Writing for Fun
September 2015
Dis-banded - Jeanette Rothwell
Tom raised the shiny brass trombone, took a deep breath, pursed his lips and began to play. The smooth musical notes echoed around the hall and his fellow players gently started to join him. Ted on the guitar, Reg on trumpet, John on the drums, Gerry on the double bass and Terry on clarinet. The Basin Street Blues needed some vocal input so Tom lowered the trombone and crooned the words as the rest of the band increased their volume and began to swing and improvise the number.
Their pure enjoyment of the session was obvious. They had been playing Dixieland Jazz together for some years and knew each other's improvisations. They allowed each member to take a solo spot; Tom went back to playing his trombone. The audience were swaying and applauding each solo, enjoying the atmosphere as much as the band.
It was a somewhat poignant moment because this was the last time this band would perform together. Tom and his trombone were off to China. He was a music teacher and he had obtained a post in a small town in China to teach English to Chinese children as well as music and he was very excited at the prospect of the challenge.
He and his fellow players had known each other since primary school. Each with parents who had encouraged and paid for music lessons so that as teenagers they started to get together using the various instruments they had been learning to play. They found that they were happiest when playing traditional jazz and as they left school or university they still favoured this style of music and in the evenings entertained various pubs and clubs in the district.
However, the time had come for them to disband. Ted was getting married and moving away, Reg now had a job in the West Country, John was taking over his father's farm, Gerry's wife was expecting her first baby and he felt he could not commit to a schedule of gigs, and Terry was the only one still living locally and still able to join the band but without the others he had to admit defeat and agree to the split.
The last number they played on that evening, was 'Jeepers Creepers', Tom imitating the playing of the famous Jack Teagarden and Reg doing his best to join him, Louis Armstrong style, on the trumpet. The band were now really jazzing it up and the audience were going wild with enthusiasm.
Tom found it difficult to sing as there was a lump in his throat and as he glanced at his pals, it was clear they were also finding the moment difficult. The hall was getting very hot and sweat was beginning to stand out on their foreheads, moisture coming from their eyes – could have been tears or sweat – and they each found a quick moment to snatch out a handkerchief and wipe their faces. The number was drawing to a close, and when it finished there was a moment of silence and then rapturous applause followed by the shouts of 'More!', 'More!'
The pals glanced at each other, knowing that they also didn't want the evening to end. With a quiet word and quick nod, Tom struck up with 'Stars fell on Alabama', a nice bluesy number to calm the audience.
Again there was enthusiastic applause but this time the band slowly left the stage and made their way to the bar for some well earned drinks. Fans milled around, lots of autographs wanted, slaps on the back, 'We'll miss you,' etc. Tom shook hands with his pals, wished them 'Good luck,' promised to stay in touch and, picking up his beloved trombone in its case, he backed out of the bar area, waving as he went, and walked down the corridor to the exit.
It was a nice mild evening and, rather than waiting for a bus, he decided to walk home. It would take about 25 minutes and he felt the need for fresh air. When he reached his front door, he climbed the stairs to his flat, placed his trombone carefully on a table, and slumped into the nearest armchair, pleasantly weary.
Was he doing the right thing? Going all that way to China, leaving behind all his friends and familiar surroundings? Only time would tell. As long as he had his best friend with him, that is, his trombone, he knew he would be OK. He hoped the Chinese people would appreciate his music, or he could always persuade them to learn about it and then, hopefully, like it. He would have to learn a little of the language, although he was already aware of how difficult that was. However, music was an international language and who knows, he might be able to find another set of fellow musicians willing to play with him.
