The Curse of the Squidgy Record
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A well-known expression in our family, which for some reason became the title of this book. It refers to an occasion on which my parents were obliged to listen to a rather horrible record by an Australian vocal group called “The Creatures.”
The group featured an awful woman called Diana King who sang with a hideous twangy voice and whose words seemed to consist mostly of rhymes that involved verbs like ‘stick’ or ‘nip’ and nouns like ‘pig,’ ‘egg,’ etc. My father hated it passionately when she came on the radio and he used to say:
“How can you stand listening to that? It sounds as if a swarm of angry bees have got lost inside a dead walnut and are trying to get out through the keyhole!” I think my mother was even worse because she had always been something of a prude—a common trait among women from that era—and she felt compelled to make disparaging remarks about the lyrics whenever Diana King’s name was mentioned in conversation.
Which was often. In time, however, my father grew accustomed to her presence on the radio (I am not sure how) and he no longer objected so much. I was about seven at the time and I remember sitting in front of the piano one day when my father started playing his favorite song entitled “Curse of the Squidgy Record” which he explained to me meant that the songs on the record were so bad that they caused you to feel guilty for having listened to them.
He also told me that the squidgy bit referred to Diana King’s breasts and that if a man wanted to hear such beautiful music then it would have to be performed by someone more deserving of admiration than herself. But I don’t recall any other explanation being given.
For many years, despite numerous attempts at persuasion, I refused to learn to play the piano but eventually, I gave up and allowed myself to be persuaded to take lessons. This was partly due to the fact that my parents could now afford a piano teacher who charged $4 for an hour-long lesson.
In those days, $4 bought one large loaf of bread; two bags of sugar; three bottles of milk; a gallon of petrol (two gallons); 10 pounds of fresh white potatoes; five pounds of onions; 5 ounces of butter; 6 dozen eggs; a quart of milk; and a pound of butter, all in Sydney. As far as the piano teacher was concerned, $4 was worth every cent.
My tutor was a distinguished gentleman called Mr. Thompson, a true virtuoso who played pieces by Mozart and Beethoven with such brilliant speed and accuracy that I suspect that he must have been using a tiny pair of tweezers to pluck each note.
His real name was Henry Thompson and he was eighty-five years old when I took lessons from him, but he showed no signs of slowing down and would sit behind his piano with the sheet music open before him, ready to perform whatever piece he had been asked to teach.
I suppose there was little point in teaching me something that he had already mastered himself many times over. At first, he was very patient with my inability to reproduce the notes accurately and after about three months he taught me a simple song called “Bicycle Built For Two”.
I enjoyed it enormously. Soon afterward he introduced me to the great composer Chopin, and I learned a number of short piano pieces by him, including one that had four repeated bars of the same melody. My father was delighted when I did this piece on request and Mr. Thompson encouraged me to keep at it, saying that practice would make perfect.
We lived in a house in Earlwood which backed onto bushland and our back garden was bordered by a large rockery filled with flowering plants, shrubs, and trees. A narrow path led from the front door of the house to a wooden gate that opened onto the main road.
At the end of the path was another small stone bridge that crossed a stream flowing down from the hills above. This was where we kept our bicycles. Mr. Thompson assured my parents that he could teach me enough to pass Grade One, then I would progress to the next grade which involved reading music.
One day after my lesson, my father said to me: “You know, Ken, you could become a pianist like your tutor, and possibly make a good living from it. You could become famous and people would come to hear you play. They might even pay money to see you,” he added somewhat hopefully.
”Oh yes, Dad, I’d love that!” I replied, completely underestimating the level of competition involved in becoming a pianist or anything else for that matter.
In due course, Mr. Thompson informed my parents that he had completed the necessary work on me and I passed Grade One with flying colors. Soon after this, I left him to take a job in London. There was no doubt in my mind that my future lay in music, and I wanted to study at the Guildhall School of Music, the most prestigious musical establishment in England.
However, my parents insisted that I go to university first, because it was impossible to obtain funding to attend music school without first obtaining a degree. They hoped this would provide a fallback position should I fail to make a success of my career.
So it was that after completing three years at the University of Sydney, and not learning a single useful thing, I moved to England to continue my studies in music.
