A posting in a discussion thread in the concertina history forum produced a quote from 'Three Men in a boat'. This set me thinking of other books which contain literary references to the concertina. I have three to start with. firstly I repeat the quote from 'Three Men in a boat', originally posted (I think) by Chris Timson:-

From Three Men In A Boat, by Jerome K Jerome:-

I still went on pulling, however, and still no lock came in sight, and the river grew more and more gloomy and mysterious under the gathering shadows of night, and things seemed to be getting weird and uncanny. I thought of hobgoblins and banshees, and will-o'-the-wisps, and those wicked girls who sit up all night on rocks, and lure people into whirl-pools and things; and I wished I had been a better man, and knew more hymns; and in the middle of these reflections I heard the blessed strains of "He's got `em on," played, badly, on a concertina, and knew that we were saved.

I do not admire the tones of a concertina, as a rule; but, oh! how beautiful the music seemed to us both then - far, far more beautiful than the voice of Orpheus or the lute of Apollo, or anything of that sort could have sounded. Heavenly melody, in our then state of mind, would only have still further harrowed us. A soul-moving harmony, correctly performed, we should have taken as a spirit-warning, and have given up all hope. But about the strains of "He's got `em on," jerked spasmodically, and with involuntary variations, out of a wheezy accordion, there was something singularly human and reassuring.

The sweet sounds drew nearer, and soon the boat from which they were worked lay alongside us.

It contained a party of provincial `Arrys and `Arriets, out for a moonlight sail. (There was not any moon, but that was not their fault.) I never saw more attractive, lovable people in all my life. I hailed them, and asked if they could tell me the way to Wallingford lock; and I explained that I had been looking for it for the last two hours.
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My second reference is from Charles Dickens.

The concertina is mentioned in Dickens' book 'Our Mutual Friend'.

In 'book the second, Chapter V, 'Mercury Prompting', the character Fledgeby tries to establish a name by asking a question based on rhyming words, and the discussion is between the two characters Fledgeby and Lammle:

Fledgeby: 'is the right name Georgiana or Georgina?'
Lammle: 'Georgiana
Fledgeby: 'I was thinking yesterday, I didn't know there was such a name. I thought it must end in ina.'
Lammle: 'Why?'
Fledgeby: 'Why, you play - if you can - the Concertina, you know' 'And you have - when you catch it - the Scarlatina. And you can come down from a balloon in a parac - no you can't though. Well, say Georgeute - I mean Georgiana.'

I do not know in which year this book was first published, but it must be one of the earliest literary references to the concertina.

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My 3rd reference is originally a book but I heard this in a radio play version. I have not checked the original book text.

In 'the Go-Between', at least in the radio version, there is a scene with a cricket match on the village green. After a player jumps up to make a catch, another player says: 'I thought that ball would sail over your head but you stretched up like a concertina.
==================================

Do others know more? In the old discussion forums we had quite a long thread on concertinas in films. I wonder if this will be a short thread.

Regards,

John Wild

I recently read a book about the man who planned and executed the first telegraph wire across Australia (south to north), and at the very end there is a reference to street boys playing the concertina. I half though of quoting it here, but didn't, and have long since taken the book back to the library.
Samantha

Hi Folks:

For those interested in this topic and if you not already aware of it, you might want to read Allan Atlas' "George Gissing's Concertina" which can be found in PDF format at:

http://www.maccann-duet.com/atlas/atlas-ge...-concertina.pdf

I just last week read this account of author Gissing's "Love"-Hate relationship with our instrument.

If any of this stuff was/is widely believed I definitely have a habit of picking much disliked instruments which to many belong only in the hands of THE DEVIL!!!!!, a belief which I ran across many times when doing similar research into my former instrument, the saxophone. Then again, I'm sure all musical instruments at one time or another have been maligned. I'm guessing that this was primarily due to the frustration or inability to play these instruments by those who propagated these lies!!!

Anyway, Allan's article was fun reading. Now I want to read the complete books.

