I am shut out of mine own heart
because my love is far from me,
I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart
Christopher Brennan 1897
[809kb]
I am not sure when the family returned from
their retreat. My father began composing again during October of 1942.
The result of this effort was
Grandmother's Shawl, Peter Petuffet and God Bless - a Little Prayer. The
manuscripts do not name the authors; research indicates the words of Peter Petuffet
are attributable to Paul Furniss and those of Grandmother's Shawl were the
composer's. These songs remain unpublished.
My father must have experienced
considerable pain when he composed Over the Quiet Waters, a song dedicated ‘In
Memory of my son Russell, late R.A.N'. Certainly, my mother could never sing it. Indeed,
all these years later, it is easier for me not listen, beautiful as it is. The words are
by Brandon and may have been written towards the end of '42. They were amongst the many
hundreds that he sent to my father over the years.
Over the quiet waters,
A song comes through the night,
While the weary earth is sleeping,
And the stars are shining bright.
Borne on the twilight shadows,
Over the dreaming sea,
Ever your dear song whispers,
Still you remember me.
Over the quiet waters,
I hear your voice again,
And it brings the old-time gladness,
And the old-time tears and pain.
Into the heart that loves you
Creeps a new ecstasy;
Ever your dear song whispers,
Some day you'll come to me.
Contracts were signed with Chappell, London
on 30 April, 1943; and it was printed in October being recorded by Lionel Cecil some time
after. There is a partially completed attempt to orchestrate this song.
My father again volunteered to join the Army. He said,
‘Even if I can clean toilets it may release a fitter person to go and fight.'
Needless to say, he was rejected because of his heart condition. His health had been a
cause of worry for my mother from the time they were
married and it was not aided by his love
for sweets and rich food. Treacle tarts and suet puddings were favourites. I recall Sunday
lunches of roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. We drank orange juice which was served in
crystal tumblers which I still have. In those days this was called a ‘traditional
Sunday lunch'. According to my mother, and despite many warnings, he always carried
sugared almonds in his pocket. In a 1942 letter to Russell he wrote, Last Friday week
we thought you had come to deliver the goods [a coconut Russell had carved for him]
yourself. I rushed to the phone on the wharf and told Mum to prepare and put on a big rice
pudding. However, after two days I ate it myself, so "it's an ill wind". You
know Mum says (abetted by the Dr) that rice pudding is not on my diet.
Added to his physical problems was the
stressful nature of his occupation. Some years ago, the then Concert Master of the Sydney
Symphony Orchestra, Ernest Llewellyn, said to me, ‘You can feel the young aspiring
fellow in the desk behind waiting and waiting for you to slip just that once too often.'
This was told me when my mother, in reply to my persistent demands to be musically trained
to professional level, sent me to learn about the true nature of professional playing.
When the family returned to Sydney, it was
decided to move our home to where we could not overlook the main harbour and the Heads. Highroyd,
our home near Musgrave Street Wharf, overlooked the main channel and anchorages for the
large ships that Canberra frequently escorted. Clifford Street commanded a view
through the Heads and so constantly evoked, according to my mother, the ghost of ‘The
big grey ship which took Russell on his final voyage.' My parents still wished to live
in Mosman, and they found a home at 18 Cobbittee Street, which they rented until they were
able to make a deposit with the proceeds of Russell's insurance.
Our home in Cobbittee Street was selected
because, nestled among trees and with a view overlooking Balmoral Beach and up through
Middle Harbour, it offered the tranquillity and seclusion so essential for my parents to
be able to move on with their lives, as well as for my father to compose. It has a large
garden full of enormous rocks, wonderful to build fish ponds, and stone steps and walls,
and very bad for those with heart conditions, as my father was to find. Shortly after
their arrival, my parents built a large fish pond and surrounded it by a semi-circular
rose garden in memory of Russell.
My parents named the house Wirripang,
an aboriginal name for the eagle, and the name allocated to Russell by the Australian Bora
Circle. This was a club instigated by 2BL whose stated aim was "to do everything to
assist and to uphold the name of our great Country. To assist in every way those of the
same Totem class. To do all that is honourable through life." Russell had lived up to
those ideals.
It took some time to persuade the
neighbours that our family was a very private one, my father offering to post a daily
bulletin of his activities and, to a more persistent inquirer, ‘Please do not ask our
children.' Our privacy was grudgingly accepted and they contented themselves by branding
the Keats family as eccentrics and outcasts. Consequently we lived a life of comparative
peace, occasionally interrupted by the neighbours' children making forays to raid the
chook pen for eggs. Sometimes a stone was thrown. When my father objected to this, a large
fellow who lived nearby offered to take on his new neighbour in the street. There was a
time when the offer would have been taken up; however, it was declined and the request to
stay out of our property repeated. After this we were left alone once more.
The price of Wirripang had been
reduced because of the recent Japanese attacks on Sydney Harbour. Many waterfront homes
were all but abandoned as people fled to the Blue Mountains and beyond in fear of a
Japanese invasion. My father's philosophy about this was simple: should we be attacked, a
suitable quantity of sleeping tablets were purchased for my mother, sister and myself and,
after their administration, he would take pleasure in going down to the beach and beating
the enemy over the head. The tablets were not disposed of until I was in my early teens
and it was then that these facts were relayed to me.
The home came resplendent with a resident
ghost. Its early history had been a sad one. The original owner was wealthy and spared
little expense on the construction of a dream home for his wife who was an extremely large
woman. During its construction, she became very ill and numerous mortgages were taken out
by him for medical attention for her. The deeds of the house were red with mortgage
stamps. His wife died shortly after the home was completed and it was only a few months
later that it was purchased by us. Not long after we moved in, my parents were standing in
the hallway and the shadow of a large woman was seen passing up the hall. My parents
decided that the former resident was looking us over. She did not appear again until many
years later when my wife, then the new woman of the house, was similarly checked over.
Early in January, 1942, a letter was
received from Cramer, asking to publish Under the Sky and further saying, you
may be interested to hear that a few weeks ago Heddle Nash who
has just returned from Australia gave a
recital in which he included two songs of yours which [our] firm publishes.
At last, some recognition was beginning to
flow from publishers overseas as well as in Australia. It was in November of 1942 that
Heddle Nash wrote,
Unfortunately I am not always allowed to
sing what I like, but wherever possible I shall sing your songs not because I know and
appreciate you, but because they are good and should be generally known. On October
17th I sang in the Philharmonic Hall Liverpool at a joint recital with Louis
Kempner, the following Australian group—
I Will Build my House
Coral Reef
Horace Keats
Columbine
The Birds
The Donkey
Vera Buck
The audience voiced their enthusiastic
appreciation. It is a slow job making good songs well known but when that material is good
and the vocal line pleasing - and the singer in the same class - the result is sure. I
assume that the accompanist always knows his job, of course.
