John Pyke

Sometimes, though sadly, all too rarely, someone turns up out of the blue, who ends up having a profound effect on your life.  Such a man was John Pyke.  I met him at a writers class.  John would never have made a writer in a hundred years.  He actually almost made it, having died in 2007 at the age of 96 and he lived a full life to the end.  His writing was shot out like a military report - staccato senteces with no wasted words.  Good factual writing but never creative.  Where his artistry did excel was at his piano which was a Steinway grand at his lovely home overlooking the Dee Estuary on the Wirral Peninsular.  I am a singer and was looking for an accompanist - he was a pianist looking for someone to share his musical interest.  On the day we met, serendipity ruled supreme and a friendship developed that was fulfilling in many different ways, but always revolving around music.

His life had been an adventurous one.  Belonging to a family of jewellers, he had learned his trade, not in the family firm, but as was the norm in his youth, he was placed with a company in another town.  In his twenties, he went to Burma and ran a factory in Rangoon, while making occasional forays into the mountains of the interior seeking out and buying gem-stones while, believe it or not practising his other skill, that of optician upon the ex-patriot miners, et al up country and arranging the manufacture of spectacles in India.

John fought a distinguished war and was in the army though not long married, from its outset to its end.  Some time was spent in the Middle East, then service in small boats in the Greek islands some of which he and a group of commandos liberated and set up government order and administration after having dealt with the occupying forces - German and Italian.

One day, my wife and I visited him and were told "Come before 11am  - I'm going up Moel Fammau (a local mountain in North Wales) today".  We saw him off with a smug chuckle, knowing the walk well and and that he was 92 at the time.  Next time we saw him, he told us he'd got to the top but hadn't climbed the monument as he was alone, and if he'd fallen it would have been awkward.

Why, you may ask, did I decide to write this?  It is a response to some delightful work Leah has put on the site - one about music and hands.  I cannot think of hands and music without seeing John Pyke's gnarled, ninety year old hands caressing his beloved black and white keyboard, turning black and white sheet music into  a spectrum of musical colour.  Thank goodness I photographed them when I had the chance.  At the top, you can see us in performance.  I hope this qualifies as historic prose writing

Author's Note

Comment by all means but remember, this isn't meant to be great art!

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A lovely write. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Leah Simone]

A great tribute to someone you admired - We are blessed to meet people have such an impact on our lives. I was surprised to find my work listed within this piece - you should have seen my eyes open wide when I got to the ending. I'm not quite sure what to say - it is wonderful to have your work remembered
at all.

I can almost hear this man - I've known musicians such as this - older - souls exposed in black and white keys.