Happy Reading,
Perry Werner

In "Fate is the Hunter", an autobiographical account of his years as an airline pilot in the late thirties and through the war, Ernest K Gann, better known as a thriller writer, mentions buying a concertina because it was small enough to be carried on an aeroplane. He records playing it as part of the ritual of starting a flight. The navigator had an endorsed pinup that had to be in a special place, the engineer had his own ritual, and Gann's was to take the concertina from its storage place beside his left foot and play the tune, "I'll take the high road..." The crew believed if he could get through the tune with no mistakes it boded well for a smooth flight; enough petrol, no fighters, finding home base...

If anyone likes aviation stories, it is a cracker read...

Chris

I was surprised how little response this thread received so I thought I better get my two fingers into motion.
This is from english author Alison Uttley Born 1884, Whilst living at Castle Top Farm Derbyshire. The book is.Country Hoard.
Our music making was as simple asother recreations on the farm.We had hymn tunes, and folk songs remembered from long ago, and tunes the servant lad heard at the station andbought back as the latest thing.There wereairs we picked up from brass bands and from merry-go-rounds at the wakes.There were songs of servant girls,and songs the irishmen sang when they were harvesting, and plenty of carols at christmas.
My father had a good ear and memory,and he picked out his favourite tunes on the pianoni the parlour,or the ivory keys of his concertina when he sat by himself onthe seat overlooking the orchard and the river valley. There he amused himself,and we crept to listen in delight.He went smoothlyfrom one tune to another for an hour,and we sat entranced by his melodies.When strangers appeared he refused to perform.His untaught music was for us alone,and even we had to stalk him silently,for like a shy bird he stopped his sweet airs when he was aware of too much attention.
He would play to the Irishmen,who were not strangers to us.They had worked at the farm every summer for generations,father,son and grandson.Theycame for my grandfather before Victoria came to the throne.Only the Great War broke hte link inthe strong chain that held us together in freindship,inservitude and comradeship.They came with songs in their hearts and merry jigs in their heels. We welcomed them as folk in the Middle Ages must have welcomed the travelling singers and poets of their day. WE hung round the door of the Irishmen's place and listened to their speech,their songs,their whistling and there pipingThey gave a great performance,a star turn on the last night when the harvestwas gathered.It was an ancient custom,and other generations of childeren must have sat listening to the fathers ofour Irishmen in the same cobbled yard.
The great door of the cart shed was taken off its hinges,and carried out to the level front of the house.Itwas tested byeach one jigging a few steps and wedged to make it firm.Wesat round,my father and mother,my brother and I and the servant girl and man.We were excited as if we were at the grandest london concert.The Irishmen sang songs and ballads of many verses,each performer standing on the oak door,and the others grouped round squatting on their haunches with their eyes keenly watching the man in the centre.We were seated on the low stone wall,the stalls of many a country theatre.The applauase after each item was uproarious.We clapped and the Irishmen shouted Bravo! During the dances there was a continuous hum of approval from them.They danced intricate country jigs, one at a time taking the floor board,or two facing one another,and the music was supplied by a pipe, and by "diddling". Dominick wsa a splendid "Diddler".His tounge waslike quicksilver as he sang"Diddle, diddle,diddle, diddle,diddle, diddle",and the dancer kept step.Sometimes one had a mouth organ, and always their whistling was clear as a bird's.
It was an enchanting scene,out there in the twilight,with the stars just begining to peep and the swallows darting overhead and crying as they wentto the cart shed.The birds were aware there wsa something going on down below,for they made a great twittering and warbling on these harvest nights.Then my father was persuaded to bring out his concertina to play while the men rested We were proud that he could addto the entertainment,and the Irish praised him and encored till his eyes sparkled with pleasure.He had played to the older men when they were young, and they recalled those hard early years.

I hope this gives you a flavour of this charming and evocotive chapter in this lovely little book. I certainly had a lot of fun trying to find having last read it twentyfive years ago. DDF

In addition to Allan Atlas's article "George Gissing's Concertina," published in The Journal of Musicology, XVII no. 2 (1999) 304-318 and on the web at

www.maccann-duet.com/atlas/

Allan has another article about the italian concertinist Count Fosco in Wilkie Collins's novel The Woman in White, arguing that the character is modeled after Giulio Regondi, "Collins, Count Fosco, and the Concertina," published in Wilkie Collins Society Journal, N.S. 2 (1999) 56-61 and on the web at

www.maccann-duet.com/atlas/atlas-collins-countfosco.htm

Both make interesting reading.

