is, they’ll nobble me every time they can’t find a bugler.  And if it isn’t, I think I’ll have to leave the village.

9 comments on “Oh bugler

  1. Mike and Ann

    If they haven’t got an ex-serviceman available, I usually get roped in to read the “They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old”. Not that I mind, but people then assume that I’m a generation or so older than is the case, and anyway I think that it sounds better from someone who was actually there.
    I can, in fact, just remember the end of the war; well the celebrations, street parties, an so on, so I suppose it’s fair enough.

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  2. Z

    Our ex-WW2 serviceman died last summer. But we’ve got a Lieutenant Colonel in the village who used to be the Queen’s Crown Equerry, so if he’s free, we’re in business.

    It’s just, you know, my great modesty and not liking to be looked at, let alone listened to. No really, stop laughing.

    Last year we had a 12-year-old on his trumpet, Tim. I should be able to play as well as him, I suppose. I was only saying scales from the point of view of limbering up a bit. I’ve hardly played for months.

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  3. allotmentqueen

    Don’t think about people listening to you and judging. Tell yourself that that is a very selfish point of view.

    Just think about all those poor servicemen that everyone should be remembering. Play it for them. You’ll be fine.

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  4. Z

    AQ, that was how I got over being hopelessly shy and self-conscious. Few people believe it now, but it was such a blight on my young life. And indeed yes. The only thing is, I do focus on those who died or who were maimed, it’s got such meaning for me, so I feel quite emotional at the time and that isn’t conducive to good clarinet playing.

    Oh, LZM, you are dreadful!

    That’s a bit of the problem, Mig! But I’ll worry enough to process it beforehand and be all right when the time comes.

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