That night Mrs. Weston said: “Now that the pianer’s bin tuned you might start havin’ lessons.... I’ll see Mr. Monkhouse about it to-morrer.”
And Catherine bought a shilling instruction book and learned: E G B D F—Every Good Boy Deserves Favour....
Mr. Monkhouse was a versatile man. In the Bockley Advertiser he announced: “Mr. Reginald Monkhouse has still a few dates vacant during April and May for engagements as entertainer, expert conjurer, pianist, accompanist or children’s lecturer Write Box 77.” At Masonic dinners Mr. Monkhouse sang “Where did you get that hat?” and other relics of the Victorian music-hall stage. Every evening from 8 till 11 he played the piano and conducted the orchestra at the Victoria Hall, Bockley, vamping with his left hand and beating time with the first finger of his right. And on Saturdays and at odd times whenever possible he gave pianoforte tuition at the rate of sixpence a lesson.... He was always shabbily-dressed, always good-humoured, patient and not too conscientious. The little front parlour where he lodged in Cubitt Lane was full of playbills and concert programmes and signed menu-cards....
He gave Catherine a piece called “White Wings,” and initiated her into a few elementary five-finger exercises. She was not particularly apt in picking them up, but at the end of forty-five minutes he said:
“Good-night, my dear. You’ll be a female Paderewski before long....”
Those were the days when a pianist had achieved the signal distinction of becoming known to the man-in-the-street. Paderewski was as well known as Krüger.
§ 9
Freddie McKellar and Catherine Weston were seated side by side in the back bench of the Duke Street Schoolroom. The occasion was a Band of Hope entertainment. Mr. Weston was on the platform, surrounded by weird articles of glass and metal.
“I want you all to notice carefully,” he said. “Here I have a jar of clean pure water. The little fellow who is gambolling about so playfully inside it is a stickleback. He is having a fine time because the water is so pure and fresh.... Now watch ... here I have a flask of whisky.... I pour it into the water ... so.... I want you to watch very carefully....”
Freddie McKellar, aged fifteen, bent his head slightly to the left in order to see round the corner of Mrs. Mole’s hat. In doing so he felt the soft spray-like touch of Catherine’s hair against his ear.... It was not unpleasant.