Sadly, in September of 1942, Cramers wrote
that they were unable to make an offer for the manuscript of Under the Sky, and,
given the prevailing conditions, would retain it on the assumption that another copy was
in Australia.
Heddle Nash had spent some time in
Australia and, as you would expect, had been accompanied by my father on numerous
occasions. His appreciation of Australian composition included not only works by my
father, but those of Vera Buck who was a Melbourne composer. She composed over three
hundred songs which were published both in London and Australia. G K Chesterton's The
Donkey is considered her most outstanding song. She wrote a number of piano works
including a suite for piano and orchestra, and smaller works for violin and cello. She
broadcast for the ABC on a regular basis and was on the ABC's Merry-Go-Round for
ten weeks where she composed tunes in 90 seconds and then played and sang them. She was a
teacher of piano, composition, voice production and microphone technique.
In the first half of the year, The
Inchcape Rock was broadcast by the ABC and the amount paid to my father was only 50%
of the normal fee. The ABC claimed that, since he was a staff member, that was all that he
could expect. This prompted the following letter on March 3rd, addressed to the then
Manager for NSW, Basil Kirke:
Dear Mr Kirke.
Would you be good enough to ask the
Commission to review the reducing by half of the fees payable to me for the hiring of my
musical compositions.
I recently had one [The Inchcape Rock]
performed and received only half the ordinary fee, as I am on the staff. While, as a
member of the auxiliary staff, I enjoy and appreciate many similar privileges to members
of the general staff, the main advantage, i.e. superannuation and consequent security in
old age is denied. For this reason I developed my talent as a composer, in an endeavour to
provide for this time, and so reduction of income from this source is a serious matter.
The war has taken my son and left me
with my baby son to provide for, and so I look forward to my retirement with apprehension.
In any case I am not employed by the Commission as a composer and my duties as an
accompanist have no bearing on my creative talent.
Again I would point out that as a
composer, chiefly of songs for which no fee at all is paid, I am very much handicapped.
Songs, if of the right calibre are capable of being as much standard works as symphonies
or other major works, and I venture to say that many of mine enter this category both with
regard to standard and time of performance.
I am not aware that this letter made the
slightest difference.
During March, 1943, my father began setting
the poems of the Australian, Edith Sterling Levis. In programme notes he commented,
This afternoon your guest of honour is
Mrs Sterling Levis. Now if I know little of McCrae, I know less of Edith Sterling Levis
because we only met about six months ago, and I must confess that my work, mostly at
night, precludes me from taking active interest in dramatic societies' productions, and
thus I had heard nothing of Mrs Levis' plays which have been produced here in Sydney. I
have since, however, read one of these plays and was very impressed by the delightful
English in which it was couched and from my little knowledge of stage-craft I formed the
opinion that it ranks high over many plays and would be so adjudged if given the
opportunity ‘on the other side.' Well Mrs Sterling Levis and I collaborated in four
songs…
The first of these songs was composed on
March 24.
The Song of the Little People is Irish
and was sung (not my setting) during the presentation of Mrs Levis' play ‘ The Spirit
Host.' ... The song expresses the melancholy and sorrow of the Sidthe (The Irish Little
People) who are forever sad, for as fairies, they have no hope of immortality.
They are the tribes of the lost children
of Dana the mystic god. People who were conquered by the Milesians and disappeared into
the mountains and under the sea from whence they still control the destinies of mankind.
May I draw your attention to the last phrase of this song in which words and music combine
to express and embody the universal melancholy of Irish literature and music. The words,
‘Naught will come after' sung on a descending chromatic passage and ending in a long
note ‘E' make a cry ringing with despair.
Next came the song My Surrender.
Although the manuscript is undated, it was probably written at about the same time. The
following comments were made by the composer: My Surrender needs no annotation, it
being a simple lyric telling of love's approach, softly, gently, and finally like the
rushing sea.
On August 13, he composed music for voice
and piano to her poem Interlude. A contract was signed on 8 November, 1943, with W.
H. Paling & Co. Edith Sterling Levis wrote to my mother on 5 May, 1948, and enclosed a
revised version of Interlude:
I think it would make a better song, but
if you do not like it, please reject it. I have tried to keep the old pattern of the four
rhyming lines in each verse - and personally I prefer it to the shorter verse.
Hoping you will be able to use the
lyric, and that Mr Matthews [of Palings] may also approve of it. He also commented on the
brevity of the original one.
On 13 August, 1943, White Heather
for voice and piano was completed. A contract was signed on 11 November, 1943, with W. H.
Paling & Co., and, of all these songs it was the only one printed. It has a
performance time of 2.30 minutes and my father felt that it was
another breath of Ireland. Really an
experience of Mrs Levis' when visiting that country. She was invited by a cousin to pick
White Heather, but really thought that Australian trees and wild flowers are more
colourful and bounteous in growth. However she wrote the verse to imitate the peculiar
Cork'ian rising and falling of voice, so apparent in her cousin's speaking. I should like
to mention that this afternoon Edith Sterling Levis has heard two of these songs for the
first time, as they were written only last Friday.
As I mentioned earlier, this
song later became the composer's theme song and one of my memories is hearing the opening
bars played when my father was rostered on as Mr Melody Man for the Children's Session.
Despite my father's declaration after
Russell's death that he would not compose another Brennan song, my mother often urged him
to do so and on April 13,'43, Once I Could Sit by the Fire Hour Long, was composed
for voice and piano. It has performance time of 3.15 minutes and was published by
Publications by Wirripang in 1994.
My father continued accompanying for the
ABC. Eventually my mother joined him and, in May, in a broadcast for 2BL, they performed
four Keats' songs including The Song of the Little People and Once I Could Sit
by the Fire Hour Long. Keats' songs continued to be heard on the airwaves both in
Australia and overseas, with a letter from Clement Williams on August 20, telling my
father that he was broadcasting his songs in Canada. Letters from Cramers, and Heddle Nash
encouraged a search for more overseas exposure and a Marjorie Skill in London reported on
her progress in circulating Keats songs amongst various singers there. Henry Wood, who had
been sent the full score and piano arrangement of La Belle Dame Sans Merci replied,
Many thanks for … La Belle Dame
Sans Merci which I have looked through with much interest, but I am sorry to tell you that
for at least a year, I am more than full with novelties, and next year being the Jubilee
of the Proms the programmes are taking on a special character mostly historical, so I fear
there is no chance for your work at present - so sorry.
Frank La Forge, a singer in New York ,
responded more positively:
I thoroughly enjoyed it and intend to
use it. You have a beautiful style and I admire your work Although I have not heard them
sung I am looking forward to it with great expectancy.
On September 14, my father set Edith
Sterling Levis' Ego which has a performance time of 3.5 minutes. A contract with
Palings for its publication was signed on 8 November, 1943 and the song was printed in
1944. This song has been used for many years by David Miller from the Sydney
Conservatorium of Music to illustrate nuance in words and music. It was sung by Marjorie
Lawrence at a concert given in the late forties, where the critic, L.B. of The Sydney
Morning Herald wrote,
The Australian songs, save for the late
Horace Keats' deeply thoughtful Ego, a work wrought with high musical skill, varied from
the conventional to the commonplace.
