Mr Strood

Mr Strood The high room, the bright light, the plentiful mirrors the long sweep of lace curtains, the many faces.. She wondered whether music lessons were part of her dreadful experiences of playing before people. The very first time she had played- a little running melody in the treble.. a page of minims, the minims had swollen until she could not see whether they were lines or spaces, her fingers had been so weak after the first unexpectedly loud note that her fingers suddenly stiffened she worked them from her elbows like sticks- dreadful movements - She heard nothing but hard loud minims to the end, As she stood, dizzily up, someone said she had a nice touch-the piano should always remember the clear pieces by heart- through trembling fingers the notes fumbled and slurred into each other. At musical evenings she had both played and sung, each time afresh to the effects which came so easily when she was alone, but she could not discover the secret of when she had been too miserable to be nervous and Mr Strood, astonished, listening, thrilled to her from behind the piano Suzanne Delaney Found Poem Pointed Roofs by Dorothy Miller Richardson