Henry Lawson is a noted early Australian writer... The following is from his story "Joe Wilson and his Mates" More can be read at http://home.vicnet.net.au/~ozlit/joewil13.html

Out in the kitchen long Dave Regan grabbed, from the far side of the table, where he had thrown it, a burst and battered concertina, which he had been for the last hour vainly trying to patch and make air-tight; and, holding it out towards the back-door, between his palms, as a football is held, he let it drop, and fetched it neatly on the toe of his riding-boot. It was a beautiful kick, the concertina shot out into the blackness, from which was projected, in return, first a short, sudden howl, then a face with one eye glaring and the other covered by an enormous brick-coloured hand, and a voice that wanted to know who shot ‘that lurid loaf of bread?’

Here's another piece

Jim Bullock was there with his concertina. He sat on a stool in front of a bench, on which was a beer-keg, piles of teacups and saucers, several big tin teapots, and plates of sandwiches, sponge-cakes, and tarts. Jim sat in his shirt-sleeves, with his flat-brimmed, wire-bound, “hard-hitter” hat on, slanting over his weaker eye. He held one leg loosely and the other rigid, with the concertina on his knee, and swanked away at the instrument by the hour, staring straight in front of him with the expression of a cod-fish, and never moving a muscle except the muscles of his great hairy arms and big chapped and sunblotched hands; while chaps in tight “larstins” (elastic-side boots), slop suits of black, bound with braid, and with coats too short in the neck and arms, and trousers bell-mouthed at the bottoms, and some with paper collars, narrow red ribbon ties, or scarfs through walnut shells, held their partners rigidly, and went round the room with their eyes—most of them—cocked at the rafters in semi-idiotic ecstasy.

Chris
This certainly is rather shocking for concertinophiles, but for the more realistic concertina-players it puts the instrument in another perspective.

It makes me think of the book of E. Annie Proulx about the "live" of a green PA that finally ends up in a gutter. I (as a concertina-player) really loved the book!!!

edited to change does me think in makes me think

Is'nt that the basic expression of most of the concertina-players ?

It was a button accordion, as I recall. Good book. Tracked the life of this squeezebox through all the different people of different cultures who owned it through the years. The one thing that bugs me about it, though, is that nobody ever found the money. (Sorry, you'll just have to read the book....)

:-)
Steven

Great book, like all of Proulx' stuff. The chapter illustrations fueled my interest in squeezeboxes. I had no idea of the wide variety of instruments in the world.

Steven you're right! I checked the book (the Dutch translation) and although the title is "Accordeon Crimes" it shows a button-box on the cover!

In is really uncanny how well I've been capured here.

Sadly I am almost finished the book, and now only one or two days too soon I know that no-one found the money and the accordion ends up in the gutter. What terrible timing..!

Chris

Chris

I'm sorry about that

But entirely appropriate. The book itself seems deliberately depressing, concentrating on the travails of those connected with the accordion and barely mentioning those who experience joy and success.

I'm sorry Chris!! I should have thought before posting that. I didn't mean to spoil it for you...


Steven