I recall Marjorie Lawrence's programme
because I was requested, though only seven, to go onto the platform after the performance
of Ego and to say, ‘Thank you, Miss Lawrence for singing my Daddy's song.' I
recall walking across the Town Hall Platform to this woman in a yellow dress who seemed
very, very tall. I was greeted by her most kindly, and then, being so overwhelmed, I was
unable to move. Eventually, my mother managed to call me back to the side of the stage.
Work was being done on a biography for the
Third Edition of the Biographical Encyclopedia of the World and amongst my father's
papers is a request for a final proof for his biographical notes which were to be edited.
He was approached again in March, 1945, and yet there is no evidence of his notes being
printed in the 1946 Third Edition which is the only one available in both the State and
National Libraries.
Early in November, '43, duties as an ABC
accompanist called him to Newcastle to work with Arnold Matters, a bass baritone. They
presented a programme in the City Hall, Newcastle, which was praised by N.R. of the Newcastle
Sun in such a way as to bring credit not only to the artists but to the ABC:
It would seem from the reception given
Arnold Matters and his youthful assisting artist, Richard Farrell, at the City Hall last
night, that the ABC would be well advised to continue its policy of presenting travelling
artists in the flesh.
A large audience was enthusiastic over
the varied programme of songs that the world-travelled bass baritone presented and showed
also its appreciation of the particularly advanced technique of the sixteen year old
pianist. Horace Keats, as accompanist, was able to put just that little more into his work
that means so much to a concert singer's performance.
There is no doubt about the ability of
Matters to hold an audience, be it in lieder, aria, operatic excerpt or in those lighter
songs by English composers with which he concluded his programme that night
R.W. Freney of the ABC, Newcastle, wrote
the following note to my father,
Never before have I seen such a
favourable report, and of such length, on any musical presentation in Newcastle as the one
which appeared in last night's ‘Newcastle Sun'. Our local critics have always been
most conservative in their judgement and sparing of their space.
The letters my father wrote to my mother
during that short tour, reveal the deep love that they had for each other. The style and
the endearments, the love and the warmth were just like those used in their courting days.
He was delighted with his and Matters' professional relationship:,
Matters is thrilled with my work.
Doesn't say much but 'Grand!! Oh, Grand.'
Both my parents were making an impression
on the musical world once more since, later in November, my mother too, was given another
ABC engagement to sing his songs on 2BL. The programme included Under the Sky, Versicle,
Interlude, Ego and White Heather.
Towards the end of the year, my father
submitted the following songs with words provided by a number of poets for the Australian
National Song Competition. To ensure anonymity, he and all the other composers used a
pseudonym. There was one exception to this and the reason is not clear to the writer. They
are listed with appropriate details, Australia, author Harold Kershaw, composer
Brer Tortoise. Another arrangement of the same words was submitted by Joker Jack.
Australia, Beautiful and Great,
Chiron. Uncle Remus also submitted the same work.
My Land, author Albert H. Tuckerman,
composer Alan-a-Dale.
My Own Land, author and composer
Comrade Sniff.
Hymn to Australia, author C.
Stretton Morgan, composer Horace Keats.
None of the above was selected by the ABC
Final Adjudication Committee, who probably did not appreciate the flippancy.
A few months later my father met Jean
Stanger and later set her words Speak Softly. A contract for publication with Allan
& Co. Melbourne was signed on February 20, 1945. My father did not expect this song to
be accepted and, writing from Melbourne to my mother said,
I had my interview with Sutherland and
Ivan Tait [of Allan & Co.] this morning and you could have knocked me over with a
feather when they said that they would take the one although the lyric was not quite
right. However I said naught!! and signed the contract. They suggested paying Jean
outright and asked me about it, so I said I thought she would take three guineas and gave
them her address. I hope I didn't put my foot in it.
Allan & Co. wrote early in August,
saying,
we hope to have this engraved soon but
we are afraid that it would not be possible to have it printed until the New Year unless
we get some unexpected releases through manpower. Between now and Christmas we are
committed to over a dozen grade books for the AMEB and consequently will not be able to
handle any other material of this kind.
And so the song was not printed while at
the same time overseas recognition was increasing. This was confirmed in what must have
been a bitter-sweet letter from Heddle Nash:
Your songs have been sung in many
recital programmes and admired and I have told the audiences about you. They have been
broadcast several times and twice on the Pacific Service, so you may have heard them. ...
Your songs have arrived, and although I
have not yet worked on the one dedicated to your son, I promise you that it will be done
and broadcast also. Of course I cannot always have my own way in Broadcast programmes, but
this may be arranged soon.
We were so sorry to learn of his loss in
the Canberra. He was a sensitive and likeable lad and one of your greatest fans. I shall
never forget his remarks when I said "You know your Dad has written some pretty good
stuff in these songs;" and he picked me up with "Pretty good stuff? Don't you
know he's a genius!"
So ended 1943, with all signs good
artistically. As yet, no approaches were made to London with the new songs for, as Majorie
Skill, who was there at the time, wrote to the composer,
the Music Manager at Cramers who was
asked about publishing new songs retorted they can't consider anything until after the
war, as the paper shortage is terribly acute. As a matter of fact, the air is flooded with
old popular songs that are daily being dug out of the archives.
Majorie Skill was promoted to
Radio Editor for the Overseas Broadcasting Service in January, 1944. Part of her duties
included writing a fortnightly script for the BBC. Despite her workload, she was very
helpful in the promotion of Keats' songs. She had placed many copies of songs with people
likely to promote them, including Joan Hammond and Dr. Hubert Clifford of the BBC. Both
expressed interest and so gave hope of furthering the overseas market.
Later in 1944, Majorie wrote and explained
the problems facing composers of new songs that were not the popular songs of the kind
that were increasingly pouring out of America. In a letter to Olive Ignall, another
Australian composer, a copy of which was enclosed for my father, the following
explanations were given:
Olive,
It would break your heart, but, while
Tin Pan Alley does what you know it does, there's not a singer who'd dare to neglect
putting over what everyone else puts over. We sent out four quarter-hour programmes to
serving soldiers last week. Two girl crooners and one man crooner, sharing the four
quarter-hours. Both girls sang PISTOL PACKING MOMMA and the man sang HAPPY DAYS, HAPPY
MONTHS twice.
In the letter to my father she said:
This will give you an idea (as if you
need it!) of the type of song that singers WILL broadcast almost to the exclusion of every
other sort. It's THIS type of singer that I'm contacting all the time, attached to little
groups of Servicemen of all the Services and concentrating on "I'm thinking ... blue
eyes" "Ten little ... with feathers" etc.