PERRY AND FOLKS: i'm afraid that it wasn't Gissing's frustration at not being able to play the concertina that led him to employ it in his works as he did. . . . . .rather, there are certain instruments that have simply rubbed the "aesthetes" the wrong way. . . . . . . . .moreover, one has to consider the quality of concertina playing to which Gissing was probably accustomed. . . . . . .it was probably not of the highest quality. . . . . . . . .the instrument is treated with more respect in Collins's WOMAN IN WHITE, where, as i've argued in the article that bob gaskins was kind enough to cite, Collins must surely have had the playing of giulio regondi in mind. . . . . . . . .

again, i don't think it has much at all to do with an author's frustration about not being able to play the instrument. . . . . . .rather it's a reflection of the "social status" that is accorded to various instruments. . . . . . . .

Allan

In Annie Proulx's "Accordion Crimes," there is a concertina playing Irish ranch hand.
The focuses mainly on the various owners of a small green button accordion.
The book is very interesting, it seems quite well researched, but Proulx's characters
are really the stars of the book. Proulx's voice has a nice immediacy.

From Jack Vance's _Ports of Call_ (Copyright 1998 Jack Vance), a science fiction book set in the far future, at this point in the story, aboard a space yacht:

The voyage proceeded. Dame Hester discovered an abundance of spare time which rasped
at her volatile temerament. She made a peevish complaint to Myron. "For a fact, I had no idea
that space travel was like this! There is nothing to do but eat and sleep! The routines are
invariable. It is the next thing to catatonia!"
Myron, using tact and delicacy, tried to make light of the complaint. "Some people enjoy the
tranquility. It gives them time to take stock of themselves. Sometimes they learn to play a
musical instrument. Now that I think of it, there is a concertina in the cabinet yonder."
Dame Hester curled her lip. "Sometimes your ideas are almost imbecilic. I am not sure
whether the term 'bathos' applies."
"I would think not. 'Bathos' is when someone tries to make an absurdity seem important or
exalted. I suppose that the idea of you playing the concertina is a bit far-fetched."

An interesting set of replies, though I thought there might be more. The science fiction story prompted the thought: In space, can anyone hear you squeeze?

- John

E. Annie Proulx writes like a sharp knife. The chapter illustrations gave me my first inkling as to the extrordinary variety of squeezeboxes there are. Just one more stick on the fire.

I found this book extremely depressing. The poor instrument [button accordion] goes through a number of harrowing experiences, including a metaphorical sexual molestation, before finally and mercifully being run over by a truck. I'm not sure what larger goals Proulx had with this book, but I found it gratuitously disheartening.

Jeff Myers

Yes, in spite of lots of interesting details, the writer seems to concentrate on episodes of difficulty and even tragedy, but skip quickly past episodes of success and happiness.
...... However, the title was not "Accordion Kindnesses".

I found an Australian paperback novel 'Concertinas' by Trevor Shearston, about Australia and the independance movement in Papua New Guinea. The hero(?) plays anglo, and folk music too. I've also got a translation of the works of the Swedish poet Gustav Frohling, titled 'Guitar and Concertina', which is also the title of one of his poems - although how accurate the title translation is we perhaps
needn't pursue.

John Wild's original subject quoted Dickens, but the book was one of his late writings, so I 'word searched' a few earlier novels at Project Gutenberg without sucess, although I did find a reference to a Jews Harp.

On the subject of Sci-Fi, someone posted a link to a photo of 'Lt. Worf', the Klingon Security Chief from Star Trek, playing an anglo, so obviously they do have uses beyond Planet Earth.

Surely not Lt. Worf! There is little music in that man. The two pictures I have seen have been of another Klingon whose name I don't know.

Jeff Myers

No-one has mentioned 'Rum, bum and concertina' by George Melly. I haven't read it, but I believe that it is autobiographical.

Why not? I'll ask Louise and Pontus about it.

