The Work of Chris Barnes
Chris Barnes has been a member of the Circle since 1977, with a 3-year break when he was working abroad. Educated at Christ's Hospital, the Bluecoat School, he joined the Civil Service afer military service in Royal Signals, and has worked for a number of years in Cyprus. He has had articles about the Yorkshire countryside published, sometimes illustrated by his wife, Pauline. He writes short stories, and sometimes attempts Poetry.
THE VIEW FROM SKIDDAW winner of HWC short story 2009
"Not that piece, Mike, please!"
He had been hammering away on single notes for 20 minutes and then suddenly broken into a Schubert melody.
Geoff had found his name in the yellow pages. He’d asked whether the piano needed tuning, which was good of him; I know my playing bores him to distraction. I suppose he thinks it’s something to keep me happy while he’s at the office or out with his golfing pals. Keep me happy? Oh, yes, he tries.
Without saying anything, the tuner had switched to a Chopin Polonaise.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please; no sugar."
"What about - what’s his name? - Bill?"
"Oh, he’s all right. No snacks while he’s on duty. Don’t want him putting on weight. Doesn’t get enough exercise".
The labrador gave a brief wag of the tail as his master went back to work.
I set the coffee and biscuits on the table.
"What happened? The eyes?"
"Oh, they never were any good. I had measles as a child. Mum says the doctor didn’t warn her to keep me out of sunlight, and to have the curtains drawn all day. That was how it started."
"They weren’t too bad when - oh, yes;. I remember; that day on Skiddaw, when I was on about the beautiful view of Morecambe Bay, and you pretended you could see it, and I knew you couldn’t. Did you do anything about it when you got home?"
"No, I left it far too long. When I did get around to seeing the specialist he said it was some incurable degenerative condition and that I’d just have to put drops in and make the best of it."
"And it got worse?"
"Certainly did."
For a few moments we were silent, thinking about that holiday in the Lakes.
Aunt Florence had left me some money. I was finding living at home a bit of a drag after Uni, so I booked on one of these Singles Weeks you see in the brochures. It was a Walking Holiday based at Keswick, and I suppose I had some daft idea about combining fitness and finding a soul mate; well, that’s not quite how they put it in the brochures, but it’s what they mean.
After dinner on the Saturday evening the leader, a chirpy loud-mouthed woman, got us together in the lounge and said we’d got to "do a turn" so as to get to know one another.
"Come on, everyone! I know you can all do something! Sing a song, recite a poem, give us a funny story. Who’s first?"
I kept well in the background but Mike came across the room and asked if I could sing.
Well, I’d been in the chapel choir at school and had sometimes sung at college concerts. I rather liked the look of him, so I said "sort of".
That’s how it started.
I can’t remember what we did; probably a folk song or pop tune, but, whatever it was, they loved it. They just couldn’t believe we’d never even met until that afternoon.
On these holidays you’re supposed to go on the leader’s walks, but we just couldn’t face her endless chatter and silly attempts at match-making. Early each morning we set off together after breakfast, getting back just in time for a shower before the bar opened. For once, the Lakes weather was perfect, and we did some of the great climbs - Sca Fell, Helvellyn, Coniston Old Man., Blencathra.
And Skiddaw.
The leader hinted that we were spoiling the week for the others, but they just wished us luck and told us to forget about her.
They wouldn’t let us get away, though, without doing our piece, and we did something new each evening.
On the last night that we did the Schubert, "An die Musik".
I’d come across it on my German course at Bristol, and had even tried to sing it at one of the concerts. I’d found the words so emotional, as though the young composer knew he’d had not long to live but wanted to thank Music itself for the solace it had given him in many bad times.
"O gracious Art, in how many grey hours
When life’s fierce orbit encompasses me,
Hast thou kindled my heart to warm love,
Hast charmed me to a better world!"
The words came back to me, and Mike had no trouble at all with the music.
It wasn’t at all what they’d expected.
Instead of the usual raucous applause there was silence as we walked back to our seats in the lounge.
"Whatever was that, for goodness sake?" someone asked.
"Oh, a song by Schubert, saying how much music meant to him."
We didn’t stay to hear their comments but walked down for a last look at the lake.
"Nearly finished."
He had returned to the monotonous tuning.
"Nearly. Just want to go over it all once more."