Notwithstanding overseas recognition,
publishing prospects were becoming more gloomy, a fact reinforced by a Director from
Chappel & Co., London, who wrote:
unfortunately owing to War conditions it is difficult to
do very much. for the time being. There are not the same number of concerts taking place
throughout the country that there used to be before broadcasting, and this development has
robbed us of many avenues of advertisement that were open to us in the old days. However,
our Professional Department is in close touch with all the singers appearing with the BBC
and I have asked them to do their best to interest various vocalists in your songs as far
as they are able to do so. When the War is over we hope to be able to resume our
activities in the songs and ballad direction with redoubled efforts.
In fairness, English publishers were
hard-pressed to obtain paper for publishing and rejected new works accordingly. Nor could
they be oblivious to the strong change in public musical taste. What hope could composers
in the colonies and, furthermore, writing the sort of music my father did, expect to have?
And accompanists' fees were usually low. Hope or not, trying to survive was a constant
battle.
To celebrate the 147th anniversary
Schubert's birth, on February 1, 1944, the ABC presented a Schubert Chamber Music Concert.
This was held at the Conservatorium of Sydney. Members of The Conservatorium Ensemble
performed the Death and the Maiden Quartet and the Trout Piano Quintet.
The concert also included lieder, sung by Lily Kolos with Horace Keats as accompanist.
This attracted a fee of two guineas for my father.
The occasional publication of a song,
promises of performances overseas, engagement fees sometimes and a comparatively low
weekly salary imposed a strain to meet mortgage repayments and keep adequate food on the
table. This was all worsened by my father's having absolutely no ability to manage money.
Engagements of the quality of that with
Lily Kolos were not always available. Desperation must have led him to accept some
engagements, such as one with Peter Dawson which, sadly, was part of a programme of
nothing like the calibre to which he and Peter were accustomed. Whilst away on this
engagement during July with Peter, he wrote to my mother daily and, inter alia, spoke of
their parlous financial state:
Will try to get some money from
somewhere but I've got D.J's, Bank and payment on house not to mention Fifteen Pounds to
Thompson this month Oh and of course Cowells the stove & the hot water AND the balance
of the telephone. I wont get any money from ABC for a fortnight. Ain't it grand. It's all
very worrying.
The engagement and the mixed bag of artists
were described by a Newcastle newspaper:
The two outstanding contributions to the
new ‘Tivoli Revels,' which began on Saturday, are poles apart - half an hour of songs
from the famous bass-baritone, Peter Dawson, and these farcical sketches and
impersonations of Arundel Nixon, director and devisor of the whole programme.
Whatever regrets may be held that the
Tivoli Theatre has, after a few months of experiment, switched from straight plays to
vaudeville, there is no doubt that the new show - the programme of which will be changed
each fortnight - is bright and entertaining. It is of high quality in its class, and
judging from the opening night, is what Newcastle wants.
Peter Dawson demonstrated in a half hour
bracket of well-known ballads that he has lost little of the artistry that made him years
ago one of the world's most popular singers. There is no artistic snobbery about him; he
sang as well and as willingly on a programme that included ballet and farce as he would
have done on a concert platform. There was some sensitive and beautiful work at the piano
from Horace Keats, his accompanist and Dawson's singing of Keats The Roads Beside the Sea
was a highlight of the show.
Arundel Nixon ... went back to the vein
which first brought him to the notice of the Australian theatre public in a number of
sketches and monologues. His imitations of American and British announcers describing a
horse race were screamingly funny and sarcastically accurate, as the heartfelt applause of
some American and British Merchant Navy men in the audience testified.
The stars of the evening - Dawson and
Nixon - had the support in three hours of fast moving entertainment of Fred McDonald (the
original ‘Dave'), the veteran singer Hilda Farmilo, the Tivoli ballet, the jitterbug
champions Artie and Joyce ... and Dulcie Odlum a specialty dancer and others.
Here is some of my father's experience of the tour:
Great Northern Hotel
Newcastle
Sunday Morning
Well, arrived at 11.40 and went straight
to the theatre? (spare the name) It is an old warehouse converted in a back street. As we
approached I saw that it once was occupied by John Burke Ltd in very large gold letters.
However we heard a hell of a noise coming from the stage. Sounded as though a bundle of
wires was being hit by bamboo canes in a bunch. The death rattles were awful. We then
found that a gentleman was tuning a piano? God help us. We learned that it had been
brought from a suburb during the morning. I said that by the appearance it must have come
from a pit fire at Cessnock, and by the sound must be from Broken Hill Prop. Steel Works.
However the gentleman induced about sixty or seventy per cent of the notes to work. But I
was not given an opportunity to try it at all. Then Peter introduced me to Arundel Nixon.
(to the hotel) we got and after a wash, lunch and a little rest. Then Heigh !! for the
matinee. The show consists of a series of very "corny" gags and lightning
sketches interspersed with almost naked girls allegedly dancing. "Corny" by the
way is the lowest term of opprobrium applicable to theatrical material. It means outdated,
weak etc etc. Certainly they tried tobring it up to date by making undisguised references
to sexual intercourse and other matters usually left to private conversation, or alone,
according to one's taste. They even put over the old one about the father of babies having
a bike. Well almost at the end of the show, the rattle trap was carried onto the stage and
Peter sang four songs. They were very well received, but Peter was well out of sorts as
they wanted him to fill in twenty five minutes and asked him to walk on in the finale.
While he did, (he really is depressed about the whole show) he was not pleased about it.
Can't display my goods very well on the piano provided, but am doing my best. Well, after
the show last night, Nixon had provided a nine gallon keg of beer and thousands of
sandwiches. Fortunately Peter didn't want to stay long, so we had a couple and came home
to the hotel. Outside, Nixon gave Peter the figures, and yours truly stickybeak waltzed up
and barged in. During the beer drinking, four bookies and one MLC spoke up that they had
provided the cash for said show, and explained that they regarded it in the light of a
punt (or bet).
Anyhow, Nixon gave Peter figures and said ,"So if
we take Six Hundred Pounds, you'll be right." As we walked home of course I asked
Pete if he was working on percentage. It came out that he had asked a price and they had
talked him into accepting expenses if things went wrong. I understand that my fee comes
under his expenses. In any case after he has told me that quite casual like he has paid
Forty Four Pounds for two suits and given Twenty Five Pounds to the Stage Door Canteen,
Well!! I don't intend to go short. We will definitely be down next Saturday. Poor Nan
[Peter's wife] is in a bad way ... and has been confined to her bedroom ... which is
probably good, for as Pete says if she comes to the theatre and sees Pete working as he
does, she'll raise the roof! Just like you my pet, just like you.
They cut their losses and came back to
Sydney one week after their arrival despite attempts by Nixon to continue their
engagement. It is fortunate that both my parents were working. My mother had been given
another engagement by 2BL, singing four Keats' songs, Nocturne, Moonlit Apples,
I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart and White Heather.