Sorry! Most Klingons look the same to me!! I can only recognise Bill Bailey (UK only comprehendable?)



Only the rum and bum are autobiographical. The concertina is fictional.

Where are the links to Worf/Klingon playing a concertina?

By the way, the Klingon for concertina is apparently 'may'ron' (and they use the same word for accordion).

Just the one word, but a valid literary reference for all that. Quite early on in Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood when Captain Cat is dreaming of the past and 'the long drowned nuzzle up to him' their questions run 'How's it above?' 'Is there rum and lavabread?' 'Bosoms and Robins?' 'Concertinas? ' 'Ebenezer's bell?'......

And let's not forget the opening of Kipling's 'Cells': I've a head like a concertina.... Now just what does that really mean? A hangover certainly, but why a concertina? Who admits to extensive experience of crapulence? Enlighten us!

The thought that occurs to me is that he feels as if his head has been pulled on both sides (by the ears?) then squashed flat

Best wishes,

John

I ran across a few gems recently. This from something pithily entitled Old London Street Cries and the cries of to-day with Heaps of Quaint Cuts including Hand-coloured Frontispiece : by ANDREW W. TUER, Author of "Bartolozzi and his Works," &c. 1885. The following text is on page 51:

And here's another flattering remark, from a website called The Victorian Dictionary. An excerpt from The Wild Tribes of London, by Watts Phillips, 1855, Chapter VIII:

To end on a happy note, from the same site: Unsentimental Journeys; or Byways of the Modern Babylon, by James Greenwood, 1867, Chapter XIX:

My wife was, yesterday, enjoying Stephen Leacock’s ‘Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town’ (1912). She was particularly delighted by the opening paragraphs of Sketch 9, ‘The Mariposa Bank Mystery’.

“Suicide is a thing that ought not to be committed without very careful thought. It often involves serious consequences,and in some cases brings pain to others than oneself.
I don’t say that there is no justification for it. There often is. Anybody who has listened to certain kinds of music, or read certain kinds of poetry, or heard certain kinds of performances upon the concertina, will admit that there are some lives that ought not to be continued, and that even suicide has its brighter aspects.”

As Leacock left England at the age of 6 or 7 I absolve all of us on our UK side of the Atlantic for creating this attitude!!! Of course Leacock was at McGill. How long has your family been in Montreal, Paul?

The mention is brief but in Jack London's Valley of the Moo, BK2, Ch 11 is a reference to a little boy playing the concertina,

I have just found a reference in Peter Hoeg's (my font doesn't allow me to put the / through the 'o' in his name) 'Miss Smilla's feeling for snow'. The Captain is being over-nostalgic about the different conditions that prevailed at sea only a few years previously and Miss Smilla, to deflate him, asks 'Did they have clogging and concertinas too?' Clearly 'clogging and concertinas' conveys a feeling of mawkish sentimentality, a little bit like the use by Dylan Thomas that I cited earlier in this thread.
I am close to the end of the book and have not yet found the word 'mallemaroking', reputedly the least used word in the English language! Surely, if was ever to be used, it would be in this ice-bound novel.
Incidentally, I thought 'Accordian Crimes' was a great read, though I know my friend (and meldeon player) Dan Quinn gave up on it.

Funnily enough I found a mention of the word in relation to Morris just yesterday, a side from somewhere called Chinewrde has named itself the "Mallemarokers".

The word is not just rarely heard, I think the Chambers Dictionary was the only one that recorded it. And it is not in their most recent edition. I'd love to hear it used in its proper context, buckleys chance around here. Middle of winter and it was 21° today.

regs

Chris

Here, meanwhile, it's the middle of summer, rainy, and 15° C.

Cross-topic post:

Does anybody know whether he had a concertina-playing spouse?

In a book on sex and travel (no, honestly) I found the following quote from Rupert Brooke in a letter to Cathleen Nesbitt in 1914, when he was staying in Tahiti:
"Tonight we will put scarlet flowers in our hair and sing strange slumberous South Sea songs to the concertina and drink French red wine and dance obscure native dances and bathe in a soft lagoon by moonlight". Sounds like fun to me!
Samantha

Samantha, what was the name of the book?

