About Us

Roger Birnstingl FRCM, provides a fascinating account of his, and his mothers, time at the College...

"My mother, Ursula Carr, was a student at the RCM in 1913-1915. She learnt the piano from the highly competent but desiccated and domineering, Howard-Jones with whom she had been studying privately. Here is what she had to say:

"The Royal College of Music was an unstimulating establishment at that time. Twin staircases to left and right of the entrance lobby were labelled ‘Male Pupils’ and ‘Female Pupils’. Most of those who trod the ‘Female’ staircase were heading for a job such as music mistress at £40 a year in a private school in a coastal resort. Those on the Male side were up on an organ scholarship, training to be choirmasters or were learning to scrape, blow down or bash instruments in the ill-paid orchestras. There were also singers of both sexes whose musicianship was the lowest of the lot.

Howard-Jones’ RCM pupils were, with one exception, female and very few were bright. He took us all in a bunch together so everybody was present at everyone else’s snubbing. No work was presented at a lesson played from the copy; it had to be memorized. For me, the meaning of the music became totally submerged in anxiety lest I forget my notes. If I succeeded in reaching the coda without a memory lapse, my mind would reach out for the final chords as a swimmer who has dived too deep, longs to break surface and breath again. Usually I did not get there but half way through would stumble, panic and stop. ”I’m so sorry, I can’t remember that bit”. “Right! Take it back and learn it. Now who’s next?” All delight in producing the sounds, all joy in the music and the understanding of it, deserted me whenever I was called upon to perform. Normally I was excitable and much given to roaring with laughter, but when seated at the keyboard in any company where I was asked to play, I became a tensed-up mouse.

‘Possibly there was a corporate student life concealing itself somewhere in that late Victorian building; possibly there were even people given to tweaking the nose of authority, capable of fomenting student riots, or writing rumbustious compositions, even of walking down the wrong sex of staircase. But if so, I never found it." 

Benjamin Britten, at the College in the ‘30s, was none too enthusiastic either. I myself, in the early ‘50s, found it considerably changed for the better. I still remember walking down those corridors on the way to my first lesson with Lance Dossor. Already unnerved by the sounds of people practicing Brahms and Chopin concertos, I introduce myself to my professor. “So what would you like to play, Roger?” I chose the Italian Concerto which I had played recently on the BBC for a programme of music in schools. On getting to the end of the first movement I waited, expecting some remark from Mr Dossor. Nothing. My left hand comes up to start the second movement; “Roger, you have a second instrument, don’t you?” I admitted to playing the bassoon. “Well my advice to you is to take that more seriously” How right he was as I could never have been other than a poorly paid teacher albeit in a coastal resort where at least I could have been able to indulge my passion for sailing. From then on we got on marvellously and I really enjoyed my lessons. Later I went to the superb Frank Merrick who never expected me to play anything to ‘concert standard’, as we used to say. Practically every week he would suggest I had a look at a new Beethoven sonata, Scriabin, Chopin or whatever and I got to know an immense amount of repertoire.  

And of course, I did take the bassoon very seriously. When I starting to learn the instrument during WW2 there was little encouragement for young players; no National Youth Orchestra (founded in 1948) and certainly no county youth orchestras which started to be created only in the 1960s. How much I would have loved to have spent at least some of the school holidays on music courses and having the chance to meet other young players ! There were no publications, no newsletters arriving in the post and telling one how to make reeds, where to buy music and of the music courses to be had in England and abroad. Things are so different now and the possibilities for budding players are infinite.  

But more than anything it is the colleges of music that have changed and allow young musicians to develop their talents as never before. Just to read one issue of Upbeat is to realize what an immense amount of activity there is in the College and how student life is really dynamic with so many outlets for real talent."  

Roger Birnstingl FRCM (RCM student 1950-1955)

Brenda Bunyan (née Spicer)remembers her College days...

"After having a year’s lessons with Franz Reizenstein, I was fortunate enough to study with Kathleen Long at the RCM from 1950 to 1954. She was a most inspiring teacher, using some of the Matthay methods and had a gentle, charming personality. She often demonstrated by performance rather than words and if you had a good ear (as I apparently did) it was easy to emulate her ideas. Through her, I obtained a piano teaching post in a boarding school inNatal, where she gave a series of concerts during the winter months. Imagine my amazement, when on holiday in Salisbury, I saw Miss Long alighting from a taxi! This resulted in me becoming her ‘agent’ for the Pietermaritzburg recital and she also graciously gave a short recital at the boarding school. She also owned a small cottage at Heydon, in the depths of Hertfordshire, where myself and my mother were invited to tea, enjoying crumpets and honey. After many years as a concert pianist, Miss Long devoted much time to French chamber music. She once said ‘Never be a concert pianist – it’s a lonely life’. Her teaching has given me a lifetime of pleasure."

 

We were recently contacted by alumna Muriel Fielder, who graduated from the College in 1932 and is now 100 years old. Muriel shares some of her memories of the College with us below:

“I don’t know anyone at the RCM now as I left in 1932. I was there for the teachers’ course and piano. My best memories are of being in the Royal Choral Society with Dr Malcolm Sargent and acting in Hiawatha and Elijah at the Royal Albert Hall. I remember the fine actors: Elsie Suddaby, Peter Pears, Harold Williams, Heddle Nash, Lilian Stiles-Allen and Muriel Brunskill among others. I can still remember some of the words of the scores. Unfortunately I am now deaf and cannot hear music; also my voice has gone so I cannot sing in tune – all of which I miss sadly. Years ago I left my autograph album with the RCM Library, with many notable names that others might like to see. I also remember the wonderful Museum, and lecturers Vaughan Williams, Herbert Howells and Walford Davies.”