Although they were recognised as joint
artists, my mother's work was covered by the mantle of my father. In October, 1944, my
mother used The Beatitudes, the text from St Matthew, Chapter 5, and adapted
Mendelssohn's On Wings of Song. Palings signed a contract for this on the 17th but
advised that the song be published using my father's name because he was better known and
it would sell better. The song was printed in 1945.
In November, my father resigned from the
ABC. There was no clearly stated reason; however there is a letter where the broadcaster
objects to his ‘accepting engagements with Commercial Stations which are in
competition with the ABC's programmes.' There may have been another explosive reason.
His older brother, Albert, who had been
working with the ABC since 1941, had been the cause of constant friction. For some years,
their mother and father had been writing in an attempt to heal this breach. In November,
1941, my paternal grandfather wrote,
It hurts us to think you imply that Bert tries to
humiliate you in your job, we have to remember he has to keep his position same as you had
to, but I should think the real cause of it is your throwing the job up when you were on
top [referring to the family trip to England] and had you only asked our advice,
you would never had done it, it not only threw you behind but we have never been happy
since, I hate to mention this, but I feel I must, my advice to you is, God has given you
gifts unstinted, and you are still young, trust in Him and you will come on top again, I
feel sure.
In spite of resigning from the ABC which,
in one sense, had been a great support to him over the years, his income began to increase
substantially early in 1945.
On November 13, 1944, there was a
literal explosion. The writer recalls a sullen Sydney afternoon, where one anticipates the
thunderstorms so prevalent at that time of the year. The sky was American battleship grey.
My father, a young seventeen-year old neighbour and I were sitting on a long box on the
back verandah. Sammy, the seventeen-year old, looked up and saw, through that grey
expanse, pieces of black debris sailing across the sky, ever so slowly. A powerful
explosion shook that momentary peace and both adults leapt to their feet saying, "The
ammunition dump has gone up", and disappeared to see what they could do.
The explosion proved to be the result of a
depthcharge in a naval launch exploding off Watsons Bay on the other side of the Harbour.
The damage to our home, smashed light fittings and distorted ceilings, as was the case
with many other houses, was considerable.
Two days later, my father, in a now
somewhat battered home, sought solace in the words of Blake. He set The Lamb. On 26
February, 1945, a contract was signed with Chappell & Co., Sydney for its publication
and it was printed later that year. The song, which has a performance time of 2.50
minutes, was recorded by EMI in both 1963 and 1968.
In the middle of December, 1944, he set two
poems by Jean Stanger: A Dream which he completed on the 18th and Tomorrow, which
he finished ten days later. Formerly a publicity officer for TAA, Jean had found favour
with Punch to whom she sent a batch of verse with a timid suggestion that some may
be useful to them. A swift reply followed that they would take the lot. Neither of my
father's settings was published and, once more, the joy of composition was not accompanied
by the comfort of money in the bank.
Even so, the start of 1945 was
characterised by my father's talents as a composer finally being recognised by Australian
publishers.
It was either late in the previous year or
early in ‘45 that my father became anxious for the ABC to record all the Brennan
Songs with his wife as the singer. He even once expressed the fear that his life was
ending and asked if they would please at least make this concession, They retorted with,
‘Don't be ridiculous Horace, you've years to go yet.' Eventually, the ABC
compromised, and a series of regular engagements was made for both my parents to broadcast
the songs. In anticipation of forthcoming broadcasts, the composer prepared a series of
programmes. This move by the ABC was later to be praised in Dr Floyd's Column in The
Melbourne Radio Times, 2 June, 1945, where he said in part,
The ABC is to be warmly commended for
putting on air last Saturday evening, 5 o'clock … a bundle of songs by the very
gifted Sydney composer, Horace Keats. We already knew, from examples published by Palings
and Chappells, that he had the enviable gift of writing practicable songs of a
comparatively conventional type with just that added touch that confers distinction. The
songs heard last Sunday revealed greater potentialities. [The songs were: The Promise,
Dreams at Eventide, The Coral Reef, sung by Lionel Cecil and Mermaids, The Fig Tree,
Yellow Bracken, The Orange Tree and The Magpie's Call sung by Barbara Russell. Both
artists were accompanied by Horace Keats. Broadcast date May 27]. They are on a larger
scale, and they prove that Mr Keats is the master of very considerable resources. He
writes for both [the voice and the piano] as a master. Furthermore he makes wise and
deliberate choice of poetical material, and pays special attention to the writings of
Australian poets.
Floyd went on to say,
I want to make a few immediate and
practical suggestions. I sincerely hope that permanent records of these songs have been
made. They should be heard again soon, and perhaps the poems could be published a week (or
a few days) beforehand in the Commission's own radio paper. Moreover the songs could with
great advantage be featured in the periods set apart each day for Australian compositions.
Many of the things we hear are only of moderate importance; they may have their uses (some
of them certainly have) but they do not confer any particular lustre on the name of
Australia, nor do they come anywhere near representing the best that this country can do.
Another point. Some of these large scale songs by Mr Keats (I am trying to avoid that
priggish-sounding title "art-songs") ought to be published. It may not be a
commercially-profitable proposition; very well, then we ought to have a Commonwealth
publishing organisation; I gather they have some such thing in Russia.
And three weeks later he added,
it is a pleasure to note that the ABC is
continuing its encouragement of work so outstandingly important.
Dr Alfred Ernest Floyd was an English-born
composer, critic and adjudicator. He presented The Music Lover programme on ABC
radio for twenty-eight years and, when he retired at ninety-five, he was retained by the
ABC as a music consultant.
So it was that, in January, 1945, there
were two engagements with 2BL for both my parents, attracting fees of three guineas for my
mother and five guineas for my father.
The first engagement was on January 17,
between 8.0 and 8.15 at night when Yellow Bracken, Once I Could Sit by the Fire
Hour Long, Dawn, Columbine, The Lamb and She Walks in Beauty were
performed.
The second was on January 29, during the
afternoon between 3.30 and 4.00 when The Trespass, Under the Sky, Versicle,
Goneril's Lullaby, Plucking the Rushes, I Will Build my House in the
Water and Dust of Snow were performed. As well, two poems by Hugh McCrae were
read.
Early in January, Jean Stanger wrote to the
composer, sending copies of words which had apparently already been dictated over the
phone. At the same time, she enclosed a ballad entitled My Heart Will Sing:
Also another little drawing room ballad, which came out
of the blue yesterday -- almost literally, as I was on my way to Cronulla in the train for
a game of golf. It's certainly simple, but sorted itself so easily that I thought it might
have some of the qualities you need for setting purposes.
This ballad was set on 25 January, 1945,
and renamed The Magpie's Call. It was accepted for publication by Palings,
the contract being signed on 12 April, 1945, and the title changed from The Magpie's
Call to A Magpie's Call. The song, with a performance time of 1.15 minutes,
was printed that year.