My father was disappointed when I decided to enter the Guildhall, instead of following the advice of someone who was obviously much better qualified than him. He claimed that I was wasting my time, and could have done so much more with my life if only I had taken his advice and studied medicine or law. “I’ll never forgive you,” he told me, and he said it often.
My mother was more understanding. She was quite content for me to do what I felt was best, as long as I was happy, and as she was already working and didn’t need any help from me, the choice of what I did was entirely up to me.
She was a nurse and her hours were irregular, but she was always around during the weekdays and my father had to go out to work every evening, so we were seldom apart. Although we had different careers, we shared a common passion for music and spent a lot of our leisure time listening to the radio, especially classical music programs on BBC Radio 3.
We used to visit concert halls whenever we had free time, and I remember attending a performance of Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra at London’s Royal Albert Hall.
The hall was packed and I was particularly impressed with the conductor, who looked to be in his early thirties, as well as the soloists – two amazing violinists whose names I can no longer recall. One night we went to a ballet performance of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Another memorable occasion was an opera, La Boheme, performed by the Vienna State Opera, and the seats were right at the top of the auditorium where the performers could look straight down on us.
When the curtain rose, I was surprised to see that it was just a plain white cloth, held aloft by a single dancer in the center of the stage. I asked my mother why they had bothered with a curtain and if there was going to be nothing behind it. She explained that there was no point in putting up a curtain on a stage as large as the one in the theatre and that they were just being traditional.
I thought that was very strange until the dancers appeared, all dressed in black with bare feet, and began slowly walking forward along the length of the stage until they reached the edge of the proscenium arch, and then they simply fell into the darkness beyond.
It was such a simple idea, but the effect was profound and created a powerful sense of drama. After the performance, I asked my mother why they had bothered with a curtain if the scene was going to appear out of thin air, but she seemed uninterested, so I let the subject drop.
Sometimes my parents took me to a matinée, though these were usually Broadway shows rather than operas because my father disapproved of opera. He also found it difficult to sit through the whole performance without getting up to go outside for a cigarette.
Anyway, it was great fun to see the plays on the West End; it was a pleasure to walk through Soho, which was buzzing with life, and it was exciting to catch a glimpse of celebrities, especially the ones who played policemen on TV, such as Sergeant Benton of Dixon of Dock Green or Inspector George Gently.
My mother pointed out to me how different it was from the quiet countryside in Australia, and she loved living in an area where everything happened, even if it was all part of a show and nothing really mattered.
One day shortly after I arrived in London, I was invited over to dinner by a fellow student whom I knew from the Guildhall. We met several times during the course of the year and got on very well, partly because we had a common interest in music, but mostly because we both enjoyed talking about what was happening in the world.
He lived on a council estate in Brixton with his mother and her boyfriend, and he told me that people there were used to being stared at.
He was pleased to see someone new, especially one so young because his family got few visitors. In fact, he insisted on paying for the meal and taking me back to my accommodation afterward. On the journey home, he told me that he had recently come to the conclusion that we were living in an insane society.
He hated our consumerist culture and the way most people were so self-centered. There was too much emphasis on possessions and not enough on making things better.
People should spend their lives improving themselves, not just buying more things. He believed that the root cause of all our problems lay in the domination of man by the machine: too many people had been taken away from nature to work in jobs designed for machines instead, and this was leading us all to destruction.
Then he said something that made me think. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘we’re not so different from those ancient Egyptians. We are merely following in their footsteps.’
He laughed when I asked him what he meant by that, but when I asked him to explain, he became very serious. ‘After all, didn’t they build the pyramids in order to please their gods?’
I did some research and found out that his assertion had a strong basis in historical fact. The pyramid was a giant artificial hill constructed in Egypt as a tomb for the Pharaohs, and it had been built in order to deceive the sun god into thinking that the land beneath was fertile.
But the Egyptians weren’t the first civilization to attempt to deceive the sun or their own gods; ancient peoples had done the same thing throughout history, and their motives were similar.
In fact, there is archaeological evidence that the Celts erected an enormous stone monument called Stonehenge around 4000 BC in an attempt to fool the sun so that its rays would fall directly on their sacred burial ground.
Unfortunately for them, the earth under the stones was not flat enough and so the beam never fell straight down, which suggests that the people of the time were wise and intelligent enough to understand the science of astronomy, even though they couldn’t control the movements of the planet.
