Imagine

(Imagine meeting John Lennon. A short story where a young piano-tuner from a sheltered background helps the composer of one of the world's most loved songs.)

Dave waited at the entrance to the impressive white mansion in Weybridge, the heart of London’s stockbroker belt. A distinctly un-stockbroker-like voice was audible through the gleaming panelled door.

"I’m not saying that I’m not doing any more rock and roll! I’m just telling you, like I’ve told other people before – I’m not going to be wriggling me ass at thirty to Twist and Shout." There was a pause during which someone may have been answering back, followed by: "Lemme get the door."

The door opened, and there stood one of the four most famous men in the world.

"What the hell do you want?"

Dave gulped. He had tried to prepare himself for this moment, but for the good it had done him, he could have spent the trip down from London playing tiddlywinks.

"Gosh!… Mr Lennon."

"Yeah, I know my name – who the hell are you?"

"I wasn’t expecting meeting you. I thought you’d have a servant or something."

"It’s his night off."

"But it’s day-time," said Dave, now slightly puzzled.

"Well, he’s must be having a hard night’s day. So what are you after?

"I’m from Steinway’s. The London store sent me."

John was studying him carefully. "What for?"

"We sold you a piano," said Dave. "I’ve come to have a look at it."

"I wish I had an exciting job like that. Why?"

For a ghastly moment, Dave began to fear he had made some kind of mistake. "You said it needed some attention. Can I just say that we’re delighted you chose one of our instruments? The thought that it will be on one of your records – "

"I’m not letting you in just like that," John interrupted. "How do I know you’re not just after an autograph or a lock of me hair?"

"Please don’t worry – I’m not a fan… Well, I am a fan, actually… of your music. I think it’s marvellous. But that’s not why I’m here. We understand you have a problem with a piano we supplied."

"Don’t you have a card or something?"

"We don’t normally carry them. But I’ve this." Dave produced a piece of paper from a pocket and read out: "The piano was a Walnut upright Model Z. It says here you paid just over a thousand pounds for it. I understand from the store manager that you took a liking to it when you learnt that it had been made in Hamburg."

"Yeah, that’s right." John seemed to relax. "You’d better come in. Welcome to Tittenhurst."

"Thank you. May I say Mr Lennon, that it’s a privilege to meet you. We’re really not supposed to say this but I am really quite an aficionado of your music."

John closed the door and started to lead Dave into the depths of the house. "Yeah, well… that’s nice. D’you wanna cuppa tea?"

Dave was surprised by this kind, simple offer and nodded.

"Hey, Yoko!" John called out. "Put the kettle on – lad here needs a brew. What’s yer name?"

"David. Dave… to my friends."

They entered what was apparently a music room. "Right, Dave, let’s get cracking. One piano here, crippled inside."

Dave stared at the piano for a moment before saying anything. "Why have you taken the front off it?"

"Well – you have the lid open on a grand, don’t you? Like the big white grand over there?"

"So – what’s wrong with it?"

"I’ve only gone and lost me goddam glasses down the front of it, haven’t I?"

For the first time since his arrival, Dave felt relieved. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be too difficult after all. "Oh, I see – I’m terribly sorry, sir. I’ll retrieve them for you right away."

"I’m not usually that clumsy. It was actually Yoko. She came up behind me to give me a cuddle. We got a bit carried away and me specs came off. They weren’t the only thing, either."

Dave was startled. "Good Lord! There’s nothing else in there, is there?"

"Oh no," said John. "Just the specs. I wouldn’t bother but every time I play this… what’s this chord? Something starts buzzing down inside. It’s like fret-buzz on a guitar, when you don’t hold the chord down properly. What chord’s that?"

Dave studied John’s fingers on the keys. "Let me see… It’s F6, in that inversion."

"In what? It’s not one of those aeolian cadences, is it?"

"No, Mr – John. An aeolian cadence is – "

"I don’t wanna know what one is. I still think they sound like exotic birds. Finding out would spoil it."

"But you do know chord names, don’t you? Pardon me for asking, but I was just curious."

"That’s alright. I know chord names on guitar. But I’ve been playing that since I was at art school. I’m composing more stuff on piano now ‘cos I don’t know it as well and I surprise meself."

"That sound like a great idea," Dave said. "I’m really pleased to hear you are still writing. I thought perhaps that when The Beatles – "

"Why does nobody think there’s life after The Beatles?" John suddenly became animated. "We weren’t born Beatles. We had a life before we were Beatles and we’ve got one now The Beatles are over. We were just a band that made it really big, that’s all. It was just a dream. The world will go on without us. It’s over. That’s reality."

"Of course. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take the bottom panel off."

"I tried to do that but I couldn’t figure out how it worked. I thought maybe it was nailed on."

"No – there are catches just inside. I can reach down this gap over the top of the panel, and… there we are."

