HOW I LEARNED HARP: SOMEONE HAD AN AXE TO GRIND

Graduating with a Harp degree: Look out world! Here comes unemployment!

So, that’s me in my little idealistic world, graduating with a hot little harp degree in hand.  Yes, I majored in Harp for my college education.  How did I ever come up with that? 

Some guitarists refer to their instruments as their “axe.”  I have special license to refer to my HARP as an axe.  Here’s the story.

One day, as a freshman at Earlham College, I went to an orchestra concert.  As the orchestra  began to play, a harpist rushed in at the last minute, flipped back the coat-tails of his tuxedo, sat down, and played his first note — just as the orchestra started to play. 

You couldn’t help but notice him, but even more noticeable was the beautiful sound of the harp.  I was immediately enthralled and decided I had to learn how to play.

I arranged to transfer to another school that offered harp lessons. When applying, I filled out a form that asked what my major was, and I listed “harp.” Apparently, by so doing, I bypassed all the usual red tape of having to apply, pass tests, play for a “jury,” and be formally accepted into the music program.

 So, when I showed up for my first lesson, my teacher assumed that I had studied harp previously. 

 “Show me what you can do,” she said.  Having had lots of experience “noodling” and improvising on the piano, this was not a foreign concept to me and I thought, “wow, this school is pretty progressive.”

I sat down (at the wrong end of the instrument), and after getting properly seated, I began to play a little piece I later called “Dainty Pink Dippers.” 

 My teacher said, “Well, that’s not bad. How long have you been playing?”

 I laughed and said, “Well, about 2 minutes, I guess.”

 Her mouth fell open and she took one of my hands and looked at it.  I realized later that she was looking for the tell-tale sign of callouses, but I had none. 

 She got very excited at that point.    

Well, that pretty much made my day.  I went home and later, wrote to tell my grandmother (“Nanna,” since she was British) the interesting news.  Here’s Nanna, whose nickname was “Bobbie,” because of her haircut:

Elsie Mary Williamson

Nanna wrote back at once.

“Wenda, I know why you have this talent,” she said.  “You inherited it from my father!” 

My English great-grandfather, William Bucket, from whom I inherited my ability to play the harp.

She went on the explain how my great-grandfather, William Bucket, had been a harpist in a village orchestra outside of London. 

William had re-married after my grandmother’s mother died, and his new wife was evidently not very pleasant.  He spent every moment he could down at the town hall, playing harp.  (Does this avoidance strategy sound familiar?)

One day, my great-grand-stepmother became enraged by his escapist behavior.  She marched down to the Town Hall and seized the AXE that hung on the wall for use in case of fires, and CHOPPED UP THE HARP in a fury!

At this point, I’d like to emphasize that I was no blood relation to my great-grand-stepmother, her being a STEP-mother and all.  Just for the record.

This is a pretty interesting story, is it not?  One might speculate that somehow, my great-grandfather’s talent found a home in me.  It is almost as though his spirit found a venue by which he could continue playing the harp after having so tragically and unexpectedly losing his beautiful instrument.  Because the harp gripped me.  It took possession of me.  It owned me.  There was no way that I was NOT going to learn how to play the instrument.  And so, in a massive leap of faith and stupidity, I declared Harp as my major.

So the upshot is:  “It ain’t me, it’s grampa!”

And, God bless my evil great-grand-stepmother.   Without her, I might not be able to even play a harp glissando.

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