Simon Navagaththegama once related a story about a
radio. It was the first radio his
village, Navagaththegama, had seen. It
had amazed everyone. It had stopped
working. Since it was the first such
machine the repair industry had yet to be established. After much amateurish fiddling and a lot of
ear-shattering crackling, it had come to life.
Everyone had been thrilled and relieved, so much so that no one wanted
to touch it again out of fear that the slightest move might kill it
altogether. The station, therefore, was
fixed for all time. It played Western
classical music.
Simon had used this anecdote to explain that art
appreciation requires some minimum level of acquaintance and exposure. He loved Western classical music, he
said.
I suppose exposure and acquaintance are necessary but not
sufficient. I was not lacking in either,
thanks to a musically gifted mother and talented siblings. She tried hard, my mother did. She sent me for piano lessons for a couple of
years, but we moved far away from the teacher’s residence and that movement
ended that ‘exposure’. Somewhere down
the line, she later told me, I had said I liked the violin. Thinking back I am pretty sure I might have
meant that I liked the sound of the word “violin” for I had not seen the
instrument until she bought me a second-hand one.
That’s how I encountered Aunty Eileen. That’s Eileen Prins, violinist and teacher,
feared then on account of the ‘talent-abysmality’ and adored later for the
utterly non-threatening person who existed outside the class. It took me over thirty years to discover
‘adorable’, but as they say ‘better late than never’.
I never became a connoisseur of Western classical music but
if I do, someday, I’ll have to thank both my mother and Aunty Eileen. Of course there was also Mrs. Niles, who
tried to teach me how to play the piano once Aunty Eileen recognized my limitations
and gently sent me up School Lane (i.e. before Duplication Road broke it into
two parts), but it was from Aunty Eileen that I got some sense of the
basics.
I remember my mother writing down a quote from ‘Merchant of
Venice’ in the note book I had to take to class: ‘The man who hath no music in
his heart is fit for treason, strategems and spoils’. Yes, literature
interested me more than music. On the
other hand, I still remember Aunty Eileen helping me remember the sharp key
signatures using a mnemonic device, ‘Father Charles Goes Down and Ends Battle’,
showing the number of sharps between one and seven for order of keys, F C G D A
E B. I remember the reverse for the flat
keys too: ‘Battle Ends And Down Goes Charles’ Father’ (B E A D G C F). The technical details, i.e. ‘theory’, were
fascinating.
When my mother passed away almost two years ago, Aunty
Eileen’s son, Stephen, who had been my mother’s student at Royal College, came
to pay his last respects. I hadn’t seen
Stephen since the last time I had seen his mother, i.e. at the year-end concert
held at a church on Jawatte Road. I was
required to play ‘The Merry Widow Waltz’ and Stephen accompanied me on the
piano. I was so bad that I was the only one who had not memorized the selected
piece. Stephen said, kindly, after the
performance, ‘it was a bit flat, but you were ok’. I remember being ready to run far away,
because among the students was Lakshman Joseph De Saram, then barely 10 years
old. I did run away and stayed away for thirty years.
A few weeks after I met Stephen, later I went to see Aunty
Eileen. She was already past 90
then. Like a doll. Beautiful.
She was frail but lucid. We talked for a few minutes. I didn’t want to tire her.
Aunty Eileen is no more.
She passed away a couple of days ago.
She was blessed with an exceptional gift and one she shared with many,
many people. She was a teacher, so her
music lives on and will continue to lift and enrich lives. This is the way of teachers and
teaching.
We forget to remember too often. She’s now unforgettable though. Perhaps
because I am older now or because of a particular sequence of events and
incidents I had no control over. Aunty
Eileen gifted love and music. I am sure she’s being received right now with
truly divine music. As for me, I think I
will listen to some music. I am sure I’ll recognize the heart of Eileen Prins,
even when the violins are silent.
Malinda Seneviratne is the Editor-in-Chief of 'The Nation' and can be reached at msenevira@gmail.com
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