On February 6, my father set To Life
Divine, the author unknown. Bearing in mind that my father was to die in August, the
words have a particular poignancy, especially the last stanza:
…. our journey lonely as the tomb
Our hearts as cold as clay beneath the sod.
But let us love! And life becomes divine.
We are no longer men - We rise to God.
In February, my father went to Melbourne to
play for some commercial recordings for 2UW. He was to earn over thirty pounds ten
shillings a week but was to discover he would lose more than half of this in taxation:
I see by the tax list that earnings over Thirty Pounds
Ten Shillings per week are taxable at Ten Shillings and Sixpence in the pound with no
allowances for dependants. So for the Forty Guineas I shall, get, let me see Twenty Pounds
I guess. Paying Twenty Three Pounds tax. Not so hot is it? Ah well, Life is always a
mystery.
He spent his spare time in the ABC offices
in Melbourne. In anticipation of these free moments, he had taken a number of Brandon's
words which he set during that month. Four Tiny Songs was accepted for publication
by W.H. Paling with contracts signed on 12 April, 1945, and printed later that year.
Although the contract specified Four Little Songs, they
were printed as Four Tiny Songs. The
performance time for each is: I Know a Road, 40 seconds; Two Lovers, 1.20
minutes; Johnny & Jimmy, 40 seconds; Thousands of Roadways, 40 seconds.
He then set Brandon's River O River
with a performance time of 1.50 minutes and, once more, an alternate title was provided, In
the Morning. This song has not been published.
Despite his growing acceptance as a
composer, my father still sought my mother's opinion on each song he wrote. He wrote to
her from Melbourne, about going
to the studio early this morn to finish the song and
to do a bit of practice on The Glory Road but they have bought a new Beckstein, really
second hand from Tossy Spivakowsky and the tuner wont leave it alone. Anyhow I managed to
get the draft of the song finished, and as soon as I copy it I will post it to you.
One day later he wrote, I'm posting the first draught of
the song today. Hope you like it. Alter anything you don't.
His concern for her comment is seen in a
letter that he wrote a couple of days later,
I do hope the song turned up and more
especially that you liked it.
And a few days later still, clearly in
response to her comment, he wrote,
have made another copy of the song
except the last part. I can see how to put in 4 more bars but not the way you suggest.
Anyhow, will fix it later.
My father had arrived in Melbourne on a
Sunday early in February, and, as was his custom, wrote to my mother immediately. The
train trip had been miserable since his party used alcohol to dull the edges of the long
trip and he did not drink. The accommodation, The Oriental Hotel in Collins Street, had
been mis-booked and the temporary substitute was a bed on a balcony and not even any
where to put my things. Later in the letter, Sorry I'm so pessimistic but I do like
my old woman and home not to mention the kids.
Russell, too, was even more on his mind,
because it was near Melbourne that Russell had undertaken his initial Naval training.
Early in his letters, my father began to mention his eldest son,
All this evening my thoughts were of
Russ and how he must have wandered around this city, perhaps doing as I did, going to the
pictures and walking out, bored stiff.
He was in fact able to organise a trip to
Flinders where Russell had trained, and it was described in full to my mother:
I arrived at Flinders OK. Poor Russ, it's a hell of a
journey and the costs, the way I went, Seven Shillings and Eightpence. Three Shillings and
Twopence for train and Four Shillings and Sixpence for bus. More than a days pay. Not an
unpleasant journey except that being a Sunday everything was crowded and I had to stand
going three quarters of an hour. I met Captain Hehir who has a charming wife, a son of
eighteen and a nice cottage in the Depot. Obviously alternate arrangements had been made
for me in case I was overbearing or a complete outsider. Anyhow, later Mrs Hehir told him
that she would rather I stayed at their place for lunch. (The alternative being the
Officers Mess). So John telephoned the mess that I would not be down. I had a splendid
lunch in excellent company. Then they drove me to the Depot centre and turned me over to a
P.O. Supply man who knew Russ in Depot. I could not find the piano he used to play (so
many changes) but I found the organ and he is remembered by all as an outstanding
organist. His mess is now a cleaning room or laundry of some sort. His sleeping quarters
are still the same. I went through all of his work and training quarters. In fact
everywhere.
There is part of one of the miniature subs there. And am
I right in thinking that on that night he had a chappie named Stanley [Bill Stanley] at
home. I rather think I am. Anyhow, Stanley complained of a lot of illness and was
put in a shore hospital and was dead of consumption within two days. I know not when. Two
of the three that shared a match.
P.O. Harper who escorted me and knew Russ said that he
would send photos of the depot before Friday. He would not accept money for them.The P.O.
Gunner on Canberra who saw Russ afterwards volunteered the information that it was
sudden and as painless as possible. The Master at Arms remembers him as one of the few
that caused him no trouble. I did not take a wreath. Anyhow there is no memorial as yet.
Arrangements were made for him to meet Dr
Floyd and, when visiting a music shop, he discovered from a Miss Luke, a sales assistant,
that sales of the songs are building up. They hadn't got Over the Quiet Waters but are
buying it in. I wont go to Dr Floyd until I can buy a new copy.
His first contact with Floyd came about
when he was visiting a friend:
We went for dinner and spent the evening
talking, quite pleasant. I mentioned getting in touch with Dr Floyd and [his hostess]
suggested that I should ring him then (9.30). I did and unfortunately dragged him from
bed. However, he was delighted to hear from me, knew my work but best of all remembered
Russ. The only time we both have free is about 15 mins tomorrow, so am meeting him at
11.45. I postponed contacting him in the hope that a good copy of Over the Quiet Waters
would arrive, but no luck, so will have to give him the one I have.
Finally, he met A.E. Floyd who showed a
keen and enthusiastic interest in his music. My father wrote of this meeting,
I saw Dr Floyd at 11.50 this morning and
at 12.50 a pupil turned up. A university girl. Nice lass for her lesson but we all talked
and talked. He was at Cambridge with Dr Towy who was choirmaster at Westminster when I was
there. He knew all the musical people in London.
He is about the dearest old man I ever
knew. Knows quite a bit about me. Already teaches many of my songs and is sending for all
Cramers. I understand him liking Russ and helping the lad. He is niceness and generosity
itself. I think we shall hear from him when he comes to Sydney in May. He will include all
my records in his Sunday afternoon programmes. Don't go crook, I have promised to send him
the Brennan Songs to look at. He is to keep them one week & post back. I think that it
will be a good thing.
This visit to Melbourne, with all its
musical pleasure, did not take away from the continued grieving for Russell. I do not
think that "heart-broken" is an idle term and I have no doubt that his grief
contributed towards his imminent death. Then there was the added financial responsibility
of a newly acquired home, the insecurity of income and, with the birth of Barbara's child,
another mouth to feed. (Barbara had married and had returned home when she left her
husband.) He felt guilty about spending, as he said in one of his last letters from
Melbourne.
I feel an awful cad, but tonight I am phoning you to see
if you can spare me a little money. I guess I've been a bit heavy and yet I can't see how.