We stayed in touch afterward, and whenever I returned to London, we would meet up again and talk about life and politics, but I don’t remember him ever mentioning the dream again. And yet I have often wondered what it might mean, and whether it had anything to do with what happened later in my life.
Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my story.
***
I still wasn’t able to afford any accommodation near the university itself, so I went back to the old house in Brixton once more. Luckily, my mother’s friend Sally had agreed to take me in whilst I waited for my scholarship to come through.
She lived in one of the flats above the shop, and although it was a shabby little place with peeling wallpaper, broken window panes, and a cracked bathroom sink, it was cheap. And besides, I liked having so much space, which was probably why I had become quite attached to it since my last stay there.
It had been another busy week. I spent Monday evening writing an essay on the three forms of government; Tuesday afternoon preparing a presentation on the rise of nationalism in the nineteenth century, and Thursday evening studying for the exam.
The problem was that there was no way of knowing when the scholarship money would arrive, and my bank balance was running low.
So I thought perhaps I could find some paid work. It was Friday, which meant that I only had four days left before the scholarship examination. I was due to graduate in July, so that gave me two and half weeks to earn as much money as possible, without the scholarship.
The idea was that this money would be saved up until September so that I would have plenty of funds available for renting a room in London. I already had my eye on a place near the university, but I wanted to make sure I had enough to pay for the deposit and the first month’s rent.
If I needed any more cash, I could always borrow from my parents, or even sell my guitar, which I hadn’t played in months.
On Friday morning, while I was waiting for the postman to arrive with my exam results, I took a train to Central London to try and find some temporary work. My father had suggested that I go to the career office at the university because he was confident that I would qualify for one of the positions that they advertised.
However, I knew that there would be lots of competition and so I decided to look at the paper first.
The railway station was packed with young men, and the whole area looked like a festival ground with all the stalls, marquees, and banners advertising a variety of jobs. It was overwhelming but I tried my best to take everything in.
There were advertisements for everything from secretaries, laborers, and security guards to cleaners, waitresses, and bar staff. Some offered high wages, others barely enough to cover the cost of travel expenses each day.
I had no experience of working so I felt pretty nervous as I walked between the crowds of people and past the newspaper stands where small ads were neatly displayed. Eventually, however, I managed to find a number for a firm called Johnstone’s, which seemed to offer a couple of suitable roles: one as a trainee sales representative and the other as a customer service operator for an insurance company. I was just about to dial the number when I saw an ad that read:
NEW OPPORTUNITIES!
Do you have experience in PROPERTY?
WANTED!
PROFESSIONAL PEOPLE WANTED FOR LONG-TERM EMPLOYMENT!
This caught my attention, so I immediately rang the number. A pleasant woman answered, and she asked me to attend the office at the weekend for an interview. I said okay, then quickly hung up and went outside to find a phone box.
The property agent was called Smith & Sons, and it was located somewhere in Kensington. As soon as I arrived, I was given a tour of their offices by one of the managers who introduced himself as Mr. Robert Smith.
The building was quite impressive, and I could not believe that it was a new agency. Everything looked very professional and I thought that perhaps I would find something interesting here. I was told that I’d be interviewed directly after the tour, so I made myself comfortable on one of the leather chairs in the main reception. Then I opened up the newspaper to pass the time.
About five minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. It was Mr. Smith, along with his assistant, Mr. Alan Hartley. They both looked very friendly and jolly, so I couldn’t help feeling a bit more relaxed. I got up to greet them, and they shook my hand.
Mr. Smith thanked me for coming and then invited me to sit down. We briefly discussed the business – Mr. Smith explained how the company worked and how our clients would be able to buy or rent houses and apartments in West London and surrounding areas.
He was quite charismatic, and his assistant was equally nice, though he was definitely younger than me.
The interview lasted approximately 30 minutes, during which I learned that the company was relatively young and profitable; we dealt mainly with residential sales and lettings, and we offered a full range of services to our customers.
I was shown some properties that had been sold recently, and I enjoyed looking through the details. Mr. Smith also showed me around the company, and we met some of the employees, who all seemed very friendly. I was then led to a small room where Mr. Smith conducted the interview.