Cecil James came to the RCM in 1930 to study bassoon. In this extract from his biographical notes he relives some of his fondest memories... 

"I suppose it was a kind of liberation when my Father finally pinned me down to learning to play the bassoon. I had never really worked hard at anything before – I attended school but cannot remember really trying to do anything there.  

But after all the times I had said I wanted to be a musician – here my Father called my bluff. I had studied piano for some years but was not a good player – lack of practice I suppose. But on this particular day my Father came home at lunch time with a new bassoon which he had been given by the makers. He announced that Trinity College of Music had a scholarship for bassoon the following year – if I was interested! 

My brother Leslie at this time was in his third year as a bassoon scholar at the Royal Academy of Music, and he was my hero, thus I felt to please him I must do well on the bassoon – and for the first time in my life I really applied myself and worked hard. One year after my Father had given me my first bassoon, I won a bassoon scholarship at Trinity College of Music, and at the age of 16 I said farewell to school and submerged myself in the wonderful world of music college – how I loved it! 

My Father was my teacher and sometimes I would argue with him – not often, but when I won my place at Trinity my Father became my Professor. He explained to me that as far as he was concerned when it came to official lessons at Trinity I was just another pupil – do as you are told and no “talk back”. Quite right!  But on my first lesson at Trinity I forgot myself and argued with him. Only about ten minutes of my hour’s lesson had passed, but my Father said “That’s enough. You do not argue with your Professor! That’s the end of the lesson – go home and tell your Mother why you are home early”! He then stalked out of the room. My Father never mentioned the incident again – and I never argued with him again during my “official” lessons at Trinity. 

I have never forgotten that incident. Music is a very disciplined art – a good symphony orchestra is as disciplined as a good guards regiment – not an imposed discipline, but a self imposed discipline. That is what Dad was telling me when he brought my first official lesson to an abrupt end.  

My bassoon lessons continued and after one year my Father decided that I should try for an Open Scholarship at the Royal College of Music. I cannot remember what pieces I played, but I do remember that on the examining board were Sir Malcolm Sargent (then Dr Sargent) and the Principal of the RCM, Sir Hugh Allen. I suppose I must have played something on the piano to the examiners and satisfied them that I had some knowledge of harmony etc, and at seventeen years of age I was granted a scholarship. It must have pleased my Father – he had won his bassoon scholarship to the RCM way back in 1889 – in fact he was the first bassoon scholar at the College. 

With principal study lessons, orchestral rehearsals, harmony lessons, choral classes, and lectures on various musical matters one had quite a busy schedule.  But oh, the glories of first orchestra – never will I forget the first rehearsal on that Friday afternoon fifty years ago. We rehearsed Brahms Symphony No1 and Dr Sargent was the conductor. I don’t think I had heard this wonderful music before, and I was stunned by the beauty and majesty of it. 

Dr Sargent ruled his orchestra with an iron hand – on one occasion we were reading through Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony – in the third movement there is a difficult solo passage for the first bassoon in a syncopated rhythm. The first bassoon could not get the rhythm – Dr Sargent went to the piano and demonstrated to the player how it should sound, then we tried it with orchestra and it was still a disaster. Dr Sargent returned to the piano with another patient explanation – another try with the orchestra – and still the passage did not go well. He remained quite cool but addressed the bassoon player thus: “You are an extremely dull fellow – I shall waste no further time on you”. How thankful I was to be only second bassoon and to escape this withering verbal blast! But it was a way of pointing out to the young players in the orchestra that the world of music is quite a tough world – it has just got to be right – and first time. I later became first bassoon in all the College orchestras – I think Dr Sargent approved of me, and was very kind and helpful to me. 

I loved my years at the Royal College of Music.  My father gave up his professorship –and his place was taken by Ernest Hinchcliff who many years before had been a pupil of my uncle, E. F. James – Uncle Fred. Mr Hinchcliff was a good bassoon player, of course, and a kind and helpful teacher. But so often when I would ask him some question about the bassoon, playing or something, he would say “I think you should ask your Dad”. He was well aware that Dad had been a really great player. And of Course Dad was always so willing to give me any help or advice I needed. I was so lucky to have such good parents, and can only hope I have been worthy of them. 

Sir Hugh Allen was Principal of the RCM – an austere man, but a man who seemed to know all about each individual student. He was a very fine musician and administrator. The Bursar, Mr Polkinhorne, was always around keeping an eye on everything, and woe betide the student who was late for any orchestral rehearsal – as the various orchestras assembled Mr Polkinhorne would stand on the steps of the entrance of the College Concert Hall, gold watch in hand.  

Soon after my arrival at College I took a moment or so to look around me – and I saw a very beautiful young lady by the name of Natalie Caine in the oboe department. She was and is a very good oboe player and a superb cor-anglais player – later to make history as the first female to be cor-angalis in the London Symphony Orchestra. I was a very callow youth but somehow forced myself to speak to her - I think I invited her to take tea with me in the student canteen. At 2 pence a cup I could just about afford it – and at the time there was a chocolate confection around called a “Buzz-Bar” – I loved them, and so did Natalie, so we met on common ground. Some years later we were married – and married we still are after 42 years, with three daughters and four grand-children to prove it.”