"Sultry Climates" Travel and Sex since the Grand Tour, by Ian Littlewood, published (in UK) by John Murray. ISBN 0-7195-5602-3.
Samantha

Boy, you go away for a few days and the really fun posts happen.



Helen

Hmm.. is this coincidence Helen??

Bashful plays the concertina. I was amused to see this when reading Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to my younger daughter the other night. He is in the foreground of the picture while Happy is in the background on piano. Dopey gets to dance with Snow.

Also last night while watching Miss Marple, The Mirror Cracked (on Sky channetl 146) they showed the village fete with Morris Dancers and concertina player. Is it mentioned in the original book? Who were the Morris Dancers & player or were they just extras?

Andy

I always suspected that Klingons were barbaric. The fact that they don't distinguish between concertinas and accordions proves it beyond all reasonable doubt!

As other posters have already pointed out, the great Wilkie Collins probably played the English and featured it in "The Woman in White".

I am currently reading another of his "Big 4" novels, "Armadale", and there is an extended passage featuring the concertina that is so delightful I can't resist quoting it at length. Apart from being a great read, it also throws light on the social context of the concertina in Victorian society.

Some background: "Aramadale" was written in the 1860s and set in the early 1850s. The action takes place on a pleasure trip to the Norfolk Broads (at that time, the back of beyond).

I have copied the text from the online edition published by the University of Adelaide.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The last mellow hours of the day and the first cool breezes of the long summer evening had met before the dishes were all laid waste, and the bottles as empty as bottles should be. This point in the proceedings attained, the picnic party looked lazily at Pedgift Junior to know what was to be done next. That inexhaustible functionary was equal as ever to all the calls on him. He had a new amusement ready before the quickest of the company could so much as ask him what that amusement was to be.

“Fond of music on the water, Miss Milroy?” he asked, in his airiest and pleasantest manner.

Miss Milroy adored music, both on the water and the land—always excepting the one case when she was practicing the art herself on the piano at home.

“We’ll get out of the reeds first,” said young Pedgift. He gave his orders to the boatmen, dived briskly into the little cabin, and reappeared with a concertina in his hand. “Neat, Miss Milroy, isn’t it?” he observed, pointing to his initials, inlaid on the instrument in mother-of-pearl. “My name’s Augustus, like my father’s. Some of my friends knock off the ‘A,’ and call me ‘Gustus Junior.’ A small joke goes a long way among friends, doesn’t it, Mr. Armadale? I sing a little to my own accompaniment, ladies and gentlemen; and, if quite agreeable, I shall be proud and happy to do my best.”

“Stop!” cried Mrs. Pentecost; “I dote on music.”

With this formidable announcement, the old lady opened a prodigious leather bag, from which she never parted night or day, and took out an ear-trumpet of the old-fashioned kind—something between a key-bugle and a French horn. “I don’t care to use the thing generally,” explained Mrs. Pentecost, “because I’m afraid of its making me deafer than ever. But I can’t and won’t miss the music. I dote on music. If you’ll hold the other end, Sammy, I’ll stick it in my ear. Neelie, my dear, tell him to begin.”

Young Pedgift was troubled with no nervous hesitation. He began at once, not with songs of the light and modern kind, such as might have been expected from an amateur of his age and character, but with declamatory and patriotic bursts of poetry, set to the bold and blatant music which the people of England loved dearly at the earlier part of the present century, and which, whenever they can get it, they love dearly still. “The Death of Marmion,” “The Battle of the Baltic,” “The Bay of Biscay,” “Nelson,” under various vocal aspects, as exhibited by the late Braham—these were the songs in which the roaring concertina and strident tenor of Gustus Junior exulted together. “Tell me when you’re tired, ladies and gentlemen,” said the minstrel solicitor. “There’s no conceit about me. Will you have a little sentiment by way of variety? Shall I wind up with ‘The Mistletoe Bough’ and ‘Poor Mary Anne’?”

Having favored his audience with those two cheerful melodies, young Pedgift respectfully requested the rest of the company to follow his vocal example in turn, offering, in every case, to play “a running accompaniment” impromptu, if the singer would only be so obliging as to favor him with the key-note.