There were six questions altogether. Most of them revolved around my previous work experience, education, and general knowledge of the property industry. One question concerned the business plan of my school, which I didn’t have, but I still answered it the best way that I could.
After answering a few more questions, Mr. Smith and Mr. Hartley said that they were going to make their decision after a couple of weeks and that I should call them back if there was anything else that they required from me.
The meeting was over, I thanked them for the opportunity, bid goodbye to Mr. Smith, and walked out into the street feeling a little bit confused. It had been a good interview, I thought, but I felt that I hadn’t really done that well. Nonetheless, I was glad that I had at least had a chance to make a good impression.
That evening I received a telephone call from Mr. Smith asking me to come and see him the next day. When I arrived at the office, I was greeted by another friendly gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Richard Walker. Mr. Smith talked to us briefly about the job, and then we went upstairs to his private office.
He explained that they needed someone to assist the current secretary and to conduct research on properties.
This part of the role would involve going to auctions and keeping a database on what was sold and for how much. I would also need to attend viewings at houses that we were interested in buying, and then keep a record of what these homes looked like inside and outside. Lastly, I would be responsible for liaising with the solicitors on behalf of the company, and updating the website if any new properties were listed online.
Mr. Smith handed me a sheet of paper with three names on it. These were the addresses and contact details of several solicitors, and Mr. Walker explained that he would like me to arrange appointments with each of them in order to discuss the purchase of the properties that we owned.
I found the whole thing exciting and challenging. I knew that the property market in London was booming, so I was confident that I would have many opportunities to get involved with big deals. After a brief discussion, I agreed to do everything that they asked of me.
In return, I would receive £8,000 a year (with the possibility of a performance-related increase at the end of six months). I said that I would accept the offer and wished them luck. The job officially started on Monday morning, so I spent the remainder of the week learning all there was to know about the company and the property industry.
On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Walker took me to visit the auction that he mentioned earlier, which turned out to be held in a warehouse in Wembley Park. He said that we were looking for a house with a large garden, preferably in Earlsfield or Stockwell.
We stayed for around two hours, but unfortunately, we didn’t find anything suitable. Although we had fun browsing the items being sold, I wanted to get on with my new job, so when we eventually left the venue, we decided to go straight to work.
On Sunday, I bought a house-hunting book from a local stationer and spent most of the day reading it. I highlighted the locations in which we were interested, and used Google Street View to see whether the houses looked as good on the inside as they did on the outside.
I then made some calls to the solicitors, confirming that I could arrange an appointment for the following Thursday. Finally, I printed off some forms from the internet and filled them out before my first day of employment the following Monday.
Monday morning came too quickly, and I had a hard time waking up. Nevertheless, I got ready and set off to work early. Mr. Smith welcomed me warmly and told me to take a seat at the desk while he brought me some tea.
He talked to me for about half an hour, explaining the company structure and how everyone worked together. I learned that Mr. Smith had been the managing director for nearly ten years now, but that he had hired Mr. Hartley, his nephew, about five years ago.
They both seemed very proud of the business and gave me a lot of confidence that I had made the right choice by accepting this job.
After having his tea, Mr. Hartley led me into his office where I met his assistant, Miss Jessamine Hartley. She was young and pretty and seemed very eager to help me settle in. She took me to the filing cabinet and showed me how to use the system.
Mr. Hartley then explained that I would be working closely with the company solicitor for the next few weeks, to ensure that all of the necessary paperwork was completed before they purchased a property.
He also informed me that there would be a team of people waiting for me to send them information every time a new property was placed on the market. As I had already spent most of Sunday researching the best way to approach this task, I was confident that I could complete it successfully within a couple of days.
Mr. Walker then escorted me to the meeting room, where we discussed the purpose of the company website. He asked me whether I understood what my responsibilities would be, and told me that he was happy for me to contact the web designer directly to start discussing what changes may need to be made. I promised to follow up with him the following day.
When we were finished with our discussions, I thanked them for their time and they wished me luck in my new position. I wasn’t particularly excited about starting the job, but the excitement of moving into a bigger house was enough to keep me motivated.
My commute might be slightly longer than before, but the extra time should allow me to do more exercise. Besides, the stress of commuting is much less when you’re not doing it alone.
***
A week later, I received an email from Mr. Walker telling me that the purchase of the properties had been completed without any problems. I immediately called Miss Hartley who told me that the solicitors had done a splendid job.
