Complete New Tales of Para Handy (26 page)

22

Taking the Needle

P
ara Handy stared, fascinated, at the approaching figure of the
Vital Spark's
engineer. “My Chove boys, come and take a look at this! What on earth hass Dan been up to?” The
Vital Spark
was berthed in Campbeltown, and Macphail had just appeared in sight staggering along the quayside with a large square wooden contraption cradled in both arms, his face only just visible peering over the top of it. Behind him came a man carrying in one hand what looked like an oversize megaphone and in the other a large brown suitcase.

“It looks like he went to that hoose sale right enough,” Dougie observed, “and it looks ass if he bought the half of it ass well.”

Indeed, his eye caught by an advertisement in that week's issue of the
Campbeltown Courier
, Macphail had at breakfast announced his intention of attending a roup taking place that morning, at which the effects of a recently-deceased citizen of the burgh were to be sold at auction. Para Handy and Dougie had had enough of auctions for the time being, following a couple of unfortunate experiences at such occasions in the recent past and Sunny Jim was, as usual, suffering from a chronic shortage of funds. So the engineer had gone off on his own, announcing that he would stay just a few minutes “for the entertainment value”.

“It seems you got more than chust entertainment then, Dan,” the Captain observed as the engineer puffed his way on board and, with a sigh of relief, laid his burden on the hatch-cover of the hold. His companion did the same, and then, after a short consultation during which a few coins changed hands, scrambled up onto the quayside and made off.

“What on earth is aal this?” Dougie asked as Macphail picked up the giant ‘megaphone' and inserted its narrow end into a metal-rimmed hole in the top of the wooden box. This itself had, let into one side, a brass handle which was in shape something like a miniature version of the handle on the puffer's anchor winch and on the top, a circular plate with a convoluted brass contraption alongside it.

“What d'ye think,” asked Macphail sharply. “It's a grammyphone, of course.”

“And what might that be when it's at hame?” asked Para Handy.

“For peety's sake,” said the exasperated Macphail. “D'ye live in the Erk or somethin'? Grammyphones is a' the rage in the big hooses nooadays. Listen and I'll show ye!”

And opening the leather case to reveal a stack of black shellac records, he pulled one out, set it on the turntable on top of the instrument, birled the handle to wind up the spring-driven motor, swung the playing arm over and carefully lowered the needle into its groove.

A tinny version of
Rule Britannia
, sung by an enthusiastic but breathless soprano who sounded as if somebody was standing on her foot, blared from the horn of the gramophone and across the harbour. Heads turned to stare at the
Vital Spark
from all directions.

Para Handy, Dougie and Sunny Jim retreated towards the puffer's bow.

“My Cot,” said the Captain. “Whateffer wull they think of next? How on earth do they get the wumman to fit into the box — never mind the baun'!”

“Very funny,” said Macphail sarcastically. “Ye ken fine hoo it works, ye've seen them aften enough in the shops.

“It's the thing o' the future! A concert-hall in every hoose! A few years frae noo the harmonium and the piano wull be things o' the past. Nae mair frien's an' relations makin' eejits o' themselves tryin' tae play choons they cannae play and wraxin' tae sing sangs their voices wisnae built for. Instead a'body can hae entertainment tae suit every taste at their command jist so lang as they hiv plenty o' these!” And reaching into a small recess on the top of the machine beside the turntable, he held up a small, fancily-decorated tin full of tiny needles.

Sunny Jim, meanwhile, was picking through the selection of records in the leather case.

“There's no mich here for the likes o' us, Dan,” he said. “This all looks gey highbrow stuff tae me. Who's Dame Nellie Melba and whit's an operetta when it's at hame? Whit aboot Dan Leno or Marie Lloyd, or even some Harry Lauder? And I dinna see onythin' that wid be suitable for a baal or a soiree. Nae Gay Gordons, nae Dashing White Sergeant: jist waltzes and polkas an' that.”

“Exactly,” said Macphail, whose ideas of the appropriate sort of musical taste for a gentleman to assume had been honed and moulded by many years acquaintance with the glamorous world of his penny novelettes. “That's the point! None o' this popular trash, jist class, class at yer fingertips!”

“Cless!” said Dougie pointedly. “I've no' had a cless since I left the school and I'm no' stertin' noo! Jum's right, this iss aal right for the chentry, but it's no' the same as a good birl on the melodeon, when Jum's in good trum.”

“Nor better nor yoursel' on the trump,” conceded Para Handy generously. “Mony's the spree we've had with them both.”

“Jist wait you and see,” said Macphail defensively. “Every hoose in the land will hae yin o' these afore lang. And besides ye can get every type o' music ye care tae think of for it, so if ye wantit onything at a', from the Hokey Cokey to the Reel o' Tulloch, ye wud jist awa' oot and buy it.”

“Fair enough,” said Jim, “if ye could afford it! But there'll aye be a place for the melodeon, and the trump come tae that.”

