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By
the end of the 19th century the east-end
of London had already become home
to many European Jewish refugees including
a number of musicians. Knowing this
and speaking virtually no English,
the Tschaikovs quickly made their
way to where at least they would find
some people who would understand them.
When a year or so later the father
left the family the responsibility
for providing for mother and eight
children fell on the two eldest boys,
Anton and Anissim, my father.
Even
in the first years of the 20th century
employment opportunities for boys
aged eleven and eight were limited.
However, by now my father had already
acquired a good deal of skill on the
clarinet and so, with Anton playing
the violin, he made his début
on the streets of East London. With
their youth and instrumental facility
they probably picked up a reasonable
number of pennies, but not always
enough to support a large family.
My father told me how when things
were really bad his mother had on
one occasion been forced to break
into the gas-meter so that they could
buy some food.
One
day as they were playing in the street
Mr Mandelbaum, a wealthy antique dealer
who was a great music-lover, heard
them. Their talent impressed him and
he made arrangements for them to attend
the Guildhall School of Music where
they were both later awarded scholarships.
It was not long before Anton was leading
the student orchestra. Unfortunately
the need to earn money meant he had
to accept engagements, which from
time to time required him to be absent
from some of the orchestra’s rehearsals.
Excuses and guile got him through
for a time until one day he was away
from a performance the College considered
important. When he was subjected to
some searching questions and it was
revealed that he had accepted a paid
engagement, in place of fulfilling
his obligation to the College, his
Scholarship was withdrawn.
My
father, then still only a boy, was
extraordinarily fortunate to have
the opportunity of studying with the
great Charles Draper, the father of
the British school of clarinet playing.
His influence on clarinet playing
was considerable since at one time
or another he was also professor at
both the Royal College of Music and
the Royal Academy. His pupils included,
amongst many others, Frederick Thurston
and Ralph Clarke, principal and second
clarinet in the BBC Symphony Orchestra,
who in their turn were both professors
at the Royal College of Music. Through
them and subsequent generations of
players Draper’s influence can still
be heard today.
When
my father had finished his lesson
and the next pupil came in Professor
Draper would sometimes say ‘All right
young Tschai; get this chap started
and see how he’s doing – I’m just
off to get a newspaper.’. He usually
did not return for an hour or so.
Of course that sort of thing could
not possibly happen now; nor could
a boy of ten any longer be studying
at one of our national music colleges.
The following year, 1906, ‘young Tschai’,
whilst still at the Guildhall, started
to earn his living as a professional
musician. He was now eleven – a little
younger than usual to be working in
the profession, though it was not
uncommon for children of thirteen
or fourteen, whilst still at school,
to be playing in music halls, and
some years later for the silent cinema.
He must have been exceptionally gifted
as the Musical Times reported
that in 1908 he was the soloist at
one of the Guildhall School of Music’s
concerts playing the Mozart Clarinet
Concerto and again in 1909, this time
playing the Clarinet Concerto in F
minor by Weber.
If
a boy or girl in a poor Jewish family
showed musical talent at an early
age it would be encouraged. This was
true in poor immigrant Jewish families
everywhere. Of all the professions
music is the easiest for a foreigner
to join when they have only a limited
knowledge of the language of their
new home. This may account for the
remarkable number of famous Jewish
musicians, especially solo pianists
and violinists, during the first half
of the 20th century.
Most
professional musicians at that time,
certainly those who were Jewish, came
from lower middle class or poor working
class families. For those with talent
music provided an opportunity to jump
their class. In more recent times
the children of black families, especially
in the USA from the 1920s onwards,
have followed a similar escape route
through jazz and the dance and swing
bands. Sport rather than music seems
to have become the preferred way out
of poverty and social deprivation
since the 1950s.
In
musical families there were always
parents, uncles and cousins able to
provide free or inexpensive lessons.
A child that showed talent would be
encouraged, though encouragement could
sometimes be a euphemism for being
obliged to work exceedingly hard,
and by no means always willingly.
A number of the older musicians that
I worked with in the past (mostly
string players) told me how they were
made to practise for many hours and
of the harsh criticism with which
their efforts were quite frequently
rewarded. Many of these young string
players gained their early professional
experience in the smaller music halls
and cinemas. For wind players the
main route into the profession was
often from army and brass bands, where
they learnt to play in ensemble and
to sight-read.
By
1910 when a father, a skilled artisan
– a tailor, shoemaker or hairdresser
– might still be earning no more than
thirty shillings (£1.50) a week, his
violinist son, if really talented,
might by the age of only sixteen or
seventeen be earning five or six pounds
a week leading one of the larger cinema
orchestras. Some idea of the extent
of the employment opportunities for
musicians to work in the ‘silent’
cinemas can be gained from the number
of cinemas in London alone: between
1909 and 1912 their number leapt from
90 to 400 and by 1927 it is estimated
that over 15,000 musicians were playing
in cinemas throughout the country.
Then, suddenly, with the arrival of
sound films, the ‘talkies’, everything
changed and by 1932 all those musicians
were unemployed. A sense of insecurity
is endemic in all performers; doubt
about their own ability has always
been compounded by the vagaries of
employment opportunities. The trauma
caused by the loss of employment for
thousands of musicians that the coming
of the ‘talkies’ created had a lasting
influence on the psychology of musicians
for a number of generations.
Though
my own circumstances in the 1930s
when I was still a child protected
me from the harsh realities of life
that afflicted so many others, I was
aware of something of the hardship
and humiliation that they suffered.
There was a regular stream of relations,
all musicians, seeking financial aid
from my father, at that time the only
member of the family with a steady
income. They were good musicians and
competent players who had devoted
their lives from an early age to practising
their instrumental skills to the best
of their ability. Now they were unwanted.
And, worse, their skills fitted them
for no other trade or occupation.
Their indignity affected me profoundly
and at a very early age I vowed that
I would never allow myself to be in
that situation.
Chapter
2
Index
page