“Go on, somebody!” cried Mrs. Pentecost, eagerly. “I tell you again, I dote on music. We haven’t had half enough yet, have we, Sammy?”

The Reverend Samuel made no reply. The unhappy man had reasons of his own—not exactly in his bosom, but a little lower—for remaining silent, in the midst of the general hilarity and the general applause. Alas for humanity! Even maternal love is alloyed with mortal fallibility. Owing much already to his excellent mother, the Reverend Samuel was now additionally indebted to her for a smart indigestion.

Nobody, however, noticed as yet the signs and tokens of internal revolution in the curate’s face. Everybody was occupied in entreating everybody else to sing. Miss Milroy appealed to the founder of the feast. “Do sing something, Mr. Armadale,” she said; “I should so like to hear you!”

“If you once begin, sir,” added the cheerful Pedgift, “you’ll find it get uncommonly easy as you go on. Music is a science which requires to be taken by the throat at starting.”

“With all my heart,” said Allan, in his good-humored way. “I know lots of tunes, but the worst of it is, the words escape me. I wonder if I can remember one of Moore’s Melodies? My poor mother used to be fond of teaching me Moore’s Melodies when I was a boy.”

“Whose melodies?” asked Mrs. Pentecost. “Moore’s? Aha! I know Tom Moore by heart.”

“Perhaps in that case you will he good enough to help me, ma’am, if my memory breaks down,” rejoined Allan. “I’ll take the easiest melody in the whole collection, if you’ll allow me. Everybody knows it—‘Eveleen’s Bower.’ ”

“I’m familiar, in a general sort of way, with the national melodies of England, Scotland, and Ireland,” said Pedgift Junior. “I’ll accompany you, sir, with the greatest pleasure. This is the sort of thing, I think.” He seated himself cross-legged on the roof of the cabin, and burst into a complicated musical improvisation wonderful to hear—a mixture of instrumental flourishes and groans; a jig corrected by a dirge, and a dirge enlivened by a jig. “That’s the sort of thing,” said young Pedgift, with his smile of supreme confidence. “Fire away, sir!”

Mrs. Pentecost elevated her trumpet, and Allan elevated his voice. “Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen’s Bower—” He stopped; the accompaniment stopped; the audience waited. “It’s a most extraordinary thing,” said Allan; “I thought I had the next line on the tip of my tongue, and it seems to have escaped me. I’ll begin again, if you have no objection. ‘Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen’s Bower—’ ”

“‘The lord of the valley with false vows came,’” said Mrs. Pentecost.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Allan. “Now I shall get on smoothly. ‘Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen’s Bower, the lord of the valley with false vows came. The moon was shining bright—’”

“No!” said Mrs. Pentecost.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” remonstrated Allan. “‘The moon was shining bright—’ ”

“The moon wasn’t doing anything of the kind,” said Mrs. Pentecost.

Pedgift Junior, foreseeing a dispute, persevered sotto voce with the accompaniment, in the interests of harmony.

“Moore’s own words, ma’am,” said Allan, “in my mother’s copy of the Melodies.”

“Your mother’s copy was wrong,” retorted Mrs. Pentecost. “Didn’t I tell you just now that I knew Tom Moore by heart?”

Pedgift Junior’s peace-making concertina still flourished and groaned in the minor key.

“Well, what did the moon do?” asked Allan, in despair.

“What the moon ought to have done, sir, or Tom Moore wouldn’t have written it so,” rejoined Mrs. Pentecost. “‘The moon hid her light from the heaven that night, and wept behind her clouds o’er the maiden’s shame!’ I wish that young man would leave off playing,” added Mrs. Pentecost, venting her rising irritation on Gustus Junior. “I’ve had enough of him—he tickles my ears.”

“Proud, I’m sure, ma’am,” said the unblushing Pedgift. “The whole science of music consists in tickling the ears.”

“We seem to be drifting into a sort of argument,” remarked Major Milroy, placidly. “Wouldn’t it be better if Mr. Armadale went on with his song?”

