I
was thinking, looking at Paul McCartney playing his guitar left
handed, and the fact that one of my grandsons plays it that way too,
that the guitar must be the only ambidextrous instrument that exists
– well I suppose you could play a harmonica upside down having
treble on the left side, but you couldn't turn a piano upside down.
I
was wondering why there are no left hand violinists in any of the
orchestras I've been to see – and listen to – and the fact is
left handed people have to hold it the right handed way, and that
goes with all classical bow instruments. It would look silly in any case
with one violinist holding it the other
way.
Now
this got me thinking of a fella I knew in Dublin called Freddy
Finglas; now Finglas is a place just north of Dublin and I remember
it as fields and trees, rivers and streams but Freddy Finglas wasn't
his real name – I always called him Freddy Finglas because that was
where he was from.
When
he was a boy, Freddy was walking along the Royal Canal in Dublin and
in a pile of garbage, that some eejit had dropped there, he saw a
violin lying there with the old cans and pillow cases, bits of paper
and old fag packets.
He
could see it was an old violin and it seemed in good order. Freddy
had listened to fiddle players in the streets of Dublin and he could
hear them whenever he stood outside the pub waiting for his Da to
come out. He never knew which Da would come out of that pub; it could
be the nice and lovely Da or it could be the drunk. When it was the
drunk, Freddy knew well to stay clear of him and sometimes he would
get a crack on the back of the head from him for looking at him funny
– or anything else trivial. 'who are you looking at?' came the cry
from the old spunker and smack on the back of Freddy's head. There
were times when you could hear the clatter. People would pass by them
in the street and see that Freddy was getting a crack and wouldn't
mind it, thinking that the little fella must have done something
wrong to deserve such a crack. Well there is never any reason for a
child to be hit like that and it would have served his Da right if
someone had come along and knocked the shite out of him. That's what
it was like in those days and what it amounted to was bullying and
booze – the striking of a child is now against the law and it
should be.
Freddy
took the violin home and cleaned it up. He bought some strings from a
shop in O'Connell Street and the fella in the shop gave him a tuning
fork so he could make it sound right and a how
to
book so he could make something of it.
It
didn't take long before Freddy could get a tune out of his
instrument, not much of a tune as he didn't have a bow. He was aware
he needed a bow but he tuned it to within an inch of the violin's
life.
There
is such a thing called absolute
pitch,
or AP, which sometimes gets called perfect pitch and this is when
someone could drop a piece of cutlery onto the floor, for example,
and a person with the gift can tell which note it plays.
Jack
Benny, the comedian, could play a violin to a very high standard but
he couldn't join any orchestra as he didn't have the gift of AP.
You
can look at a violin, or any of the bow instruments, and you will see
that there are no frets on the neck of them.
Freddy
eventually obtained a bow and with a lot of work he taught himself
how to stroke the bow across the violin and bring it back and forth,
modulating the volume by applying pressure or gently stroking it
lovingly across the strings.
His
father would accompany Freddie with loud snores emanating from their
living room as he slept in his daily stupors.
His
Da worked as a postman so would finish work at midday, or so, and
Freddy would have to wait for him to emerge from the pub to be let
in
at home. His father always let Freddy know that he had killed his
mother as she had died in childbirth so the poor child existed in the
state of guilt and confusion.
When
children play a violin sometimes, it sounds like a cat crying in the
night and when they play, the children that is, the cats can usually
hear the screech and join in. Not with Freddy as he never wanted to
wake his Da which is why he played so softly and gently even when he
learned some jigs and reels. If ever he heard his father stir, the
violin would go under his bed. Then he would hear “give us a cup of
tea, will ya, for god's sake, me mouth is like a fuckin' drain!”
Well
there we go and we know what might have happened if little Freddy
didn't give him his tea or if it was cold; that would usually happen
because the old fella would fall back to sleep but it didn't prevent
the larruping little Freddie would get. He would also have to get up
in the mornings and light the fire, after bringing in the coal, in
all weathers.
But
these things didn't worry Freddie that much as he didn't know any
different.
One
day he took his violin with him to school and the teacher asked him
to play in front of the class and the kids loved it – so did the
teacher and she told him about a teacher in Dublin who might help out
with some music lessons but Freddy had no way to get into Dublin as
he knew his father would never hear of such a thing.
