All That Jazz

I look back into the past and I think about how things might have been. I have my regrets, but then, regrets don’t do you much good. At times, I think to myself, if only I had acted differently or if I had made different choices. For instance, on that day in my life when that golden opportunity presented itself to me. That day when all my hopes for my future seemed to open out in front of me. It started with a letter which fell through the letterbox, dated 9th July 1955. I remember that clear enough. Mum called me into the kitchen. 1

“Charlie! This letter’s about you!” I felt my stomach go cold. Had Mr Kidd written to Mum about me forgetting my Games kit? He’d had it in for me since I’d started school at Beech Park. Mum read the letter aloud to me. I could read perfectly well myself, but I think she wanted to check that she’d read it right herself. Mr Kidd hadn’t written to Mum. Mr Kelly, who taught Music and English, had. The letter went something like this: “Dear Mrs Peters, your son Charlie, as you may already know, shows exceptional talent on the saxophone. It is with this in mind that I write to you today. Each year, Beech Park puts twenty gifted music students in for the Grayston Heath music exams. I would like you to consider putting your son in for these exams. There will be a £5 entry fee. Yours sincerely, Charles Kelly.” My Mum looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. 2

“I’m sorry, Charlie. Five pounds is just too much to pay.” 3

That felt awful. I had the one chance, and I let it slip through my fingers. I so wanted to play like John Coltrane, to blow like he did. We never did find the money, and once I moved up to the grammar school, I couldn’t find the time, what with homework and the rest of it. Then I made my way into the ‘adult world’. I found a job, doing mainly office work, spent most of my working life in that job and then retired, as you do, to spend time doing the garden and all the other bits and pieces I’d not had the time for before. Then I met Harriet, my first wife, while I was browsing in the local garden centre. She was something special, I could see that. The thing was she got ill. She didn’t recover, though. I was distraught when she died. I never married again. 4

That brings us up to the present day, and what I do now. I still bring out the John Coltrane records now and then, and I sit listening to them, and transport myself back to those times, those good times, fifty years ago. 5

Then I received the phone call from Jimmy Bean. He played piano for me when I used to jam at the local Starlight Club. 6

The club’s still standing, and that was part of the reason why Jimmy had phoned. The club was celebrating 50 years of “good, clean music” and Jimmy wanted to play the gala bash. What’s more, he wanted me to play as well. I couldn’t turn the opportunity down. That club had been my home from home when I’d started as a jazz man. 7

I got into practising again soon after that phone call, playing the old practice pieces. The John Coltrane pieces came back to me easy as you like. The rest of it was less simple. 8

The evening of the concert came. It was a Wednesday evening, the same evening as the original “Jazz Jam” sessions. After the standards, “What a Wonderful World”, and the others, it was our turn. Jimmy played the opening lines of My Favourite Things, and I joined in, purely pleased to be there, pleased to be playing again. The intro to “Giant Steps” brought a rousing cheer and then “A Love Supreme” signalled the slow handclapping. 9

During the interval, another aged man came over to me. I vaguely recognised him. 10

“Hello, Charlie!”11

“Hello, Mr Kelly!”12

Mr Kelly embraced me. I didn’t pull away. 13

“So, Charlie. Did you ever take that sax exam?” 14

“No, sir. I didn’t.”15

“Are you going to? I mean, would you like to?”16

“I’d love to, but could I do it?”17

“If you’re anything as good as you were, I’ve no doubt that you’d knock the socks off most of today’s players.” Mr Kelly said in an encouraging tone. 18

That was good to know that Mr Kelly took an interest in my musical affairs. I told Jimmy later on and he said, in his Cockney accent, as he always did “Charlie, my boy. You’re not likely to have another chance at this. In my opinion, you ought to go for it!” Jimmy’s not often wrong about things, and I respect him for that, so I decided to take his advice. The next day, I telephoned Grayston Heath Music College to enquire about applying for the exams. I was pleased to hear that the £5 entry fee had been done away with, and that all I now had to do was practise the scales and practice pieces……at that point, I found myself thinking oh crumbs! It had been such a long time since I’d played any of the scales. There was so much to remember as well. I hoped that it was just like riding a bike. I was soon to find that there was a lot I’d forgotten. It came back slowly, oh so slowly, but by the end of the fourth week, I was starting to feel it coming back. Not the enthusiasm…Good Lord, I’d never lost that, but I was starting to feel like a musician again. I know they say you never forget the important things you learn, but during the time I hadn’t played, I had grown ever so slightly rusty. I wasn’t beginning to “get back into the groove” until I found that I could play My Funny Valentine almost perfectly, as I had been able to all that time ago. It didn’t come easily by any means, but I’m a fairly patient person, I’d like to think so anyway. I then spent some time on the practice pieces. They took a while to pick up but I had them going pretty well. I received a phone call from Adam Everly at Grayston Heath. He informed me that I would be able to sit my exam on the following Thursday. I jumped at the chance. On the appointed day, I arrived at half past nine, thirty five minutes before my exam was due to begin. I wanted to get a warm up in beforehand. I was beginning to feel more than a little edgy. I undid the catches on my saxophone case with trembling fingers. I had never been quite so nervous before that day. I walked into the room where the exam candidates were told to wait. I was startled to see such a large number of people, with so many varied instruments. I saw people carrying violin cases, guitar cases, flute cases, so many different instrument cases it made my head whirl. I went into the exam feeling like a rock had settled in my stomach, but as I entered the examination room, all my nervousness vanished because I recognised my accompanist instantly. It was Mr Kelly. He struck up the opening notes of the first piece. I joined in, keen to show my talents. Mr K shouted above the piano. 19