“Do go on, Mr. Armadale!” added the major’s daughter. “Do go on, Mr. Pedgift!”

“One of them doesn’t know the words, and the other doesn’t know the music,” said Mrs. Pentecost. “Let them go on if they can!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am,” said Pedgift Junior; “I’m ready to go on myself to any extent. Now, Mr. Armadale!”

Allan opened his lips to take up the unfinished melody where he had last left it. Before he could utter a note, the curate suddenly rose, with a ghastly face, and a hand pressed convulsively over the middle region of his waistcoat.

“What’s the matter?” cried the whole boating party in chorus.

“I am exceedingly unwell,” said the Reverend Samuel Pentecost. The boat was instantly in a state of confusion. “Eveleen’s Bower” expired on Allan’s lips, and even the irrepressible concertina of Pedgift was silenced at last. The alarm proved to be quite needless. Mrs. Pentecost’s son possessed a mother, and that mother had a bag. In two seconds the art of medicine occupied the place left vacant in the attention of the company by the art of music.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Oh good one, Henk.

Helen

Want me to go away again? Who knows what will appear.

Perhaps not literature, but how about sport?

Did anyone see the finish of yesterday's "Tour de France"? It must have been a magnificent sight.

According to the radio here "The group of leaders concertinaed together towards the finish". Even to play the concertina while riding a bicycle is remarkable, but in unison!!

Pity they didn't broadcast the sound.

Fantastic! Lovely image Rod! (and a great first post. Welcome!)

Hi Rod,

I would like to second Samantha's welcome to the forum.

Great post.

Helen

Rose Tremain's newish novel, Colour, set in the NZ goldfields 1865 has a concertina playing at the hotel where the married couple conjoin unsatisfactorily. Very depressing.

Incidentally Chinewrde is the old name for Kenilworth in Warwickshire and they have a very fine North-West morris side (no concertina players though).

See you at Warwick and Sidmouth from today - happy holidays start here!

Jill

Howdy:
I just received tha copy of George Melly's "Rum, Bum and Concertina" referred to at the beginning of this thread.

Evidently the title originates from an old naval saying
which appears alone on the rear panel of the dustjacket..........

"Ashore it's wine women and song
Aboard it's rum bum and concertina"


Maybe this has been mentioned somewhere else here earlier on another thread.
Anyone else ever heard this quote?
Evidently the playing of the concertina (in addition to other activities) was somewhat central in the lives of these folks as seafaring lore has already lead us to believe.

The more I read about the early days of sail the more 'fascinating' the lives of the sailors way back when appear to have been.

Kind of sounds like the ol' college days that I now long for.

Bye,
Perry Werner

Thanks for the welcome, but it's not really my first post - I just took a long time to get started in this new format.

No one seems to have mentioned it before, but there is a concertina in "The Admirable Crichton". My copy of the script even has an illustration. (Hopefully attached as a jpeg).

It appears after they have been wrecked on the desert island, and have been there for two years.

The italics describe Lord Loam (now known as "Daddy") as a "jolly-looking labouring man", playing an "island-made concertina". (So concertinas can't be difficult to make at all).


Rod


(Edited to reflect the fact that the attachment worked this time. On the previous two attempts, it was on a network drive, so that may have been the problem).

From Drink Down The Moon, by Charles DeLint-



"Lend him your fiddle," Tuir said to Johnny.
"He can't," Jemi said. "He'll need that for where we're going.
"I can't play one anyway," Henk said. "My instrument's the concertina."

"Anglo or English? " Loireag asked.
Henk blinked. "Uh, English. "
Loireag sent word up and down the line of the sidhe until a small hob
trotted up on his pony and handed Henk an instrument.

It was a beautiful old Wheatstone, it's silver gleaming, it's wood dark,
it's leather bellows worn but still strong.
"It was my father's, "the hob said. "Play the Moon fierce in it."

