The Sweet Sound of the Dolly Suite - A Biographical Note by Ken Cooper

Are You Sitting Comfortably? Then I’ll Begin.

If there was a “Desert Islands Discs” for unknowns, and Kirsty asked me to choose the eight records I’d take with me if cast away, record number one would be the first music I was ever aware of - The Berceuse from Faure’s The Dolly Suite. It was the theme for the radio programme “Listen with Mother” in the 1950’s. I was under five, and had not yet started school. The fond memories of those days at home with my mother have stayed with me, to be brought to mind whenever I hear this music. If I’m not careful I can get quite maudlin at the thought of those most innocent of times.

I was the fourth of six children. My two younger sisters did not come along until I was six, so for these early years I was the baby of the group of four. Through necessity my mother had to work for much of her married life and I was taken to a childminder from about the age of four. Until then, though, I had my mother all to myself during the day. I really did “listen with mother”. We had no television, so the wireless was the centre of our entertainment. Mrs Dale’s Diary, The Archers, and Lift Up Your Hearts were regular listening. I can still smell the shiny linoleum that covered the floors in our little “prefab”.

Eventually my mother went back to work. She would walk me to the childminder on her way to the factory. I loved my Auntie Queenie. She wasn’t related, but that’s what I called her. She had five children of her own, ranging from Raymond, who was doing National Service, to Sandra, who was a toddler. They were a happy family, and I was made very welcome. Auntie Queenie and I would go shopping every day – to the butcher, the greengrocer – it’s what housewives did then.

I don’t know why the Orslers were not as economically stretched as us. Uncle Wally was a labourer who worked on the collier boats that disgorged their black cargo at Cory’s Thames-side wharf. He was a kind, salt-of-the-earth character who clearly loved his wife and family very much. I would hear the factory hooters announcing the end of the working day, and soon Uncle Wally would be among the hordes of men heading home, faces black as miners. I would stand in the kitchen and watch him washing his face, hands, and arms under the running cold tap at the sink. I’d still “Listen with Mother”, but now it was usually alone, with Auntie Queenie going about her household duties. The Orslers had a television, so during the afternoon I would watch Bill and Ben, Andy Pandy, and Rag Tag and Bobtail. I also exercised along with Eileen Fowler, the original keep-fit Green Goddess, in black and white! She would always encourage her audience to stretch that little bit further, and I really thought that she could see me slacking.

It was not until my forties that I learned of the identity of the Berceuse. For years I would hear the occasional snatch on the radio, and I’d strain to hear the announcer give away its name and composer. This last year I’ve heard it played more times than in the whole of my sixty-odd year life. Admittedly I listen to more classical music now than I ever have, mainly because I have Classic FM playing all day for the benefit of the cats in our cattery.

There seem to be more arrangements of the piece now. I’ve heard it played on the harp and the guitar. I recently found the sheet music on the Internet. To my surprise I discovered it was a duet, for four hands on one piano! I do have a reasonably good piano but I only tinker about on it. I attempted one of the parts of the Berceuse – the treble, where both hands play the theme in unison an octave apart. I then realised why the piece has such a unique voice. I could buy the recording, and now of course, with the internet, I can watch videos of various couples playing it. But the music and its effects on me are so precious I must be careful not listen to it too often.  Oh, and the one record I’d save if a wave threatened to wash my collection away, Kirsty? No contest!

Ken Cooper 2010