Bass-drumming Blues

DAILY BYTE

The format of today’s BDC will be a little different. I will simply share a humorous personal anecdote, and then tomorrow I’ll offer some theological reflection on it. This story is a reminder to me that every experience of life can grow us in our understanding of ourselves and God, if we choose. So here’s my story:

A few weeks after arriving at Kearsney College as a scholar way back in 1985, I discovered, to my dismay, that I had been drafted into the Kearsney College Cadet Band. This was a calamity of monstrous proportions. I knew straight away that a bunch of awkward, pimply teenagers butchering ‘The Green Berets’ while trying to keep in step and in line lacked a certain ‘something’ when it came to spectator appeal.

Especially for the young women from St Mary’s who would come and watch the jocks play rugby or waterpolo, but were not known to drool over a marching tuba player, no matter how skillful he might be.

To make matters worse at the first band practice I was issued with my instrument … a bugle. For the uninitiated let me assure you that a bugle is not the most exciting instrument. It can play the grand total of 5 different notes – if you’re good. For us, we could manage just 2. A ‘C’ and a ‘G’. And so for the first 6 months every single tune we played was scored for bugle with just 2 notes. The most exciting went something like this: Baa Bah, Baa Bah, Baa Bah ... Bah Baa. (Can you feel my pain?)

But then, mid-way through that year, as I was on the verge of developing some serious bugle-induced personality disorder, a strange twist of fortune changed my destiny. The fat boy who had been playing the big bass drum developed a severe case of shin splints or ingrown toe-nails, or something, and could no longer continue in that distinguished role. Immediately I volunteered my services, and was accepted. This was much better than the bugle. On the bass drum I got to make much more noise. I learnt how to do those fancy twirly things with the drum sticks. I even got to wear this seriously impressive leopard skin. Where were those St Mary’s girls now?

And so it was in the November of that year, when Natal Command received the Freedom of Pietermaritzburg, that the Kearsney College Cadet Band, with me as its bass drummer, was invited to lead the parade through the streets of Pietermaritzburg. It was quite a nerve-racking prospect. As the bass drummer I would be the one responsible for beating out the time for the hundreds of soldiers marching behind us. But I had practiced all the twirls and fancy flourishes and so I was quietly confident that I would make quite an impression as I marched past the mayor and other dignitaries and the admiring masses of Pietermaritzburg.

The parade was at 12 noon on a blistering hot November day. I was in full battle regalia, with my harness pulled as tight as possible to carry the considerable weight of the big bass drum, and wearing this hot leopard skin. As we stood to attention for about 20 minutes before the start of the parade, in the sweltering humidity of a summer’s day in Pietermaritzburg, I started to feel decidedly woozy. I wasn’t the only one.

In fact, one of the trombone players even fainted and missed the whole parade, which wasn’t actually such a bad thing because he was very short, and having a very short trombone player in a men’s marching band is never a good idea!

On the stroke of 12 noon the parade began. The Regimental Sergeant Major barked out a command and we started marching, with yours truly giving the beat. And that’s when it happened. I don’t know if it was because of the heat, or that sweltering leopard skin, or because my blood sugar levels had dropped, or maybe it was because my harness was too tight and had pinched a nerve or cut off the blood supply, but as soon as we started marching I discovered that I had absolutely no control of my left arm whatsoever. It had gone completely lame and just dangled by my side in a paralysed, spastic kind of way.

I’m sure you can appreciate that this was not a good thing. In a state close to panic I managed to hitch the spastic arm onto the bass drum, and for the rest of the parade I had to beat out double time with my good arm. Needless to say there were no flashy frills or fancy twirls from me that day. No dazzling displays of bass drumming brilliance. Just double quick time with one arm. My friends told me afterwards that it was actually quite impressive, in a Duracell Bunny kind of way.

Tomorrow, I’ll share some reflections based on that story.

PRAY AS YOU GO

Loving God, thank you that in all the stories of our lives, whether they be funny or sad or interesting or dull, you are there and your presence can be known. Thank you. Amen