My grandfather's violin lived in the attic, on top of the large slate water tank, in the large Victorian house they owned in Whalley Range, South Manchester, and where I would go and stay as a child each weekend, from the age of about four, until they left for Devon when I was eight or nine. It stayed on top of the water tank when we moved into the house in their place. The violin had not been used since before the Great War. My grandfather had been learning to play until he volunteered, but he suffered an injury to his elbow whilst working in a briquette factory at Dulmen whilst a prisoner of war, and never played the violin again.
When a teenager I took the violin to a shop in Rusholme, named Paul Voigt. He was a violin maker of German origin, and in fact my grandfather's father would chat to him during the Great War, when people of German origin were persecuted. By now the business was run by his son Eric, who I believe is now still alive and ninety-three years old. He made a minor repair to the violin and set it up for me, with a soundpost, bridge and new strings. About fifteen years later had lessons in Exeter from Ben Van Weede, and I enjoyed playing folk tunes on it for several years. The violin is now silent again.