After
school that day he went straight to the pub to meet his father and
wrapped the violin in a big piece of cloth as he didn't have time to
hide it anywhere else so when his father popped his head out of the
pub, to see if Freddy was there, he wanted to know what was in the
bag by demanding Freddie to open it – which he did.
'Where
did you get that?'
'I
found it.' said Freddie.
'Found
it, you're a bleedin' liar' said his Da 'where did you get it?'
'I
found it in a bag of rubbish down by the canal.'
'Found
it' said his father 'can you play it?'
'Yes'
said Freddy.
'You
bleedin' liar – you just robbed it.'
'No
I didn't Da; honest I didn't'
'Let
me hear you play it then.'
There
was a tear in little Freddy's eye as he knew if his father got hold
of it he would destroy it.
'Play
it' he said again.
Freddy
took the instrument out of the home made bag and showed it to his
father; 'where did you get this, you bleedin' liar?'
'I
found it, I said.'
'What
do you mean you said?' said the Da 'are you defying me?'
'No'
said Freddy 'no!'
His
father held the violin out at arm's length and said to Freddy 'play
it.'
Very
nervously Freddy played the violin; a little tentatively at first and
then with more confidence. He played a slow lament right to the very
end of the air.
His
father looked very seriously at him; he didn't know what to think or
even say; Freddy hung on to his beloved violin and looked at his
Da who said 'right – wait for me out here and I'll soon see about
your fiddle when I get out – in the meantime stay here and play it
and if I hear it stop I'll be out to you.'
When
he went back into the pub, Freddy stayed there and played his whole
repertoire.
The
bag, which was really a blanket, was laying on the floor next to him
and as people passed by they would put coins into it – Freddy
would notice this and thanked those people who left money.
By
the time his Da came out of the pub, in one of the worst moods little
Freddy had seen, there was quite a lot of money on the blanket.
'What's
this?' said his Da, and started picking the money up and cupped it
into his hands; 'ah it's not a fiddle you have there; it's a golden
goose' and with that he put the money into his coat pocket.
'Now'
he said 'give me that fiddle.'
Freddy
wouldn't let it go and stared at his dad.
'Defying
me are you, you little bastard – Give it here' he shouted and made
a grab for the violin.
'No
– no' shouted Freddy and held on to it with all his might.
His
father pulled one way and Freddy pulled the other. It seemed that
Freddy had mustered up strength from the centre of the earth which he
could feel surging through his body and no matter how hard his father
pulled the harder Freddy held on; but Freddy's father was drunk and
not steady on his feet and after one huge pull his hand slipped from
the violin and he teetered backwards and hit his head on a drainpipe
knocking him unconscious. As he fell the money fell from his pocket
and spilled back on to the blanket.
Freddie
looked at his father spark out next to the pub wall. There was nobody
about and nobody he could turn to for help so he went up to his dad
and could see no movement.
'I've
killed my Da' he sobbed 'I've killed him.'
He
didn't know what to do; he shook his father but there was no
movement. He looked down and saw the money on the blanket – he
looked around; nobody.
He
wrapped the violin
in the blanket and put the money in his school bag and disappeared.
Nobody
knew where he went or what happened to him. His father had been
knocked unconscious and then fell into a drunken stupor. He had a
headache for a few days so, who knows, he might have suffered some
kind of concussion but he never even looked for Freddy. He had rid
himself of his burden – his shiralee.
Many
years later I was in Mayfair in London. A very select area with
million pound houses when the rich were buying their houses for, maybe
£200,000. There was a little street market near some select
restaurants and bars and as I walked towards the little market I
heard the sound of some Irish music. It consisted of some great banjo
playing accompanied by a fiddle player. When I reached the market the
music had stopped and the buskers had gone away. I heard someone say
'those two are really good and that little bloke on the fiddle is
something else.'
I
hadn't thought about Freddie for years but the words the
little bloke on the fiddle
put me in mind of that little left handed fiddle player all those
years ago.
'Where
did they go?' I asked.
'Every
day they go to Green Park after here' was the reply so that's where I
headed.
The
music came to me first and I could see in the distance that the
fiddle player was left handed.
A
closer look and it was, indeed, Freddy Finglas the left handed fiddle
player from Finglas.
