THE ACCORDION.

Phil, a tall, well-built adolescent, sauntered along the lane that led from the farm to the village. It was summer and the hedgerows were full of flowers. Birds wheeled above him and, in the fields on either side, were flocks of sheep
and herds of cattle. It was a beautiful day.

Armed with a shopping bag and a list, he was on his way to the shop for his mother. It was her baking day and she was running out of essential ingredients.

As he entered the village, a sound stopped him in his tracks. In the market place, a crowd had gathered. The reason was right in the centre, a white-haired man playing an accordion. Phil, fascinated, edged his way through the crowd to the front where he could see and hear better. The man finished his concert, stood up and bowed. The crowd dispersed but Phil remained, transfixed. The man smiled at him and said "I am playing at the village Summer Ball on Saturday. Why don't you come?"

The shopping was swiftly done and Phil raced home. "Mum" he shouted as he hurtled through the house. "There's an accordion player in the village. He was fantastic, really great. He is playing at the Summer Ball on Saturday. Can we go?" His mother smiled "I expect so" she said, "I'll speak to your dad."

On Saturday evening the whole family set off for the village. The market place was crowded. A local band played and couples dancing filled the centre of the square. Friends greeted friends. The local pub was doing good business, extra tables had been set up and more staff taken on for the occasion. Phil joined his own friends but tried not to move too far away from the little stage. He was waiting for the accordion man.

He finally appeared to a great round of applause. Music, such as Phil had never heard, flowed effortlessly from his instrument. As he played, the man watched the adolescent who observed him so intently.

When he had finished, he beckoned Phil over. "M name is Stan" he said, "What's yours?" Phil came back down to earth with a bump and said "Phil."

Stan asked him why he seemed to so enjoy the music. Phil replied "It's like a whole orchestra in one instrument! The music is wonderful!" Stan nodded, "It is" he said, "would you like to learn to play?" Phil gulped. "Let me talk to your parents", Stan continued.

Phil anxiously hunted them down, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement. His father said "Phil slow down! You are losing me!" Pulling his bemused parents along to where Stan waited, Phil explained as best he could.

Stan, seeing the bewildered expression in Phil's parents eyes, hastened to introduce himself. He explained that he had retired from playing professionally. For his own pleasure he now spent his summers playing at balls, country dances and in village squares. He handed them his business card. Phil, he continued, seemed keen on the instrument and, while he was in the area, he could teach him the rudiments. Phil's father explained that he was a farmer and that Phil's summer holidays were spent helping on the farm. Phil begged for lessons when the day' chores were done.

Stan soon found that Phil learned quickly, that he was a natural for what was a complicated instrument. The summer passed all too quickly.

When the autumn came, Stan returned to his home in the south. Phil ,started his last year at school.

The year sped past and, in the spring, Phil had a letter from Stan, saying that he'd be back in the area and had a few gigs booked. One day while he was in the village Phil heard a flurry of accordion music and found Stan standing beside him. Arrangements were made for more accordion lessons. This time, Stan had a surprise for Phil. He had brought another accordion with him. Phil could learn and practice on it and play with Stan at local gigs.

As the summer wore on, Phil made great progress and became more confident. When the time came for Stan to return to his home in the south, he left the other accordion with Phil.

One day, early in the spring of the following year, Phil received a letter from Stan. He had had a bad winter. He had bronchitis that he couldn't seem to shake off. He wouldn't be able to come back that summer. Phil wrote back, full of concern for his friend. He arranged to go and visit him. He found Stan looking frail and thin, but delighted to see him. They talked for hours, Stan interested in Phil's progress. He had been taking accordion lessons in a nearby town and was now a popular player in his area. The local band had included him in their ranks. They were much in demand for social functions as well as gigs. Stan beamed with pride. He had been right from that first day. The boy had talent. Phil promised to keep in touch regularly by phone.

Then one day tragedy struck. Phil was at his friend Tim's house, discussing arrangements for Tim's wedding at which the band had been asked to play. Phil had left his car outside Tim's house with the accordion on the back seat, something he never did. He always locked it in the boot. When he came out his car had been stolen.

He walked back to the village to report the theft. The police were sympathetic but not very hopeful.

The wedding was a mere two weeks away. Not only did he not have a car but he had lost Stan's accordion. He phoned him and told him of the theft. His old friend was more distressed for him than for the loss of his instrument, but it hit Phil badly.He barely ate and hardly slept.

The wedding day dawned bright and clear. Large numbers of friends and family gathered for the occasion. At the end of the reception the band gathered on the stage, getting ready for the evening's entertainment. Phil watched them sadly.

Suddenly Tim appeared carrying a bulky parcel. He called to Phil "this came for you." There was a hush. Phil ripped off the paper. There in all its glory was Stan's own accordion, with a note from his friend.

That evening Phil played as he had never played before, for the wedding party certainly, but most of all for his friend.