"Great," said John. "Just as a matter of interest, how old are you?"

"I’m thirty. Why?"

"You’re the same age as me! Yet you look twice my age. And the way you talk. Take that stupid tie off for a start. It makes you look like Sir Joe Lockwood. Or Dick James. I don’t know which is worse."

"Very well. But… I’m not sure how – "

"Don’t grow old early. Walk before you try to run. And just relax, man. Hey, Yoko, where’s that tea? Do you fancy a fried egg butty?… "

Some time later, the two of them were reclining on the floor, tea mugs and plates scattered around them. The piano was fixed, the refreshments had been welcome, and Dave was finally beginning to unwind.

"You know your way round a piano," said John. "I’ll give you that. Perhaps you can teach me which end I blow into."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was only joking. How’s your egg butty?

"Ah," Dave laughed. "I’ve never had one before. Best one I’ve ever had!"

John, seeing the joke, laughed back. "So d’you really like me music, Dave? Honestly?"

"Honestly, John? I love it. You create such wonderful images. Some of the chaps at Steinway aren’t convinced, but to me it’s like dreaming outside your head. Specially that one, I am The Walrus. It’s like a Van Gogh painting in music. It’s like you know a dream I’ve had – even if it was a disturbing dream – and you’ve set it to music. How did you do that?

John was suddenly serious. "Dreams you dream together are reality, man."

"Gosh. It’s brilliant. I think you’re a genius."

"Yeah. I am. I know." And then he winked.

Dave hesitated. "I’d love to know how you compose something like Walrus."

John reflected. "Sometimes it’s easy. It just comes to me in little bits. Then I join them up. You hear something and next thing it’s in a song. I loved that noise you made when you brushed all the strings in the piano at once, Dave. How’d you do that?"

"I was leaning on the loud pedal so that none of the strings was damped. All the strings were vibrating at once."

"The world’s biggest chord. It sounded like thunder. I wonder if you could use that somewhere in a song. It’d sound really weird, – not a lot of people would get it. They don’t get that it’s just as good art as anything else. It’s a con – only it’s not a con. If you call it art, then it’s art."

"I suppose it is," Dave nodded. He’d never thought of art like this. "Who’s to say something isn’t art?

"Exactly, Dave. Exactly!" He turned and peered at Dave over his freshly-retrieved spectacles. "I suppose you know all the chords there is?"

"I’ve grade 8 piano but… "

"When we first started playing, before we even became Beatles, we’d travel all the way across town to meet someone who knew a chord we didn’t. Right back when were The Quarrymen, if we heard someone on the other side of Liverpool had a chord they could teach us, we’d get on a bus and go and see him. Just to learn it."

Dave nodded. "But I’m no composer. Not like you."

"Don’t put yourself down. There might be a hit lurking in you right now."

"Well… you’ve got your glasses, John. I think you should find that the buzzing sound has gone now."

"Ta." John leapt up and perched on the piano stool. "Let me just try it. There’s this song I’ve been working on… That’s a C major, I know that one. Oops – got a wrong note there."

Dave was watching carefully. Standing next to one of the world’s two most famous composers while at work was something he would remember till his final hour. "It’s not really wrong, John," he said quietly. "You’ve added a ninth to the chord. You just caught the D with your thumb."

"Is that it? I thought a ninth would make it bluesy, like a seventh. I wanted something a bit softer than that."

"But you’ve left out the seventh. So it does sound, sort of, more dreamy. Debussy might have used it like that."

"C with a ninth added? I wonder if that smart-ass McCartney knows about that."

"I don’t know, John. He might do. Is he a good piano player?"

"He thinks he is." John grimaced. "Specially since that Long and Winding Road. Probably does know a bit more about it than me. So if I play C with a nine then F with a 6. What do you think of that?

Dave listened thoughtfully. "It’s quite nice, isn’t it?"

"I like the idea of a nine," said John talking almost to himself. "I like it being like a dream. Nine is a very special number. I was born on the ninth. I think special things’ll happen, every time the ninth comes round each month. When me and Yoko had our names changed to John Ono Lennon and Yoko Ono Lennon, there’s nine letter ‘O’s’ in our names."

Dave smiled. "And nine letter ‘N’s’"

"N for nine. Nine’s me lucky number. I like that. Lemme try it again. If I just rock me hand, like strumming a guitar softly… What d’you think of that.

Dave could feel the prickle of hairs rising on his arms. "That’s so simple. Yet it’s so beautiful."

"Yeah. That’s going to be me fave rave. Thanks for your help, Dave. I think I’ll do it like that. It does sound better with the nine in."

"It really is lovely," said Dave, drifting into the music. "Peaceful. Uplifting even. What are you going to call it?"

"You’ll have to wait and see, Dave," said John. "It’ll probably be on the next album. Till then, just imagine."

THE END.