Wrong Sex, Wrong Instrument by Maggie Cotton

Author:Maggie Cotton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: autobiography, Maggie Cotton, musician, music, percussionist, percussion, orchestra, orchestral politics, professional, City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, CBSO, Simon Rattle
ISBN: 9781908382979
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2011
Published: 2011-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

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Up to the mid-eighties, after his early retirement from the university, my husband was engaged in a self-employed capacity by a Careers Development Service in Birmingham. He also travelled around the country working with private clients, made regular trips to Berlin and visited London frequently as the occupational psychologist on the Civil Service Selection Board, a prestigious position that gave him much job satisfaction. As our children entered their teenage years, the family became increasingly independent and involved with their own lives. Whenever possible, Sunday lunch was still the immovable family meal of the week, but there was a distinct feeling that we were all going our separate ways in spite of still living under the same roof. Over the years, I managed to squeeze in summer holiday trips to Australia and Canada to visit friends, encouraged by Geoff but not joined by him. On these occasions, he was the one who stayed at home, taking care of domestic arrangements and, of course, son and daughter.

Once Alistair had completed his business studies course in Evesham, he found work locally in the Parts Department of a very large, thriving garage, still living at home until he found his feet in the world of work. Fiona gained a place at the Birmingham Polytechnic for a BA Honours course in three- dimensional design, specialising in jewellery and silversmithing, eventually sharing a scruffy, overpriced flat with a bunch of students, financed, of course, by parents. We had always said that the only thing that our young would gain when they left their comfortable nest would be their independence.

Fiona and I had a final fling that summer, as I had saved up for a very special trip to Kenya. A package holiday was never on the cards for this adventure, as we were tied into dates for both the CBSO and the start of autumn term. However, I managed to arrange a safari trip starting from Nairobi, followed by a few days on a tea plantation in high, misty hills, after which we met the child I sponsored (for his schooling), one of several such youngsters I have sponsored since 1975.

I hired a cheerful driver - “I am James, a Kikuyu” - with sturdy minibus to take us to young Kyalo’s school. This was situated off the beaten track in arid bush and scrub country 200 miles south-east of Nairobi. We spent a thought- provoking, scorching hot day hearing the school choir, talking to children and teachers and meeting Kyalo’s mother, Esther, being acutely aware of the sharp contrast in our lives. We had taken a variety of gifts, from a school glockenspiel and children’s simple picture-reference books to coloured pencils, non-sticky (for the hot African climate) sweeties, balloons and non- denominational, gaily coloured, folding-paper decorations, much to everyone’s amazement and delight. When I asked the headmaster what they needed most, his answer was plain and simple: “Water!” The last rain had fallen four years previously. After much discussion and questioning, I told

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