CELIA DONOGHUE recalls the excitement of being taken by her father to purchase her first LP

 

My father loved St. Stephen’s Green in Dublin. On weekdays, he might nip out from his office in UCD, Earlsfort Terrace, to buy a sandwich. Saturday mornings, though, he loved to stroll at his leisure further afield, getting some ‘messages’.

Nothing as mundane as the weekly shop or the school jumper, that was my mother’s domain. No, it was more like popping down to the Teatime Express shop in Dawson Street, or meeting a colleague in the Bailey on Duke Street.

Of course we children – all six of us – had stayed at home but when he arrived in, laden with goodies and some censored gossip, it felt as if we too had visited this exotic part of town.

One Saturday morning, to my amazement, I was brought along. Not with any siblings, just me and my father, and we were on a very special mission. I was a quiet child, often lost in books, or my stamp collections or music.

I had shown some promise on the recorder so a clarinet was bought for eight pounds secondhand. A lesson every Tuesday in the Municipal College of Music and soon my teacher was talking about me doing an exam, maybe even the Junior Clarinet at the Feis Ceoil.

Now that music was officially my thing, my mother threw out the notion that I should get a record, an LP, for Christmas. My older brother was allowed play his Beatles LPs only with headphones on our rickety turntable. But my musical parents were very enthusiastic about a classical disc, featuring the clarinet.

So the plan was for my father and I to pay a visit to May and Sons music shop on 130 St. Stephen’s Green West. In the car, promoted for once to the front seat, I quivered with excitement. We drove around the Green twice before he darted into a vacant parking space.

We cut through the park, he strode along, I ran to keep up, stopping briefly to see the ducks, the bandstand, the bust of James Joyce and the statue of the Three Fates. I didn’t know what ‘fates’ were, but they sounded important.

My father was saluted a few times by students – Hello Professor – and he merrily waved. But when an elderly gentleman boomed, “Well, Denis, out with only one of the half-dozen,” he stopped to talk. Describing our mission, the gentleman nodded kindly.

“That’s an excellent present for Santa to bring.” I was mortified, long past Santa. But as we headed on, my father leaned down and whispered “you’ve just met the President of the University” so I was suitably impressed.
Soon we arrived at Mays and Sons. My father didn’t waste time scanning the shop for the record section, he marched up to the lady behind the counter.
“We’d like to buy a good LP, featuring the clarinet.”
“No problem. Now let me see.”

She nipped from behind the counter, rummaged in a few stacks before producing two. He nodded at the first one, commenting ‘a bit more jazz than classical’. The second one, however, elicited a deep rumble of approval.
“Oh yes, Beethoven and Brahms Trios, excellent!” showing me the cover with pictures of a clarinet and a large violin (which actually turned out to be called a cello). Then the most extraordinary thing happened. He handed it back to the lady.
“Can we hear a little of the Beethoven, please?”
“Of course. Booth two should be free.”

And he marched to the back of the shop, opening a door into the tiniest room I had ever been in. It was more like a cupboard. He sat on the single chair, circling me with his arm, so we could close the door.

Nothing happened for a little while. Then this glorious music suddenly filled the space. Swivelling my head in surprise, I was dumbstruck. He pointed out the neat speaker in the corner.
The music was simply wonderful, a gorgeous clarinet sound with none of the squeaky tone I produced. My father closed his eyes in a kind of ecstasy. I wanted to stay in that little room for ever, just me and him, cuddled up close.

“Gorgeous”, he murmered.

Opening his eyes, he twinkled at me. “You’ll sound like that one day. Well, Princess, will we get it?”

It cost eleven shillings. That seemed a lot, but it lasted much longer than the teatime express cake we went on to buy for seven and six. He let me pick my favourite, the lemon cake with the candied orange slices on top. ÷

 

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