Mr. Hartley said that they would look forward to working with me again in the near future. This gave me a certain level of comfort knowing that I wouldn’t have to search for a new job if I didn’t enjoy the experience. I immediately replied, thanking them for everything and expressing how pleased I was to be part of the team.
The rest of that week passed quickly, with only a couple of minor issues with regard to the property searches. However, the problem with the inventory form turned out to be one of my own makings, and I realized after contacting the surveyor that I had accidentally omitted a couple of items from the list.
It was the middle of the afternoon by the time I finished dealing with it. I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief once I had sent the email to confirm my corrections. Hopefully, this should put their minds at ease and prevent them from raising any further objections when they come to view the house.
Saturday morning arrived rather unexpectedly, and I was somewhat groggy due to having fallen asleep on the sofa last night. I had intended to finish my chores before going to bed but had found myself drifting off around midnight. I forced myself to get up, but the light in the hallway was still on. I decided to go downstairs to turn it off, and saw a note from Jane on the dining table.
‘I hope that you can forgive me for being such a bad friend. I’ve been so busy recently, and I’m trying to make up for a lost time. I promise I’ll be more considerate next weekend.’
I smiled as she apologized for her recent behavior, and laughed when I read her justification for her absence. I still hadn’t heard from Laura since our lunch break the other day, and I wondered whether she had a boyfriend yet.
There was no mention of any social activities in her message either, which meant that I was looking forward to spending my Saturday alone. As soon as I had put the kettle on, I pulled out the laptop and started working on my house move research again.
The more I did, the more I realized just how much I needed to do. It was a daunting prospect, even though I knew I’d eventually be able to find a solution for each problem that I encountered. I knew that this sort of thing came easy to some people, but it was something that I struggled with.
I wasn’t sure why I was struggling, but I suspected that it was due to my lack of knowledge, combined with my desire to do a good job. A couple of hours later, I decided to take a break and head outside. I decided to walk down to the park and eat my lunch on the grass.
After finishing eating, I took a stroll along the riverbank and enjoyed watching the boats floating gently past the pier. As the sun began to set behind the trees, I returned home and settled onto the sofa. With the news coverage on in the background, I switched on the radio and listened to the music playing softly in the background until I fell asleep.
The sound of a car horn woke me, and I slowly opened my eyes to see that it was already evening. I spent a few minutes rolling over and checking whether I had any messages on the phone, but there didn’t appear to be anything new.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept quite like that. The thought crossed my mind that I should try doing that every night, although I was unlikely to make it a habit. Instead, I rolled back over and got up to wash. When I went to check my emails, I found that there were three new messages from Miss Hartley.
‘I hope that you enjoyed your lie-in. Please let us know if you have any questions about anything that has happened during your first week on the job. We’re keen to ensure that you have a positive experience here, so please feel free to ask us any questions that you may have. Have a great weekend!’
‘We would appreciate it if you could submit all of your forms by close of business today. If possible, we would prefer it if they were submitted electronically.’
‘All of the staff will be attending a company away day next Friday. You are welcome to join us, although it’s probably better if you left Mrs. Taylor at home. I’m sure that she wouldn’t enjoy it very much. It is an informal event, and all of the team will be there.
We hope that you will be able to attend. Let me know what you think. We’ll look forward to seeing you on Monday morning.’
When I had dealt with the emails and checked my messages, I headed upstairs to shower. As I stripped off my clothes, I paused to admire my body in the mirror. Although there was no visible difference compared to last year, I felt a lot healthier than I had done a few months ago.
My diet had improved considerably, and I knew that there was still room for improvement, especially when I considered how many cakes I ate. I splashed water over my face and used a small bar of soap to lather my chest and neck.
The warmth of the water flowed down my skin as I ran my hands through my hair. By the time I had finished washing, the bathroom was already starting to steam up. I rinsed the soap off my body and turned the taps off.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I noticed the small patch of brown hair growing on my shoulder blades. I hoped that it wouldn’t develop into anything worse than that, although I tried not to worry too much about it. I was glad that I hadn’t shaved it off like I had done a few times before.
I knew that I had a tendency to grow it back quickly, and I imagined that I might end up having to shave every day to keep it under control.
The End