Kurtz is continuously slinging off at my not spending. Anyhow after paying the first weeks
bill I've got one pound, plus the fiver you sent. On the basis of the first weeks bill my
account will be five guineas and so I've nothing for tips, train expenses or to spend
before Friday. It's a hell of a position. I hope you've got enough. I had dinner with
Arnold Matters tonight. He fed with me on Saturday. Tomorrow I lunch with Jack Hall.
S'pose I'll have to lunch him too. One consolation is that eventually I'll get the bulk of
it back.
And so, burdened with grief, concern about
money, and in ill health, he returned to Sydney. On February 28, in the peace provided by Wirripang,
overlooking Balmoral Beach, he composed, on Brandon's Sleep! O Sea!, for voice and
piano. Its restful rhythm reflects the opening words about the approach of evening, with
the rhythm building pace as the closing words speak of the rising sea just before a new
dawn. This song is as yet unpublished.
On Wednesday, 7th March, there was another
engagement with 2BL for a night broadcast between 7.45 and 8.00. They performed Galleons,
Fishing Pools, River O River, Goldfish, Plucking the Rushes and A
Magpie's Call.
My father had been a member of the Sydney
Savage Club since 1942. Another member, Jim Brunton Gibb, wrote to him during April,
I think you will be pleased to know that
my verses were chosen for the Closing Ode Competition. It was decided to ask two or three
Savages to set some music to the winning ode. Naturally I am keen for you to do the job
and so I am losing no time in requesting you to "get busy". How about it pal?
The Savage Closing Ode was set on
May 15; however, it was not used by the Club.
Sometime in 1945, the Ballad of the
Convict's Daughter was sent to him by a Corporal Sheila Sibley. This was set on a date
unknown and published by W. H. Paling and printed shortly after. Would that all his
creations had such a successful and rapid movement from composition to publication. When
you read the fulsome praise from such as Dr Floyd, when you see who gathered to perform at
his memorial concert, there is a sense of both astonishment and loss that his work has
disappeared from our airwaves and concert platforms.
2BL engaged my parents again for Wednesday
night, 25 April between 7.45 and 8.00 and they performed The Truth about Jack and Jill,
A Thought, I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart, The Lamb and The Four Tiny Songs.
Income continued from my father's
engagements as accompanist. In May, for a Grand Concert in aid of The Women's Hospital,
Crown Street, he accompanied four different singers in works ranging from opera selections
to Sterndale-Bennett. The singers were Raymond Beatty, Wilfred Thomas, Heather Kinnaird
and Reg Willoughby. Accompanists were starting to be recognised as helpmeets to singers,
rather than just being in the background. The Sun wrote up a recital given by
Gladys Verona at the Conservatorium:
Horace Keats was a discreet accompanist,
whose subtle background blending helped Miss Verona over uncertain passages.
Although she began the Mozart bracket
well, it was left to Mr. Keats to express the true delicacy of Non Temer, Amato Bene.
My mother taught me accompanying some years
later, and it was made plain that the accompanist was to follow, prompt, and generally
cover for the singer. This has changed somewhat now, since both have equal musical
training which was not always the case in the earlier days. Nevertheless, I'm sure the
accompanist must always be ready to pick up the pieces as required.
Promises were being made by Bernard Heinze
to conduct La Belle Dame Sans Merci.
Yet another broadcast from 2BL for the
afternoon of June 21, which was an all-McCrae programme. Raymond Nillson was to sing, as
well as Barbara Russell. Their songs were, TheTrespass, Twilight, Under the Sky, O Deep
and Dewy Hour and Columbine.
Another programme followed which had been
enthusiastically anticipated by Dr Floyd: ‘On Tuesday evening, June 26th, at 10.15
we are promised a group of songs by one who is probably at the present time our premier
Australian song-writer, Horace Keats of Sydney. This programme comprised the various
Chinese settings, At Yellow Dusk, To the Great Unity, I Will Build my House on the
Water, A Vision, Plucking the Rushes, Hymn to the God of Fate and Clearing
at Dawn.
It was decided by the ABC that Ingram Smith
was to prepare a group of broadcasts to follow the programme, Australian Artists Speak
which had been presented on a Sunday afternoon over the National Network. The new series
was to be titled Australian Composers Speak, where the proposed guest speakers were
to be Horace Keats, Alfred Hill, Dr Arundel Orchard, Frank Hutchens, Lindley Evans,
Margaret Sutherland and May Brahe. The concept of the broadcasts was to attempt to bridge
in a personal way the gap that exists between the composer and the listener. It also gave
the composer an opportunity to tell of his work and of the possibilities of music in
Australia. Australian Composers Speak was later recorded and broadcast a short time
after my father's death in August, 1945.
You will recall that Dr. W. Arundel Orchard
made very encouraging comments about the Brennan Songs. He was director of the Sydney
Conservatorium from 1923 to 1934. His compositions, consisting of chamber music, songs,
piano solos, violin solos, choral works and opera, have been published and performed both
in England and Australia. His songs had the style of lieder as did many of my father's. Of
these, The Troubadour and Elizabethan Songs were published in London.
Also published there were six madrigals, To the Lark, When Passion's Trance Away
to the Woodlands, Fantaisie Ballade for violin and piano, Rhapsody in A Minor
for piano, and Uller the Bowman, a dramatic poem for soloists, chorus and
orchestra. Published in Australia were An Idyll and Voices of Women.
From 1935 to 1938, Orchard was a professor of music at the Tasmanian University. He was a
conductor of the first Sydney Symphony Orchestra, and conducted with the Royal Sydney
Philharmonic Society, the Royal Sydney Liedertafal, the Sydney Madrigal Society and the
Conservatorium Orchestra. He was also a pianist and organist.
My mother urged her husband to work on
another Brennan Song. It appears that he was reluctant to do so; certainly there was no
apparent encouragement from publishers or the public after their initial success. As well,
there was the close association of Russell with these songs. Nevertheless, on June 20, he
composed Of Old, on Her Terrace at Evening which has a performance time of 3.30
minutes and was published by Wirripang, 1994.
It is a passionate poem with moods of
foreboding, punctuated with brief moments of hope, the piano reflecting this. The words in
the middle of the song would have touched my father deeply;
Our gaze dwelt wide on the blackness
(was it trees or a shadowy passion
the pain of an old world longing
that it sobb'd, that it swell'd, that it shrank?)
---the gloom of the forest
blurr'd soft on the skirt of the night-skies
that shut in our lonely world.
Not here -- in some long-gone world.
Close-locked in that passionate
arm-clasp
no word did we utter, we stirr'd not:
the silence of Death, or of Love.
On July 12, he set a much lighter poem, The
Constant Lover, by Sir John Suckling (1609-1642). A contract was signed by my mother
for its publication by Chappell on 21 February, 1946, and it was printed during April of
that year. The performance time of one minute can be a challenge and my mother said that
on one occasion it even tripped up the composer.