I have been reading Thomas Pakenham's "The Boer War" (A wonderful history
book) and came across the following passages:

Passage one:

"By 6 October (1899), Milner had learnt of the plight of seven thousand
African mine-workers from Natal, and of other Africans from British
territory. It was a British official who cabled the news, a man called
Marwick who worked for the Natal Native Affairs Department on the Rand. He
reported that the Zulus and other Africans for whom he was responsible had
lost their jobs. 'If left to find their own way back to Natal, [they] would
starve on the veld.' Despite discouragement from the Natal Ministry,
Marwick decided to try to bring the Natal refugees out by himself. The
authorities refused to provide room on the railway. There was only one
solution. Marwick cabled again to Natal. 'So that my proposed action may
not embarrass you, please suspend me from office. If I get natives through
without loss of life, you could please yourself about re-instating me.' His
offer was accepted. He was proposing to walk with the three thousnad Zulus
and four thousand other Africans all the way to Natal.

"There had been strange scenes in the great exodus from the Rand, but
none stranger, perhaps, than the scene that followed. At the head of the
Marwick's (sic) procession of Africans were a couple of Boer
policemen. Behind them, marching thirty abreast, were a group of musicians,
playing concertinas. [my emphasis] They played popular African tunes. Behind the
musicians marched an immense body of men, Zulus in African or European
dress, all the tribes of Natal. On 7th they reached
Heidleberg; on the 10th Waterval, over a hundred miles south-east of
Johanesburg; by the 13thy they had marched the 170 miles to Joubert's camp
at Volkrust on the Natal frontier......

"Marwick's epic march had saved seven thousand Natal Africans from
starvation."

Second Passage:

"[Thomas] Atkins [Manchester Guardian correspondent] saw the field moving before his eyes: massed columns of infantry.......coiling and uncoiling until they found their places..... Atkins was a poet of war, and ahead of his time. War, in his eyes, was more full of ironies than of heroes.

"One little incident struck him with especial force at this solemn moment. A Zulu driver in the column lashed out at his mule train with his right hand and his left hand dropped the concertina that he, like many Africans, carried on the march. The Zulu gave a sort of cry of despair, but he could not stop to retrieve it. A shout from the mounted infantry company behind" 'Mind that concertina! Pass the word!' The line of mounted infantry swerved. The next company followed suit: 'Look out, mind the concertina! Mind the wind-jammer!' The dancing sea of legs and hooves divided as each came to the precious object. The whole brigade passed, 'hurrying on to use all the latest and most civilized means for killing men and destroying property', tenderly leaving the concertina - an African's concertina - unscratched on the veld."

Daniel,

Having heard about the Zulu concept of the "concertina as a means of transport", I am not surprised to hear that "Marwick's epic march ... saved seven thousand Natal Africans from starvation."

To quote Harry Scurfield's paper The "Squashbox" - some history and some music (from the Michaelstein Conference 1999):

Bongeni Mthetwa, lecturer in musicology at the University of Natal, explained that "traditionally the maskanda (traditional musician) uses his instruments as a mode of transport. He can walk long distances to the music of his guitar/concertina. The concertina is supposed to 'transport' him, since the walk becomes transformed into a musical experience."

According to Johnny Clegg, "this is a bus, this is transport, this will take you wherever you wish to go ... "

Of course, every one here would be familiar with Mockpelt Thringdip, a Goblin concertina player.

Maybe not literature in the purest sense, unless you are a Spike Milligan fan....

'No it's not an ocharina
It's a Goblin Concertina,
But play it on your side, oh Chum-chum-chum
For the bellows (made of leather)
Whenever squeezed together
Will double-pleat your poor old Tum-tum-tum.'

This quoted from the book 'Goblins', verses by Spike Milligan, illustrations by W. Heath Robinson.

Does an autobiography count as "literature"?

In Mahatma Gandhi's autobiogaphy, Part I, section II (p. 7 of my Beacon Press paperback edition):

I have just read Time by Stephen Baxter.

On the whole, not really a great read in my opinion. However, the following quote is part of a description of the amenities, found on board a spaceship, designed for use in zero or low gravity:

It was also, thankfully, possible to take a shower, with a hosepipe and a nozzle that you passed over your body inside a concertina-type wraparound curtain. But the curtain was imprinted with stern instructions about the importance of washing down the shower properly after use, to avoid algal growths.


- John Wild
edited for typing correction