girls considered the whole thing a huge joke, while the boys took it very seriously indeed.
Lachlan often sang while he played. ‘I ain’t nothing but a hound dog,’ he would holler, doing his best to sound like Elvis Presley, or ‘Love me tender, love me do,’ making odd faces and swivelling his hips around like his idol. The girls found it hard to keep their faces straight, particularly when Lachlan’s voice began tobreak, covering several octaves, or they were ordered to join in with a ‘tra, la, la’.
Rose said she thought they sounded very professional. She liked Saturday mornings when Elaine and Lachlan arrived early so they could ‘rehearse’ – for what, she had no idea. She toiled away in the kitchen, a smile on her face, wishing she’d had the opportunity to have such fun when she’d been young.
Tom Flowers listened while he worked in the garden, wincing every now and then. Still, the youngsters weren’t doing any harm, except to his ears. Spencer, the cat, kept well out of the way.
It was on such a Saturday morning in May, the Merseysiders were playing and Lachlan was singing ‘Rock Around the Clock’ when the shed door opened and Sean McDowd stepped inside, dressed from head to toe in sinister black.
‘Greetings, scholarship boy.’ He nodded at Max. ‘I was passing and wondered what was going on.’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Max spluttered, but Sean ignored him and addressed Lachlan. ‘You play that thing dead good,’ he said.
‘It’s a guitar,’ Lachlan explained, adding, though he wasn’t sure why, ‘I’m not a scholarship boy.’
‘I know it’s a guitar. Meself, I play the drums in the school orchestra.’
‘Do you now!’ Lachlan looked excited. ‘We could do with a drummer, except we haven’t got a drum kit.’
‘Drums are shit to play. All that comes out is a noise. It’s not proper music. Can I have a go on your guitar?’
‘If you like.’ Again, Lachlan wasn’t sure why he so willingly handed the instrument over. Normally a generous, good-natured boy, he was reluctant to let even Max, his friend, touch his precious guitar. But there wassomething magnetic about this young man that made Lachlan want to please him. ‘Have you ever played before?’
‘No.’ Sean held the guitar against his thin chest and looked down at it tenderly, as if a beautiful woman was clasped in his arms.
‘What you do,’ Lachlan explained, ‘is press the strings against the fret . . .’
‘I know what you do.’ Sean’s long fingers plucked nimbly at the guitar, moving them quickly up and down the fret, gauging the tone, playing one note over and over, then another, and another, watched by an astonished Lachlan and an outraged Max.
Jeannie, still reeling from the swear word, realised Sean was finding the scale. Within five minutes he had found all eight notes. He played them an octave higher, an octave lower. It wasn’t long before he was able to strum a passable version of ‘Jerusalem’, which they used to sing at Friday assembly in Ailsham Junior School.
When he’d finished, he handed the guitar back to Lachlan. ‘How much did it cost?’ he enquired.
‘Five pounds or thereabouts. It was a Christmas present, so I’m not exactly sure. This is an acoustic guitar; electric ones are much dearer. My dad got it from Crane’s in Hanover Street.’
‘If I get one, can I come and play too?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Lachlan said eagerly. ‘You’re a natural. I can’t believe you’ve never played before. I used to play the violin, but it still took a while to get as far on the guitar as you just did.’
‘What sort of music were you playing when I came in?’
‘Rock ’n’ roll. It’s the best music in the world.’
‘I think so too. See you in a few weeks’ time then.’ Sean disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
‘Who was that?’ Lachlan asked excitedly. ‘Whoever he is, he’s a genius.’
‘His name’s Sean McDowd,’ Jeannie
Lachlan often sang while he played. ‘I ain’t nothing but a hound dog,’ he would holler, doing his best to sound like Elvis Presley, or ‘Love me tender, love me do,’ making odd faces and swivelling his hips around like his idol. The girls found it hard to keep their faces straight, particularly when Lachlan’s voice began tobreak, covering several octaves, or they were ordered to join in with a ‘tra, la, la’.
Rose said she thought they sounded very professional. She liked Saturday mornings when Elaine and Lachlan arrived early so they could ‘rehearse’ – for what, she had no idea. She toiled away in the kitchen, a smile on her face, wishing she’d had the opportunity to have such fun when she’d been young.
Tom Flowers listened while he worked in the garden, wincing every now and then. Still, the youngsters weren’t doing any harm, except to his ears. Spencer, the cat, kept well out of the way.
It was on such a Saturday morning in May, the Merseysiders were playing and Lachlan was singing ‘Rock Around the Clock’ when the shed door opened and Sean McDowd stepped inside, dressed from head to toe in sinister black.
‘Greetings, scholarship boy.’ He nodded at Max. ‘I was passing and wondered what was going on.’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Max spluttered, but Sean ignored him and addressed Lachlan. ‘You play that thing dead good,’ he said.
‘It’s a guitar,’ Lachlan explained, adding, though he wasn’t sure why, ‘I’m not a scholarship boy.’
‘I know it’s a guitar. Meself, I play the drums in the school orchestra.’
‘Do you now!’ Lachlan looked excited. ‘We could do with a drummer, except we haven’t got a drum kit.’
‘Drums are shit to play. All that comes out is a noise. It’s not proper music. Can I have a go on your guitar?’
‘If you like.’ Again, Lachlan wasn’t sure why he so willingly handed the instrument over. Normally a generous, good-natured boy, he was reluctant to let even Max, his friend, touch his precious guitar. But there wassomething magnetic about this young man that made Lachlan want to please him. ‘Have you ever played before?’
‘No.’ Sean held the guitar against his thin chest and looked down at it tenderly, as if a beautiful woman was clasped in his arms.
‘What you do,’ Lachlan explained, ‘is press the strings against the fret . . .’
‘I know what you do.’ Sean’s long fingers plucked nimbly at the guitar, moving them quickly up and down the fret, gauging the tone, playing one note over and over, then another, and another, watched by an astonished Lachlan and an outraged Max.
Jeannie, still reeling from the swear word, realised Sean was finding the scale. Within five minutes he had found all eight notes. He played them an octave higher, an octave lower. It wasn’t long before he was able to strum a passable version of ‘Jerusalem’, which they used to sing at Friday assembly in Ailsham Junior School.
When he’d finished, he handed the guitar back to Lachlan. ‘How much did it cost?’ he enquired.
‘Five pounds or thereabouts. It was a Christmas present, so I’m not exactly sure. This is an acoustic guitar; electric ones are much dearer. My dad got it from Crane’s in Hanover Street.’
‘If I get one, can I come and play too?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Lachlan said eagerly. ‘You’re a natural. I can’t believe you’ve never played before. I used to play the violin, but it still took a while to get as far on the guitar as you just did.’
‘What sort of music were you playing when I came in?’
‘Rock ’n’ roll. It’s the best music in the world.’
‘I think so too. See you in a few weeks’ time then.’ Sean disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
‘Who was that?’ Lachlan asked excitedly. ‘Whoever he is, he’s a genius.’
‘His name’s Sean McDowd,’ Jeannie
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