“You’re going good, Charlie” 20

That felt great. After that, I threw myself into my playing. Mr Kelly was looking at me with a smile on his face. I was playing well and I knew it. I was probably playing better than I ever had before. We played through all the pieces and then, about half an hour later, Mr Kelly turned to me and said “Right, Charlie, it’s your choice piece now”. I smiled. I knew exactly what I was going to play. I launched into All You Need Is Love. I’d been 23 when it first came out, and had played the song incessantly, in my attempts to get it just right. I’d finally managed it after eight weeks constantly playing that song, nothing else. I didn’t get bored with it, though, I never do when I really want to do something. I played every note with gusto, pleased that the piece had come back to me. I finished the last bar with a flourish and put the sax down, sweating slightly. It had been a long time since I’d played like that. Mr Kelly looked at me with a broad smile on his face. 21

“That was brilliant, Charlie! I think we can safely say you’ve passed”. Mr Kelly placed a hand on my shoulder and congratulated me again. I picked up my saxophone, placed it in its case and waved goodbye to Mr Kelly with my free hand. 22

“’Bye, Charlie. You did great!” He remarked with warmth in his voice. I waved again. “’Bye, Mr Kelly!” I walked home, feeling on top of the world. Mr Kelly’s praise meant more to me than any exam result, of course, but I couldn’t help feeling that I had done rather well for a sixty-three year old former jazz musician who hadn’t played in donkey’s years. My own thinking was confirmed a few days later when I heard an envelope drop through the letter box. I walked over to the box and bent to pick it up. There was a Grayston Heath emblem on it, the same gold GH that had been on the envelope that had started the fuss all those years ago. I tore open the envelope, feeling like I was seven years old all over again, opening birthday cards. I pulled out first a letter, detailing my exam marks, which I hastily threw aside. I found what I was looking for just behind the letter, a certificate. I read over it quickly, it read: “This is to certify that Charles Andrew Peters has passed the Grade I saxophone exam with Distinction”. I then read the letter. Apparently I had been awarded 95 marks out of 100. I felt great. I phoned Jimmy later on, when I was sure that he’d be awake. 23

“Jim!”24

“Eh? Charlie? What’s wrong?”25

“Nothing, pal. I’ve passed the saxophone exam.”26

“Crikey! Well done, Chas!” Jimmy laughed. 27

“D’you want to come over later on?”28

“Sure. I want to hear this John Coltrane mark two sax playing!” 29

“You will. See you later on, mate!” 30

“’Bye, Chas!” 31

“’Bye, Jim!” 32

I put the phone down, then made myself a cup of tea. I needed it, with the excitement of this morning. I sat at the kitchen table drinking it, and thinking of how long it had taken me to take that exam, and now I’d done it! I felt great, not only because I’d done it, but I had the help of a lot of great people to do it. 33

Jimmy came over at lunchtime. We sat and talked over tuna sandwiches, which had always been my favourite lunchtime snack. At about half past twelve, we finished our sandwiches and Jimmy invited me to get the saxophone out. I did so, gladly. I played through the John Coltrane pieces, and then played All You Need Is Love, with Jimmy singing along all the way through. Then Jimmy made a request. 34

“You remember this one, Charlie?” He hummed the first few bars of a piece. I knew what it was immediately. Free Street Blues. We’d composed it together when I was twelve. Jimmy had played the first line on piano, and I’d come up with an echo, almost, of what he was doing with the piano. It had sounded quite good, and quite different to what we were used to playing. We walked into the spare room together. I had a small keyboard set up in there, so that Jimmy and I could jam occasionally. That was exactly what we did then. Jimmy struck up the first few bars, a kind of boogie thing, and I followed suit with the sax. Jimmy was grinning like the Cheshire cat. I took my cue and went into the sax solo that we’d incorporated for the middle eight. We jammed until two o’clock when Jimmy said he had to go home. I thanked him for coming, and refreshing my memory on Free Street Blues. Jimmy said it had been a pleasure. I patted him on the back. “’Bye, Jim! See you again” 35

“See you, Chas!” 36

I closed the door behind Jimmy, and went into the lounge. I walked over to the corner cabinet where I kept my records. I pulled out a record with a dusty white card jacket. That was my favourite record in my collection of some 150 records. It was my favourite for a very good reason. I’d saved £3 and 10 shillings, and booked time in a local recording studio where my Uncle Mark worked so that Jimmy and I could record one or two numbers. The first number we’d recorded had been My Favourite Things, and the second had been Free Street Blues. I listened to that ancient record, which had been almost worn out by the amount of times I’d played it, and found myself back in the recording studio, sitting next to Jimmy, sharing a microphone with him. I had played with so much enjoyment back then, as I do still all these years later. I’m not doing bad for a sixty-odd year old jazz musician, am I? 37

The End38