Pipe dreams

I have a rather unusual childhood memory that stands out for me.   It may sound rather odd for a kid (specially a girl), but for me, it was so cool.

My dad was an organist in the Congregational church for many, many years.  Now I’m not talking about those dinky electronic organs.  I’m talking about the real thing, with pipes, pedals, push buttons and rows of keyboards.

YEAH!  Those mother’s that give you the goosies, everytime you hit a pedal, and reverberate through your whole body. 

THOSE kinds of organs.

Every so often, it was in need of a little tuning or the odd repair job.  And this is where I came in. 

You see, while he was doing his thing behind those big pipes, someone (a very eager “me”  in this case), had to sit behind the keyboards, and press the necessary foot pedals, or pull out the stops, as he would call out for me to do.

The tools he needed were not your run of the mill tools needed to tune an instrument.  His repair/tuning kit was more like a carpenters toolbox, mixed with some DIY tools.  Power drill, portable lamp, felt, carpet knife, cotton wool, even a chisel, and still many other weird and wonderful goodies essential for the job.  Oh, and let me not forget the portable intercom! (I’m talking about the ‘70s here!). 

The area behind the pipes was so far away from the keyboard, the intercom was the only way he could communicate with me to let me know what to do.

This was exciting!!! (Call me odd, as I was only about 9).  The space behind those pipes was tiny to say the least, and the job entailed my dad navigating narrow gangplanks between the pipes, and hoping beyond hope he wouldn’t lose his balance or fall against the pipes.  It was very dark and dusty back there, so I quite admired the fact that he always knew exactly which pipe needed the fiddling – and then still do his thing in the tiniest of spaces.

But for me, it was magical, and instilled this monstrous sense of power.  Putting your foot down on those pedals, and having this blast of foghorn proportions, pierce the quiet sanctity of the church.  It gave quite a rush, to say the least.  That vibration that resonates off every bone inside your body. WOWWWWWW!!!!!!

I loved every second of it.  Press this pedal, pull that stop.  It was exilirating!  Not to mention using an intercom! (did I say that already?!). And it would always be topped off with my dad playing a piece on it afterwards to see that everything was fixed/tuned correctly.

I have to say, this cemented my love for pipe organs.  There is something incredibly majestic and powerful that cannot be translated into words.  It HAS to be experienced – and at FULL VOLUME!!!!

Sadly today, it seems to be becoming more of a rarity as technology develops.  A pity really.  People wont know what they’re missing out on.  My father was wise enough to write a book (as yet unpublished), on organs and tuning and all the other complex “stuff” that goes with it.  And even though he’s in his 70’s, he’s working on getting it out there.  It’s a dying art, and knowledge like that cannot be lost. 

Awesome times indeed.

Thanks dad.