Over the next few days, though, the Mate and Sunny Jim became more enamoured of the new-fangled plaything and for most of the time the puffer was on passage, the instrument sat on the hatch-way and blared out a selection chosen from a collection of records which proved, if nothing else, that their departed owner had been a man of eclectic, not to say strange, tastes.

Only Para Handy remained aloof, and lost no opportunity to play down the worth of the new acquisition, and stress the value of having available for entertainment purposes on board any vessel such extempore live musicians as Dougie and Jim.

The performances of Macphail's travelling open-air concert-hall received what the newspaper columnists would have referred to as ‘mixed reviews'. Some of the river traffic detoured towards the puffer in search of the source of the mysterious sounds but others beat a very hasty retreat to distance themselves as much as possible from it.

Which reaction occurred, and how quickly, usually depended on what particular record was in concert at the time. Italian opera did not, as a general rule, go down very well with either mariners or yachtsmen on the Firth: American brass band music on the other hand was very much more popular — and nothing more so than
Liberty Bell
, which acted like a magnet for approaching vessels and which, as a result, Macphail aired so frequently and repeatedly that Para Handy remarked that in no time at all the groove would be worn right through to the other side of the gramophone record.

Matters came to a head at Arrochar, where the
Vital Spark
arrived one Saturday afternoon to discover that a dance was being held that evening in the village hall. Jim was sent ashore to acquire tickets for all, and the senior members of the ship's company spent a couple of hours on a toilet as elaborate as it was unusual.

“Look at the three o' ye,” said Jim sardonically, “three merrit men that should ken better gettin' all spruced up tae dance wi' lassies young enough tae be yer ain dochters! You should tak' shame at it!”

“What you should take shame at, Jum, iss the way you aalways cairry yon melodeon wi' you to the country soirees, for you ken fine that you'll aye be asked to perform when the band iss at its refreshments, and it gives you a shameless chance to flirt wi' aal the gyurls and impress them wi' your general agility on the unstriment!” retorted the Captain. And sure enough, Jim had already looked his melodeon out and was wiping it with a cloth to bring out the shine on its brass fittings.

“Not,” continued the skipper, “that I aaltogether begrudge you that, Jum, for you're a better player than maist of the bands and I fair enchoy a good selection on the melodeon myself!”

The crew's consternation, therefore, when they reached the Hall to find that the band which had been booked had not arrived on the steamer from Helensburgh, and that the organisers were thus intending to cancel the event, may be imagined.

Macphail was the first to recover his composure.

“There is no need for that at all,” he said. “For on the shup Ah've got a cracker o' a grammyphone, wi' a fine selection o' music. Jist gi'e me the len' o' a couple o' your chaps tae get it up here and this'll be the best soiree Arrochar ever had!”

And so, indeed, it seemed.

The vaunted instrument — or ‘implement' as Para Handy had now christened it — was indeed a great hit with the folk of the village, and Macphail found himself the unaccustomed centre of attention of a flattering coterie of ladies — young, and not so young.

Sunny Jim, who had taken his melodeon back down to the puffer in despair earlier in the evening, looked on in disgust.

“Stole my thunder, so he has,” he complained. “And him a merrit man that age! Arrochar's aye taken kindly to my melodeon in the past but the nicht, they never even wantit it!”

And he went to sulk at the far end of the hall and sat with his back to the posturing engineer.

Five minutes later Para Handy tapped him on the shoulder and winked in conspiratorial fashion.

“Jum, I think it would be no' a bad idea if you wass to go on doon to the shup and retrieve your melodeon. You could bring Dougie's trump at the same time, for there's goin' to be a demand for some real music here in a few minutes, and it wudna be fair if you had to play aal night. You should be allowed to enchoy the dancin' too, and I know fine that Dougie wull be only too pleased to spell you every noo and then so that you can have a circuit or two o' the floor wi' some o' the gyurls.”

“Chance wud be a fine thing,” said Jim. “Naebody wants the trump or the melodeon so long as Dan's holdin' court wi' thon portable concert-hall.”

“Ah,” said Para Handy, “but that's the whole point, Jum. I have a feelin' that Dan's reign is chust aboot drawin' to a close and that we'll no' be hearin' much more from his band-box the night.”

“Whit way?” asked the mystified Jim. “Is it broken?”

“No, nor broken,” said Para Handy. “But I think he is chust on the point of runnin' oot o' these …” And he thrust his opened right hand under Jim's nose. On the palm rested the brightly coloured tin of gramophone needles.

“Look lively then, Jum. Fortune favours the bold!”

F
ACTNOTE

Edison registered his patent for a ‘sound-recording' machine in August 1877, yet for the next 20 years the invention was regarded as little more than a curiosity and little effort was made to commercialise it.

During this period, the cylindrical record was superseded by the new disc record, carried on a turntable: the earliest of these were a mere seven inches in diameter. Not till 1904 was the first machine with an ‘internal' loudspeaker manufactured. Till then, all instruments were of the type immortalised in HMV's famous logo of a horn gramophone and a listening dog.