Captain Morgan's March

As this is the season of concerts and shows I have taken to reminiscing about memorable concerts that I have listened to. One such concert took place in the late seventies when we lived in Estcourt and my sons attended the Drakensview Primary School. One of my sons, I forget which, was chosen to represent the school in the recorder octet or first team, which consisted of four young girls and four young boys from Standards 4 and 5.

The concert was an inter primary schools Eisteddfod to take place in the Durban City Hall. As I owned a HiAce bus in those days, the headmaster asked me if I would take the team down from Estcourt to Durban.

The day arrived and I collected the Drakensview first recorder team from school, kitted out in their uniforms, the girls with floppy summer hats and the boys in white shirts and khaki shorts. We were rocking gently towards Hidcote when a sweet little thing in one of the floppy hats said "Please, Dr Ellis, may we practise our piece?"

I solicitously inquired what their piece was called. "Captain Morgan's March," chorused the team and swiftly started to unsheath their recorders.

It was just before Mooi River that the leader, a tall blonde girl, gave the one, two three and they attempted their first rehearsal. At first I could not believe my ears. It was appalling. No one was in time and the din was punctuated by high-pitched squeaks as notes escaped almost an octave higher than they should have been. They sounded like a bagpipe band trying to fight their way out of a metal biscuit tin.

At this stage I think one of the girls must have elbowed a boy because a fight broke out and it looked, through the rear view mirror, like a scene from the eight musketeers as I swerved between the lanes.

I had to use my regimental parade ground voice to bring things to order and, with a sense of dread, suggested that we would have to rehearse it again because there was no ways we could go on stage sounding like Stravinsky's Firebird Suite for recorders.

And so we started to rehearse Captain Morgan's March. We played it going past Balgowan, Lion's River, Howick, Hilton and by the time we got to Pietermaritzburg it was, unbelievably, worse than the first time.

Now I want you to imagine coming into Durban in rush hour past the old Alhambra theatre and weaving in and out of the traffic to the 14th and final rehearsal of Captain Morgan's March with two boys still playing one note behind the rest.

Thankfully, our music teacher had arranged to go on ahead and meet us and we herded our team of stragglers into the hall, which was filled with smart blazered city children with neat partings and polished shoes. Our shambles looked like the Country Bumpkin Players, floppy hats askew and shirts hanging out of trousers. We dusted them off and sat in our designated row with a lot of fidgeting, dropping of instruments and nervous running to and fro to the loo.

The concert started and the first few teams were terribly smart, confident and really top class. Inevitably our turn came and our team got up on stage. After a few goes at getting our team formation into line, the tall blond girl gave the one, two, three. I felt my self sinking down into my seat and covering my face with my hand.

It was only after a few moments that I realised that they were playing it absolutely magnificently, in perfect time and tune, without even a squeak or vibrato. The little beasts completed the March in perfect military style and received enthusiastic applause.

The music teacher and I and the team gave out a rustic cheer when it was announced at the end that we had come third.

And so a weary bunch set off back up Field's Hill heading home to the mountains. Before we started I addressed the occupants of the bus and informed them I never ever, under no circumstance, not even if the urge was insuppressible, never ever wanted to hear - not even one note - Captain Morgan's March ever again. No one disagreed.

·  Chris Ellis is a city GP and author of Despatches from The Last Outpost.


Publish Date: 28 December 2002