The historic 500-seat hall was packed, and as many people again had been turned away. The manager was quoted as saying that he could have filled the house twice over. Bill Pleeth and Jackie had chosen a very challenging programme, including an unaccompanied Bach suite, sonatas by Handel, Brahms and Debussy, and some dances by de Falla. Despite my pounding heart, I felt immensely proud when Jackie strode onto the platform. She tuned, slipped into her extraordinarily concentrated world and began the first work: the Sonata in G minor by Handel. Then, to my utter astonishment, she began playing out of tune. My heart missed a beat. What had happened? Jackie so rarely played out of tune. Soon it became clear that there was something seriously wrong with one of the strings. Suddenly she stopped, and rose to her feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. My string has broken and I’ll have to go and change it. Please excuse me.’ She left the platform, changed the string, swept back and started again, as though nothing had happened. The audience was captivated. I will never forget how deeply moved I was by her that day. She played as she had always played but somehow, in that environment, and with her beautiful rich ‘brown Strad’, seemed more impressive than ever. The music flowed as if she and her cello were one being. There were no emotional or technical barriers and she communicated without inhibition. She and her cello were revealing her true nature through music. For Bill Pleeth, her performance was more than he had ever dreamed possible. He said: 'The perfect marriage between real passion and an innocent reverence. It was a spiritual not just a physical thing. She let each piece live so completely. People were practically crying.' << less