Suspended Cymbal Girl and Tambourine Girl
Back in the days, in the saliva-floor band room, we were on the other side of the partition, the side crammed with percussion instruments of all sorts. Timpanis, drum set, suspended cymbal, xylophones, huge chimes, a terribly big gong, endless files filled with old scores, all kinds of drumsticks and mallets, and a basket of random small instruments like castanets, maracas & triangles. We always made mistakes and even at the end of it all my percussive ability was rather pathetic. For four years I couldn't read notes (only rhythm but not do-re-mi) but I made it, evading xylophone parts. Once at an outdoor performance at Raffles City, I unconsciously vulgarly chewed gum throughout the performance and was punished by being made to guard the instruments while everyone gallivanted off during breaktime. Every Monday morning, we had to go early, the only morning we had to play the national anthem and school song for the school at the field instead of it coming through the intercom. When it was over and we had to listen to the boring Monday speech, we all sat on the track and picked at the little red-brown rubber bits. Best part was playing marching songs, they were the most glorious pieces! You felt so wonderfully smart in the uniform, shiny snare drum strapped over your body, marching in time, turning sharply, playing the snappy rhythm. (I still wish I were in a little marching band. We'd wear mad homemade costumes and march through streets playing magic songs) And now, my dear little sister is, lo and behold, in the same cca and same section, using my very first pair of drumsticks, playing from some of the same scores.
Ah Leaping and I, we had nicknames for everyone and laughed till we ached.
