The orchestra triumphantly belted out the last few notes of the final movement of Shostakovitch's Symphony No. 10 in E minor, and the Royal Albert Hall exhaled and let rip an awed, enthusiastic round of applause. The themes in that particular symphony are rather dark and intense at times, and the oppressive tension is very noticeable in the music, even if the listener isn't aware of the political significance of it 71at the time of its composition. Nevertheless, the ending of the final movement seems to release all of that tension at once in a frantic controlled chaos, leaving all listeners breathless and ever so slightly relieved. It's a fantastic piece of music.
My friend Min Hwee leaned in to shout over the audience's applause to express how impressed she was with how strong the percussion section of the orchestra was. I shouted back in agreement.
"You know, it made me think of Mr Beryl," she shouted.
"Who?" I shouted back.
"Mr Beryl! You know, the percussion teacher?"
I did indeed remember. Mr Beryl: glasses, smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a wizard on the drum kit; in his late fifties when I left school, probably mid-sixties by now.
"Oh, Mr Beryl! How come?" I asked.
Min Hwee blinked. "Well, you know," she said slowly, "how he passed away..."
Min Hwee tailed off and looked mildly horrified: I hadn't known. I had frozen mid-clap, and I think my face openly showed my shock.
I learned that he'd been diagnosed with cancer, and had been battling it for just a few months after diagnosis before he died. Apparently he'd been teaching almost right up until the end.
Jim Beryl: not a big man, but larger than life even so. Always full of fun and enthusiasm.
School wasn't an easy experience for me to begin with. It took quite a few years for me to figure out who I was and where I fit in, by which time I was already doing my GCSEs. By Sixth Form and A-Levels, I practically lived in the music school, taking part in the vast majority of music groups in some shape or form. One of the things I found myself in during Sixth Form was Percussion Ensemble, which was headed by Mr Beryl, the percussion music teacher. I enjoyed myself immensely in all of the music groups I took part in, but Percussion Ensemble was 'pure fun' because it was the only group in which I played instruments that I wasn't formally studying.
I became one of a few unofficial members of Percussion Ensemble during the biennial music school tour, as the ensemble needed a few more people to play who were also going on tour. We unofficial members picked tuned percussion up quite quickly, having already had solid musical backgrounds, and my two favourite instruments in the ensemble became the marimba and the vibraphone, partially because of the similar layout to the piano (my main instrument), and partially because I loved the sounds they made. In any case, I've always associated Percussion Ensemble (along with the whole of the music department) with the time I stopped dreading school, and began to love being there.
Min Hwee and I reminisced about the time Mr Beryl got a little carried away during a school concert: during a section of music where there was supposed to be a pause, he kept on playing the drum kit with gusto before realising that it was time to stop. Mr Mitchell (the conductor/ head of the music department, and also another well-liked teacher) shot him a exasperated look, which was met with a not-quite-sheepish-enough grin- giving the rest of us the giggles as we tried to remain professional and continue with the concert.
That guy had an amazing sense of humour. He was an incredible musician in his own right, his enthusiasm for music was infectious, and he was a great inspiration to many a pupil. If there's any justice in the world, I'd like to think he's up there jamming with Sir Patrick Moore.
My heartfelt condolences to his family. I was deeply saddened by the news, even if it is old news for some. To the man himself: thank you for being such an awesome teacher, even though I wasn't directly a pupil of yours, and thank you for giving me one more much-need reason to love school.
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