We exchanged addresses. I persuaded him to come on a walk with our Rambling Club, and invited him round to my parents’ house in their village.
It didn’t work.
Mum and Dad, of course, were dead keen on Geoff, who had been after me ever since Graduation. His father’s a doctor, and plays Golf; enough said. It was gently hinted that there were better fish in the sea than a musician with doubtful prospects and poor eyesight.
"Why did you stop coming? Why didn’t you answer when I told you about that Charity Walk in Wharfedale?"
He looked away, mumbling something about "knowing I was going out with someone else".
I sat at his side as, with a last run through the keys, he came to the end of his work.
"You were wrong, Mike, you couldn’t have been more wrong! I kept thinking we’d have another holiday; I even fixed a date for one in the Dales."
"Yes. You told me about it. That was about the time when the eyes got suddenly worse."
"Why didn’t you say? We could have done something together – oh, shared a flat, and I’d have cared for you and made sure you got proper treatment. How do you manage now, anyway? Are you on your own?|
"Yes With Bill, of course. I went to my brother’s for a few weeks, but that didn’t work. I’ve got kind neighbours. I manage fine."
"Oh, Mike, Mike, you got it all wrong! Play it again. "An die Musik."
"No. Better not."
He closed the lid of the piano, a signal to the dog to wake up and be on duty again.
"Right, Mrs Grant. It’s a good piano, but it really was out of tune. Perhaps you haven’t been playing enough lately? A musical instrument’s like an arm or a leg that gets stiff and out of joint if it’s not kept in regular use. I’ll post you an account. Thank you for the coffee and cake. Come along, Bill."
"I’ll see you out."
"Please don’t bother. We’ll manage. Frank’s here to pick us up. Goodbye, Mrs Grant"
I watched as they left the house and got into the waiting car.
I sat down in the armchair by the window from where I could see the outline of the hills of Wharfedale.
I was still there an hour later when Geoff let himself in.
"Hallo! What sort of a day have you had? You look done in. All right?"
"Yes, thanks; just a bit of a headache. It’s been very sultry."
"Did the piano tuner come?"
"Yes, he came. He said it needed doing."
"Bet he did. How long did he take?"
"Oh, an hour; two hours. I – I don’t know".
"You’d better clear off to bed for a bit. You look properly washed out. Don’t worry about me. I‘ll have a sandwich and nip round to the Golf Club for an hour or two. Sure you’ll be all right?"
"Yes, I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself."
I settled down by the radio to listen to the Prom.
He had been hammering away on single notes for 20 minutes and then suddenly broken into a Schubert melody.
Geoff had found his name in the yellow pages. He’d asked whether the piano needed tuning, which was good of him; I know my playing bores him to distraction. I suppose he thinks it’s something to keep me happy while he’s at the office or out with his golfing pals. Keep me happy? Oh, yes, he tries.
Without saying anything, the tuner had switched to a Chopin Polonaise.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please; no sugar."
"What about - what’s his name? - Bill?"
"Oh, he’s all right. No snacks while he’s on duty. Don’t want him putting on weight. Doesn’t get enough exercise".
The labrador gave a brief wag of the tail as his master went back to work.
I set the coffee and biscuits on the table.
"What happened? The eyes?"
"Oh, they never were any good. I had measles as a child. Mum says the doctor didn’t warn her to keep me out of sunlight, and to have the curtains drawn all day. That was how it started."
"They weren’t too bad when - oh, yes;. I remember; that day on Skiddaw, when I was on about the beautiful view of Morecambe Bay, and you pretended you could see it, and I knew you couldn’t. Did you do anything about it when you got home?"
"No, I left it far too long. When I did get around to seeing the specialist he said it was some incurable degenerative condition and that I’d just have to put drops in and make the best of it."
"And it got worse?"
"Certainly did."
For a few moments we were silent, thinking about that holiday in the Lakes.
Aunt Florence had left me some money. I was finding living at home a bit of a drag after Uni, so I booked on one of these Singles Weeks you see in the brochures. It was a Walking Holiday based at Keswick, and I suppose I had some daft idea about combining fitness and finding a soul mate; well, that’s not quite how they put it in the brochures, but it’s what they mean.
After dinner on the Saturday evening the leader, a chirpy loud-mouthed woman, got us together in the lounge and said we’d got to "do a turn" so as to get to know one another.