On the same day, John Keats' The Devon
Maid was set with a performance of time 2.05 minutes. It was the last song my father
composed. It was accepted for publication by Chappels on July 24. This song was also
commercially recorded on 17 August, 1946. My father spoke of its composition on Australian
Composers Speak,
In my latest song The Devon Maid the
words are from the pen of my namesake John Keats, as soon as I read it a pastoral mood was
suggested to me by the words.
At about this time my mother had another of
her dreams. She did not talk of it until some thirty years later when she was giving an
oral history for the Australian National Library:
Horace had an old tweed overcoat that he'd had for
years, it was a beautiful coat, and he wore it a great deal. One morning I awakened
crying, and I'm not a weeper, so it was most unusual, and then I remembered why I was
crying. I had dreamt that Russ with Horace was walking into the mist and I had never seen
such loneliness on anyone's face and I knew that there was a screen and he was in front, I
saw and knew all the people that had gone on before and I was terribly distressed about
this and wept about it all day.
Eventually Horace said, "Well, you've just got to
tell me, you can't go on , you've got to tell me what it's all about." I told him and
he replied, "If that's upset you let's come into town, come on get your hat on,
let's come into town and buy a new coat." So into town we went, he bought a new navy
blue coat, smartly tailored, as different from his old coat as he could have had. This was
to be his birthday present.
Another birthday present was to fall their
way four days later, when the ABC confirmed to my mother,
that the audition with which you favoured us on the 27th
June was favourably reported upon, and as you will be aware from the engagement form
forwarded to you recently, the question of grading and fee has been revised.
The NSW Programme Office will be bearing
you in mind for further recitals as opportunities occur.
My mother's fee was now to be five guineas
per engagement - an increase of two guineas.
On Monday, August 13, they made what was to
be their last broadcast together. It took place in ABC studio 218 in Market Street and was
broadcast from 9.45 to 10.00 in the evening. The songs performed were Four Tiny Songs,
The Constant Lover, Of Old on Her Terrace at Evening, The Devon Maid, Loves Secret
and A Magpie's Call. My mother was paid her new fee of five guineas and my father's
fee of five guineas remained the same.
On Saturday, 18th August, 1945, my parents
were invited to perform the Brennan Songs at Glendower, the home of Captain and
Margaret Prehn. There were around one hundred guests, one of whom was a Miss Myrtle
Meggie. She said, in a letter of condolence some weeks later,
It is just a fortnight since we all met on that evening
when you and Mr Keats gave us those settings to Christopher Brennan's poems. The beautiful
words of the songs you sang and the music so deeply filled - making them rich and
"like a lily in the bloom" will long remain to me a treasured memory.
I felt at the time how I should love to play some of
those accompaniments and perhaps some time when you feel you can sing the songs again we
might do them together. Such music will find its own place as it becomes known and I hope
that I may be able to help.
My father had bought a car, probably with
his earnings from the Melbourne recording session. It was a 1920's/30's Austin with a
cloth hood. It was not the first car he had owned but, because we had lived so close to
the ferries, previous cars had been disposed of before I was born. Our new home was
different, however. It took a walk of at least twenty minutes, including three sets of
steep steps (invariably referred to by Peter Dawson as ‘those bloody steps'), to
catch a tram to the Taronga Park ferry. It was more than likely that his illness played a
part in the acquisition of what was then considered by many to be a luxury. Adding to the
perception of eccentricity already held by our neighbours, my father would take great
delight in driving the ‘Blue Rabbit' up the hills from our home looking straight
ahead with his arms held out before him, grasping the steering wheel with mock
determination.
On that Saturday night it was raining
heavily and, although the car had a hood, it was of cloth and the rain was likely to come
through. My father said to my mother, "Do you mind if I wear my old coat this evening
because my new coat will be ruined in this weather?" Neither he nor my mother
realised that he was about to step back into her dream.
Once again their performance of the Brennan
Songs was well received and, as my parents were about to leave, somebody called out,
"Please! Before you go, just one more song." My father looked at my mother with
what she later described as "such a strange look." He played the opening bars of
I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart and her voice joined him for the last time.
They had agreed to take a friend, Dora
Toovey, back to her home at Chinaman's Beach. Some years later, Dora said that she
couldn't understand why there was so much trouble in changing the car's gears and just
thought, "Silly car." After dropping her home, they drove back up the Spit Hill.
The car became stuck on the tramlines, blocking a following tram. Ordinarily, a driver
would see that the wheels of his car did not come near the tram lines. This was not an
ordinary occasion. My father had had a severe stroke. He was incoherent and the tram
driver believed he was drunk. The car was pushed to one side by the tram crew. My mother
walked back to Dora's and an ambulance was called. Later, my father regained consciousness
long enough to say, "I'm all right. All I need is to go home to put my head on my
little wife's shoulder and I'll be all right." He was brought home from hospital the
following day and, as I described earlier, I had that brief visit with my father before he
died on 21 August, 1945.
Before my father was taken away, my mother
spent the morning alone with him. He had loved the frangipanni tree that grew outside
their bedroom window so she filled the casket with its flowers, and with each one, she
recalled a moment they had spent together.
And I am in a narrow place,
and all its little streets are cold,
because the absence of her face
has robb'd the sullen air of gold.
I am Shut Out of Mine Own Heart
Christopher Brennan 1897
There were so many flowers for his funeral
that my mother sought permission to have them laced upon the Cenotaph in Martin Place,
Sydney, in memory of his son, Russell. Some months later my father's ashes were buried
under a gardenia tree in the grounds of 18 Cobbittee Street, Mosman. Forty years later,
her ashes were placed, by her request, under a magnolia tree in the same property.
Later, in 1945, Dora Toovey painted a
splendid portrait of my parents. My father is at the piano; my mother, her face filled
with sadness, stands in the foreground holding the music of I am Shut Out of Mine Own
Heart. She wears the green that she always wore when she sang McCrae songs. You will
recall Hugh's great admiration for that song and her singing, as well as his love of
Brennan. Chris Brennan is behind them with the inevitable pipe. Dora painted my father
from memory, even though he did not play with his eyes shut as she has him. She painted
Brennan using a sketch taken from one of the numerous books about him. For his colouring
she consulted his brother, Philip. Part of the music of I am Shut Out sweeps across
the lower right hand corner of the canvas. The face of Ida Gurney, who predicted my father
would compose, has worked its way into the background and my mother was the first of many
to notice this phenomenon. This portrait was hung in the 1945 Archibald Prize. It remains
in my home as a constant reminder of my parents and to me symbolises the great
contribution made to Australian musical composition by one who has rightly earned the
title, A Poet's Composer.
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Interview with Horace Keats conducted in August 1945 for the Australian Composers Speak
Series, prepared by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
The singer of "The Devon Maid",
which was the last song that Horace Keats composed, was his wife Barbara Russell.
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