Being
the younger brother, Rory had instructed me as to how I should
behave in the event that he would go into the store and ask
the owner, Michael, for a better look at the instrument. My
sibling informed me, that possibly he may want to hold the
guitar and see how it felt to hold a 'Stratocaster'. Basically, I was
to keep my gob shut and nod in agreement if called upon to do so. I
had been trying to get back into my brother's 'good musical books',
having been fired by him from our duo (ala the Everly Bros.) for
picking an argument with him on stage.
make sure the path to our shared
bedroom was clear of adults. In the room, Rory slowly opened the case.
I was stunned at the beauty of it all from the orange velvet lining,
to the compartment with all the extra's. I wasn't allowed to touch
the guitar and had to give my word of honour to Rory, who would give
the matter consideration and might let me hold it at some point,
provided that I stick to my promise. So as not to be obvious, the
guitar was to be secreted under my bed, and if it was
spotted, the guitar was being minded for one of the fellows in the
Fontana. Each day when Rory wasn't around, I would slip the case out
from under the bed, open it up and gaze at the contours of the
instrument until I would hear someone coming, but there was no
'touching' of the guitar. I became addicted to this daily ritual, but
I now realise that it was the aroma from bottle of polish was my
hang-up. "Please can I polish your guitar" I would often
ask of my brother, "No, you're not to touch it" he would
reply. |
Mailing & Discussion List ![]() |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Forward to next article |