"Come on, everyone! I know you can all do something! Sing a song, recite a poem, give us a funny story. Who’s first?"
I kept well in the background but Mike came across the room and asked if I could sing.
Well, I’d been in the chapel choir at school and had sometimes sung at college concerts. I rather liked the look of him, so I said "sort of".
That’s how it started.
I can’t remember what we did; probably a folk song or pop tune, but, whatever it was, they loved it. They just couldn’t believe we’d never even met until that afternoon.
On these holidays you’re supposed to go on the leader’s walks, but we just couldn’t face her endless chatter and silly attempts at match-making. Early each morning we set off together after breakfast, getting back just in time for a shower before the bar opened. For once, the Lakes weather was perfect, and we did some of the great climbs - Sca Fell, Helvellyn, Coniston Old Man., Blencathra.
And Skiddaw.
The leader hinted that we were spoiling the week for the others, but they just wished us luck and told us to forget about her.
They wouldn’t let us get away, though, without doing our piece, and we did something new each evening.
On the last night that we did the Schubert, "An die Musik".
I’d come across it on my German course at Bristol, and had even tried to sing it at one of the concerts. I’d found the words so emotional, as though the young composer knew he’d had not long to live but wanted to thank Music itself for the solace it had given him in many bad times.
"O gracious Art, in how many grey hours
When life’s fierce orbit encompasses me,
Hast thou kindled my heart to warm love,
Hast charmed me to a better world!"
The words came back to me, and Mike had no trouble at all with the music.
It wasn’t at all what they’d expected.
Instead of the usual raucous applause there was silence as we walked back to our seats in the lounge.
"Whatever was that, for goodness sake?" someone asked.
"Oh, a song by Schubert, saying how much music meant to him."
We didn’t stay to hear their comments but walked down for a last look at the lake.
"Nearly finished."
He had returned to the monotonous tuning.
"Nearly. Just want to go over it all once more."
We exchanged addresses. I persuaded him to come on a walk with our Rambling Club, and invited him round to my parents’ house in their village.
It didn’t work.
Mum and Dad, of course, were dead keen on Geoff, who had been after me ever since Graduation. His father’s a doctor, and plays Golf; enough said. It was gently hinted that there were better fish in the sea than a musician with doubtful prospects and poor eyesight.
"Why did you stop coming? Why didn’t you answer when I told you about that Charity Walk in Wharfedale?"
He looked away, mumbling something about "knowing I was going out with someone else".
I sat at his side as, with a last run through the keys, he came to the end of his work.
"You were wrong, Mike, you couldn’t have been more wrong! I kept thinking we’d have another holiday; I even fixed a date for one in the Dales."
"Yes. You told me about it. That was about the time when the eyes got suddenly worse."
"Why didn’t you say? We could have done something together – oh, shared a flat, and I’d have cared for you and made sure you got proper treatment. How do you manage now, anyway? Are you on your own?|
"Yes With Bill, of course. I went to my brother’s for a few weeks, but that didn’t work. I’ve got kind neighbours. I manage fine."
"Oh, Mike, Mike, you got it all wrong! Play it again. "An die Musik."
"No. Better not."
He closed the lid of the piano, a signal to the dog to wake up and be on duty again.
"Right, Mrs Grant. It’s a good piano, but it really was out of tune. Perhaps you haven’t been playing enough lately? A musical instrument’s like an arm or a leg that gets stiff and out of joint if it’s not kept in regular use. I’ll post you an account. Thank you for the coffee and cake. Come along, Bill."
"I’ll see you out."
"Please don’t bother. We’ll manage. Frank’s here to pick us up. Goodbye, Mrs Grant"
I watched as they left the house and got into the waiting car.
I sat down in the armchair by the window from where I could see the outline of the hills of Wharfedale.
I was still there an hour later when Geoff let himself in.
"Hallo! What sort of a day have you had? You look done in. All right?"
"Yes, thanks; just a bit of a headache. It’s been very sultry."
"Did the piano tuner come?"
"Yes, he came. He said it needed doing."
"Bet he did. How long did he take?"
"Oh, an hour; two hours. I – I don’t know".
"You’d better clear off to bed for a bit. You look properly washed out. Don’t worry about me. I‘ll have a sandwich and nip round to the Golf Club for an hour or two. Sure you’ll be all right?"
"Yes, I’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself."
I settled down by the radio to listen to the Prom.