Jack Hill was brought up before the war on The Gables Farm at Desford:

Musical memories begin sometime in the early 1930's with a wind up machine which played a circular steel disc with holes punched into the face, and nibs underneath which contacted metal ribs which in turn touched metal strips which created the sound.

The discs had songs like 'Laughing Postman' and one of the ruins that Cromwell knocked about a bit. Lyrics to Laughing Postman were ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha and so on, but all with nuances which made us split our sides with laughing. Sophisticated? You bet!

We had the American organ, which Madge used to play when the room was warm enough; that meant summer time. The upright piano stayed in the kitchen and so was played by Madge every week and on Sunday evenings after chapel. Songs were by Brahms and Schubert. Hymn tunes were from the Sankey book.
Mother also used to sit and tap out tunes with two fingers, always hymn tunes. The cat was more able than we were and would often march up and down the keys to our enjoyment.

Uncle Edgar was proficient and during the short time he stayed with us after his bankruptcy he often treated us to performances. I learned Sibelius's Finlandia courtesy of him.

The radio called wireless gave us some orchestral concerts but this Phillistine always called for them to be turned off as horrible.

School songs, especially in the junior years, were always very jolly, and included such titles as the 'Fox' and the Nightingale song, which starts, 'Don't you hear the fond tale of the sweet nightingale?'

In this there was a verse starting, 'Pretty Betty don't fail for I'll carry your pail.' I always had to sing this and address it to Betty Faulknall, same age group, much blushing on my part. The teacher who was involved was named Winters, Miss of course.

Music at Secondary school was limited to rehearsal of the next week's hymns and so was rather a bore. I cannot recall any music in our social life, there being no portable radios or players.

When I was in my teens I plucked up courage to make a trip to Newquay for a holiday and found myself very much on the fringe when I walked past a dance hall and heard swing tunes and jazz and even saw young people dancing. This was completely outside my knowledge,

I did go to a concert given by a harpist and that was an eye opener.

After leaving school, I was invited to an old pupils' get together at the village hall in Bosworth, and here again I found myself floundering with everyone else knowing tunes and how to dance. Very humiliating, I couldn't help but wish the evening would rush by and let me escape.

Once I became a wage earner at National Provincial Bank, I had money to buy records and Mother found for me a wind up machine in a carrying box. The needle head turned over to allow insertion of the needles. These were initially of steel and wore out very quickly.

The sound was very tinny and the machine could only cope with eight and ten inch 78rpms. The discs were made of shellac and had to be treated with care, otherwise they easily scratched. Later on I graduated to fibre needles which gave a very soft sound but didn't wear the records so quickly.

Old ones were not discarded but placed in a hot oven, softened and then moulded into flower pots or at least flower pot holders.

I started my collection with such 'deep' subjects as Waltz of Spring, Skaters Waltz, Scala de Seta and so on. When I graduated to the colliery, I would make a point of staying on the bus until it reached the junction with Narborough Road, where the Bush family had a high-class record shop. I would walk in with dirty clothes and black face and take delight in ordering something that I considered avant-garde.

The coalmining years also saw me attending symphony concerts with Jack and Beryl Smith at the De Montfort Hall in Leicester. This hall was renowned for its acoustic properties, being constructed of temporary
materials with plenty of wood. The floor was sprung for dancing and that might have helped.

Somehow, I seemed to know quite a few of the pieces which were played but I cannot recall how I had heard them. {Via the radio programmes which I had called horrible} Of course the programmes were very conservative in choice but even so it was grown up stuff. Tchaikovsky felt like an old friend, but I grew to feel that the overture to Russlan and Ludmilla by Glinka was overplayed.

I did get taken as a child to several performances of Handel's Messiah and this was very quickly learned and became a great favourite. These were at De Montfort Hall. There was always an agonising section when a lone trumpeter stood up in the small fenced area at the top of the choir steps and tried to play his piece.

Inevitably we would experience wobbles and fluffs and everyone would pray for the end to come quickly. {There was a shortage of trumpeters}
One occasion, Carmen was played and sung by a local orchestra and choir and, for that, curtains were strung across the stage to try and create a proscenium arch.

Once as a boy, I was taken to a professional production of Desert Song. Mother and I met Madge at the front entrance. She was late. The performance had started and so we all felt very ill at ease creeping in.
On another occasion, I was taken to see an ice skating show, where I marvelled at the way the skaters managed to stay within the small confines of the stage. The male star of the show wore a pair of trunks but his complete body was sprayed in gold paint. The idea of its removal after every performance was something I couldn't grasp.

Music in Desford chapel played a vital role and was mostly organised by Mr Evans with Madge playing the organ. A change of tunes and songs occurred annually for the Anniversary service. A songbook would be purchased from a publisher in London and several songs would be selected. These required learning and always had tricky tunes that left us all feeling rather worried as to our eventual performances.

We sat on a tiered platform on the right side of the pulpit and were all in full view of the congregation so there was a lot of eye to eye contact. Fortunately I was never prevailed on to sing a solo.

There was also an adult choir, which participated in the event, and always there would be a contralto solo. I seem to remember Mrs Sperry being in the choir but am not sure about Phyllis. The Emersons were always present and also the Evans girls.

Arrival at Liverpool opened up the horizons still more and apart from learning to dance I also heard Dixieland jazz being played as well as the more sedate waltzes and quicksteps. Several members of the flat possessed radios and so music became background.

I decided to buy a chromatic harmonica and learned to play it quite proficiently. I spent many happy hours perched on the cool side of the Aga stove running through my repertoire. I recall playing it whilst sailing to Denmark with Bob Nicholls.

My stay with the Williams family introduced me to Penillion singing, which is seldom played on the radio but I find hair tingling. They also had records of David Lloyd over whom they all swooned.   

Kuwait and the double salary allowed me to indulge in an electric record player and lots of swing records; I became a fan of people like Bobby Hacket and the big bands, also the oldest member of the chummery played a clarinet so that was another revelation.

In addition, I heard Arabic music at first hand and became accustomed to it. Then on the journey back overland to UK I heard music from many countries including Turkish and Greek.

This photograph shows Jack Hill as a little lad (vertical) with a cousin named Peter Roberts(kneeling) and another cousin named Peter Petcher in the pram. The dog was called Rover. Jack's sister Connie is on the far right. The porch was the access from kitchen to house proper, note the gaps at ground level. The corrugated roof covered the milk processing place. The window above was to the playroom, allocated to Jack and budgies (in their time). In later years Jack used the metal roof as an access to the playroom.