All the boys were herded into the large laundry room on the boys’ side of the Home. I assumed the bigger lads knew what it was all about, but I didn't, making the prospect of staying all day in the laundry room a long and dreary one. There was nothing to do in the laundry, just large glass windows looking out on the area below set out with stalls and other things I couldn't make out. I think sandwiches were brought in for us and tea to drink, but I could tell the bigger lads were all bursting to get out and mingle with the crowd, so I guessed I would be doing so too, eventually. But we didn't. The door was kept closed and the day dragged on.
Then about mid-afternoon, when many of the visitors had gone, we were allowed out. There were a few stragglers and, I think, stall-holders packing up to go, but a brass band was seated in a circle, in uniform, with brass instruments gleaming and they were playing. It was magic to me. I went up close and stood right behind a chap playing a brass instrument, it was a bigger version of one my daughter Vivienne playing at some time (an E flat horn), and I got ‘personal’ with him. While he was playing I became absolutely fascinated with his hair; it was thinnish and black and slightly curly. Then I became aware that the fingers of both my hands were touching it and letting it slip slowly through my fingers. I was only four or five years old at the time.
As far as I know the chappie never missed a note. I guess he was as equally fascinated by this young lad's close attention. There’s probably a family member of this bandsman who still remembers this happening, with humour and some delight. I do hope so, for I still do.
Dennis Crompton © 2012
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)
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