My earliest memories of music are of listening to Mum’s broadcasts. The wireless was on the sideboard and I remember Gran’s obvious excitement as she hoisted me in her arms and gently settled me next to it. ‘Come on Hilary, we’re going to listen to Mummy playing the piano.’ Gran hushed me when the announcer said: ‘Today’s recital will be given by a young English pianist, Iris Greep, in a programme including Bach, Schumann and Brahms.’ Listening to Mum on the wireless was a constant source of wonder to me: I knew it was important, and I knew it was Mum playing as I had heard her practising those pieces many times before. Sometimes I could hear her breathing, some breaths deeper and noisier than others., Everything in house came to a standstill and I was aware of a sense of almost holy awe. Gran sat completely still in the chair. I wondered how on earth Mum and the piano could fit inside such a small box – a thought that puzzled me for years. She seemed so close to me that I expected to see her climb out of the wireless when she had finished. << less