There’s not a lot in common between eggs and pianos. Except for the one that used to grace my lounge room. If the hens on my Nanna’s farm in the early 1900’s hadn’t been so productive there’d have been no eggs to sell, no money saved and logically, yes, you’ve got it. No piano.
My grandmother, Nora Farrall played the piano and sung beautifully. She was joined by her husband, Harold, in recitals with family and friends. It was pioneering days in the wheatbelt and coming together for a Sunday afternoon, or an evening was a popular form of entertainment.
Where did our piano come from?
The piano was most likely purchased in the1920’s or early 1930’s. It is a Beale standard piano, not full height, suited to sitting rooms. Beale Pianos was founded by Octavius Charles Beale in Annandale, NSW in 1893 and established a reputation in making quality pianos in Australia. I believe the company still stands today. It rose to become the largest piano manufacturer in the British Empire, producing around 95,000 pianos from 1893 to 1975.
Beale undertook making all parts of the piano. The piano in our family has a clear identity stamp on the wooden cabinet, a manufacturing number clearly visible on the frame as well as the distinctive Beale Tuning System stamp.
Typically, Beale pianos were overstrung, which I understand to be an asset, along with high quality playing mechanisms. The hammers and the felts are in great condition. Nothing has ever needed replacing. Its original keys are fully intact and the piano maintains good pitch despite its infrequent tunings.
A quick peak inside also reveals its solid iron frames. Over the years this made it a mover’s nightmare in weight, but no doubt has helped it survive its original journey from place of manufacture in Sydney, to Perth and subsequently to my grandparent’s home on their family farm, known as Greenacres, six miles out of Ardath.
Of particular note is the unique the Beale Tuning system that Beale patented which was designed to withstand the dry, hot conditions in Australia. At one point, I imagine piano tuners were not easily come by in the wheatbelt and it dropped a semitone across the whole keyboard. Careful re-tuning over the years has it back to where it should be, a testimony to the quality of the piano.
Despite Beale initiating the use of wood to suit Australian conditions, extreme heat and dry summers in the wheat belt took its toll on the French polished wood, adding an aged, crackled character to its finish. According to Leaver and Son, pianos of this vintage are worth anywhere from $500-$5000 depending on condition. In my opinion, our piano is worth much more than its dollar value, being the holder of treasured family memories.
Moving around
Over the years the piano survived several moves: From its home in Ardath it may have accompanied my grandparent’s to their retirement home in Bruce Rock, though it was most likely given to my mother at that point in time. That meant it ended up in the lounge room on my parent’s farm, Kenberdale, located just within the boundary of the Narembeen shire. From there, when I married and settled into my first home in Perth’s hills in Kelmscott, the piano moved in with us. My two daughters learned to play it in our Adair St home, and continued ad hoc lessons when we moved several times in the city. For a brief stint between 2008 and 2010 it resided with one of my daughters while I lived in London.
It is most fortunate, that over the many moves between homes over a period of more than fifty years, it was only one during move that it the removalists almost dropped it! Thankfully, no damage apart from a scrape or two happened – all part of the piano’s character now.
While it had its place in my home in the Perth hills, I occasionally gave private tuition to family beginners and played the pieces I’d learnt many years ago. It briefly shared my younger daughter’s home while I travelled overseas, and now it has moved to the inner suburban home of my older daughter so her three children can learn if they choose to. It is my hope that in the future it will remain in the family one way or another.
Learning to play
In the sitting room at Greenacres where my grandmother played and gave recitals she also taught her daughter, Dorothy, my aunt to play. Dorothy, taught her sister, my mother. My mother has no recollection of being taught outside of the home, but she recalls a music teacher in her school days who taught from the Ardath Hall. So my mother might have also learnt from her. When the piano came into my parent’s household I rarely heard my mother play.
Learning to play the piano was a skill I acquired rather than a natural talent. To me, learning to read music was like learning maths. All equations and timing and counting. It is also like reading words on a page. Once learnt it stays. Well, it has done so for me anyway.
I was sent to the local convent where my piano playing skills were accompanied by raps across the knuckles with a short stick! Lessons in moral conduct were also thrust upon me at me to redeem my soul and to provide sharp reminders to avoid errors in playing. Little booklets, I can visualize one of them now, about how to be a good Catholic girl were thrust upon me. I kept them hidden in my thin, brown music case away from my parents. I knew they would disapprove, being staunch Protestants.
In the process of learning to play the metrical beat of my metronome tick-tocked beats as though I had donned the costume of Tick-Tock in Return to Oz. The unforgiving regularity of keeping time is a tough one for me so I play for my own pleasure and if I miss a beat because I’m out of practice, it is of little consequence!
When I began studies in senior high school I entertained the cooks in the dining hall of my Merredin boarding house but once in the city, studying at university and teachers college, it became all too hard to keep up playing. Many years later, though, both daughters learned to play the piano and I taught the rudiments of music to my granddaughter. Curiously I find that with so many different methodologies today, it is barely necessary to have a teacher when the internet can serve the same purpose!
Magic does happen! I passed all my Pianoforte and theory exams with good grades. I practiced an hour or so every day – scales and set pieces and the occasional non-compulsory piece. It was more than a subject to learn. It made my heart sing. It still does.
An ear for music
The only thing I ever truly wished for while tinkling the keys was an ear that naturally heard sounds and matched pitch! It forever eludes me, though I know what sounds right and how to create music from a composition. It’s always a delight to hear those who are blessed with running their fingers up and down a keyboard creating music as though it were the gods themselves showing off!
Playing an instrument is a delight in the way it brings me right into the moment. It’s a great way to focus and centre self. I have old sheets of music stacked high, usually on top of the piano and overflowing from my great grandmother’s piano stool that came from Oldham in England when she immigrated with her family in 1910. Not naturally musical, I’m ever delighted to have had the opportunity to learn an instrument and know my grandmother’s piano will remain in the family for the next generation and beyond. It is part of our family heritage.
My piano lessons were also with the nuns, but at the school where I was a student. I much to the good sisters, many of whom were amodel of feminism. But I also remember being hit with a ruler on my knuckles.
Years ago, I decided I’d like to play the piano, and bought a keyboard which is now tucked in the bottom of the wardrobe in my bedroom. Thank you for reminding me of my plan, Susan. You have again prompted me to live the life I aspire to.
That’s wonderful, Maureen, to rediscover your dormant dream. I have a treasure trove of music if you’d like some!