Mrs. Jackson

I have been reading "The Batchelor Brothers Bed and Breakfast" and the bit where he started piano lessons brought back in all it's misery my years with Mrs. Jackson.
I was eight years old and we had been given an old upright piano. It was full of moths so that when you made a loud noise beside it all the moths would fly out in a panic. This provided my sister and I with many happy hours. The moths were finally dealt with and it was on to culture. I was sent off to a house across the fields for my after school hour with Mrs. Jackson the piano teacher. She looked like Fran Drescher on a bad hair day if Franny was 50 pounds over her prime. She wore a long flowery dressing gown, always the same one and her house smelled of cabbage. She had a little rat dog called Peppy who got poisoned one day ( no surprise there) who added to the drama by biting anyone he met.
At first I went with my pal Nenagh but she bailed after a year and left me to it. Mrs. Jackson spared no punches. If your hands were not placed right you got a whack with a ruler. Then coins were put on the back of your hands. God help you if they fell off. You stood out side the room gazing at the kitchen where the cabbage smells came out in a yellow cloud and had to shout to Mrs. Jackson which note she was playing. She wanted us to have pefect pitch she said. I to this day don't know why. I was in terror all the time that rat dog Peppy might come out and savage my ankle socks.
Once a year we had a recital. My first year I played the Eaton Auditorium in a duet with Nenagh who froze when she saw the audience. It is hard to play a duet by yourself. The next year it was in a living room some where, where I decided to riff on my little piece of Chopin much to Mrs. Jackson's chagrin. I thought it was nice.
I plodded on in misery for a while longer when it occured to me that I really did not have to do this. I think it was the first time I had ever said no to my parents. The mothy piano vanished shortly after and my sister got a keyboard to learn on and a hunky young man who taught group lessons in the school across the road. Some people have all the luck.