Open Writing

C major, C minor, D major, D minor - the notes rang out through the repeated sequence almost every morning starting at half past six.

Anne could set her clock by the first sounds. Arpeggios and chords followed before the dainty nuances of Mozart’s sonatas filtered through the open dining room window.

Anne was a newcomer to the row of villas, but it wasn’t long before she heard murmurings of displeasure from the other residents about the child practising piano at such an ungodly hour and the mother who should have known better than to allow it.

Anne couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Her villa was closest to the house with the wide veranda on the opposite corner, and she loved the sound that joined her like a welcome friend for breakfast every morning.

Hearing piano practice brought back memories of ice-cold New England mornings at the convent Anne attended as a child. Memories of rising at the crack of dawn to attend Mass, then heading to the forbidding music building with its shoebox rooms encasing ancient pianos. They ruled their tiny spaces like ageing dowagers, defying the years and making no apologies for their crazed timbers, yellowing ivories and honky-tonk delivery.

Anne’s life had been determined by the trauma of those years of practice, although she knew in her heart that in pursuing a career in music she was living out her parents’ dreams rather than her own. They longed for the day when she would make her debut as a concert pianist.

Even now after so many years she felt a pang of guilt when her eye caught the polished glint of the velvet-toned Steinway, which stood unused against the northern wall of her lounge. It had been her parents’ gift when she was accepted for advanced studies at the Conservatorium of Music.

Gut-wrenching determination to please them was not enough to equip Anne for the concert stage. But she became an accomplished pianist, and the years spent at the Conservatorium proved to be the happiest of her life.

Now when she thought back on the girl she had been, it felt like considering a stranger. Has she ever been that shy 18-year-old, self-conscious and unsure of her talent? Too small, too thin, too dark, too quiet?

That was, until she met David. He came from Parkes, a country town mid-west of Sydney and had won a scholarship to study violin. He was not good looking in the conventional way, but when he tucked the instrument under his chin, closed his eyes and drew the bow across the strings, his face became transformed as it mirrored the beauty of the music.

Anne fell deeply, completely in love. David returned her love, and the completeness they enjoyed gave Anne confidence and the self-worth she had never known.

Anne and David married when the years of study were over. They were blissfully happy. David secured a place in the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and Anne started teaching at a private school on the North Shore line.

Their joy was short-lived. It was 1940 and Australia was calling for young men to enlist to defend their country. David could not be persuaded against his decision to answer that call and join the Air Force. With aching heart Anne saw him depart on secondment to Bomber Command in Britain. He did not come back.

Anne felt her life was over, and even when the war ended and day-to-day living returned to normal, she had lost interest in teaching or in playing. The Steinway was a mute reminder of David and the happiness she had once shared with him.

Changing addresses had almost become an occupation, but Anne hoped she would finally put the past behind her in this villa on the tree-lined avenue.

The occupants of the large corner house kept to themselves. The girl seemed to be about 13 years old. She was slightly built with bobbed dark hair and a thick fringe completing a frame around her sensitive, pretty face. The daily uniform of pleated navy tunic over long-sleeved cream blouse placed her as a pupil at the nearby state high school.

Her mother was rarely seen - just a fleeting glimpse of floating fabric beneath a wide-brimmed hat as she walked to the garage each morning and proceeded to back out an ancient Austin and drive off towards the centre of the town.

Anne made tentative efforts to get to know the girl and learned that her name was Vivienne. But the nodding acknowledgement hardly developed beyond a comment on the weather or the garden. However on one occasion when Anne voiced her approval of an addition to the practice repertoire, the girl looked relieved.

“My mother will be pleased you like the piece. She worries all the time in case the noise is a nuisance.”

Anne hastened to assure her young neighbour that she enjoyed the music and missed it on the rare occasions when the daily practice routine was altered.

Over the next three years Anne relived her own musical education as she followed the sounds of Mozart, Brahms, Chopin, Beethoven and many other composers whose music she had loved.

Late one Monday afternoon Anne was in her garden when a police car pulled into the drive of the large corner house. Soon afterwards other cars arrived. The unusual activity alarmed Anne, but it was not in her nature to pry and she retreated inside.

One of the other tenants relayed the tragic news that the mother had been killed instantly in a car accident. Though neighbours for so many years, Anne had never met her, but she felt an immediate sense of loss and deep concern for the girl.

She picked flowers, baked a cake and crossed the road, hoping to see Vivienne - just to say she shared her sorrow and ask if she could help in any way. A strange lady opened the door. Anne left her offerings and hurried away.

The stranger stayed on. The girl came and went as before, but the piano was silent. It worried Anne. Obviously Vivienne was too saddened by the loss of her mother to return to her music. It was something she understood all too well.

The months passed but the silence remained unbroken. One morning as she battled with the weeds in her rose garden Anne looked up to see a removal van pull into the driveway of the large corner house. Two men entered and emerged soon after carrying a piano.

Suddenly the reason for the stilled music became clear. How foolish of her not to have guessed, Anne thought. There was no longer money for piano lessons and now the piano itself had to be sold. Was this what she needed to make her put the past to rest, return to teaching and move on with her life?

Scarcely giving the van time to leave the grounds, she hurried across the road, almost running in her eagerness to speak to Vivienne and offer the use of the Steinway and her talents as a teacher. Anne’s knock brought the girl to the door, and she blurted out her mission.

There was a moment’s silence before the surprised and hesitant response.

‘Thank you for your kindness, but - didn’t you know? It was my mother, not I, who was the piano student.’

Anne stood silent as sadness wrapped around her. So - there was no reason to move on after all.