Stories

It was at the Banff School of Fine Arts, summer 1972. George was playing for a student at one of the master classes – I forget whether cello, violin, or what instrument; I was an auditor at this particular class. 

Someone, amused, said to me “Look at Dr. Brough!”  There he sat at the piano, with a multi-page piece of music spread out on the piano stand before him – not music with pages that you’d turn, but pages strung out across the width of the stand and beyond. He played, starting with his gaze directed well toward the left and gradually rotating to the far right as the music progressed. (I guess he didn’t have or want a page turner.)

It didn’t faze him a bit to read the music in this way; he never looked down at his hands. Truly a curious phenomenon, I thought.

– SD

One night, the Mendelssohn (this was back in Elmer {Iseler}’s day) received manuscripts of a new piece with multiple divisi to read through. While each vocal section had to follow a single difficult line of the open score, at the piano, Dr. Brough read them all – without a page-turner and while correcting from the keyboard whichever poor, errant second sopranos, first tenors, or fourth basses he heard wandering off the musical path. This kind of read-through was always an exhausting exercise. The professional singers did their level best to lead their choral flocks through the crunch-chords and rhythmically challenging entries; all sections struggled to keep up and find their cues; and Elmer fought nobly to lead the charge from the podium. In the meantime, an oasis of calm, was Dr. George Brough at the piano, reading – and playing – at sight 16 scores of music. At one time.

I will never forget that evening, when, sweat pouring, Elmer called for an early break in the rehearsal. We were all working hard, working well, and mentally exhausted. But, before we rose for our well-earned break, while thanking us for our good work, Elmer pointed out the feat that our Dr. Brough had just carried off. Some of us were so used to his amazing prowess that we had perhaps grown a little too accustomed to it. The level of his virtuosity was – justly – brought to our attention that night and, much to Dr. Brough’s evident chagrin, greeted with awe – along with heartfelt cheers and applause.

Catherine Morrow, Toronto Mendelssohn Choir member

In a year I’ve forgotten – around 1980 – I travelled with George as page turner / stop puller to a large church in a Southern Ontario city. He was there to accompany the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir on the organ, in concert. What music they were performing I’ve now forgotten, alas. The choir, with Elmer Iseler conducting, was situated in the chancel; George was seated at the organ console upstairs in the balcony and to the right. And I of course was perched to his left on the organ bench, endeavouring to keep my feet off the pedals, pull or push stops at any split second as required, turn pages as quickly and unobtrusively as possible, and otherwise make myself invisible.

At the afternoon rehearsal, oh no! – in spite of my efforts to be nothing but helpful, I managed to turn two pages instead of one. A loud SPLATT – it couldn’t be called a chord – spat from the organ as George tried not to play what he saw before his eyes.

Elmer stopped everything. 

Directing his fearsome countenance to the balcony, he thundered:
“Problems with the organ, George??”
George: “Problems with the page turner!”

With that, the whole of the Mendelssohn Choir burst into peals of laughter, while I crawled (virtually) under the organ bench.

Never think that the page turner’s job is without peril . . .

– SD

Throughout most of Elmer’s 33 years with the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir, George Brough was the accompanist.  With a reputation for keyboard accuracy that was legendary, he became the recipient of Elmer’s admiration and respect.  In his own handwriting, Elmer outlined his thoughts about the man on whom he had depended.

Jessie Iseler

George’s astrological sign is Pisces, a water sign. He was born on the North Sea, the east coast of England. Not surprisingly, the sea called him. Holidays were always a return to the ocean, as if something fundamental and absent in him needed to be replenished. We would go many times to the island of Bermuda, to the north coast of Prince Edward Island, to Quebec’s seaside resort Percé.

The first visit to Percé was somewhat accidental: our plan had been to spend a week in the historic city of Gaspé, but after a couple of days we had exhausted its touristic possibilities. On the way there by train I had noticed, with wonderment and fascination, the Percé Rock passing by our window. My suggestion that we go back there for the remainder of our holiday resulted in a few joy-filled days, and a remark from George: “THANK YOU for bringing me here!”

Whichever ocean we found ourselves beside, he would spend long minutes – sometimes half an hour or more – quietly standing just at the water’s edge, tantalizing the sea – daring the waves to almost, but not quite, lick his toes. 

The sea tries to lick his toes; George moves imperceptibly away so as not to get his feet wet. A little game of his, played with the waves.

Late in his career, George spent many hours playing for Suzuki classes at the Royal Conservatory of Music – violins, cellos, flutes. It was in 2005 that he accompanied a tiny and delightful budding violinist, age seven, in recital at the RCM. 

He commented afterward that he should be in the Guinness World Book of Records, as there were eighty years’ difference between the violinist and the pianist . . .

– SD