When I was about 6 and a half, my parents were given a piano. I am not sure why: it was my grandmother's piano but she had died several years before. Whatever the reason, we now had a piano. It was one of those beautiful Victorian pieces of furniture with marquetry roses and candle holders. I loved it, but of course, someone had to actually use it. The best piano teacher in our little town was an elderly lady called Miss Dinsdale. She lived all alone, except for her cats, in a big old house on the Avenue. She must have come from a well-to-do family but I never knew anything about her. My father knew her when he was a teenager apprenticed to a garage. One day every summer, he was summoned to the Dinsdale house. He had to take their lovely old car off its bricks and replace the tyres and put some petrol in. Then the two Misses Dinsdale would drive to the beach for the day. My father would go back the next day to take the tyres off, siphon the remaining petrol, and put the car back on the bricks. They only used the car for one day every year. When I first started to learn to play the piano, Miss Dinsdale employed two or three other teachers, so I was taught first by a younger woman. Miss Dinsdale would bring her a cup of tea and some biscuits halfway through the lesson. My teacher would always give me the gingersnap biscuit. I can remember that, but not her name! Miss Dinsdale was elderly and the house became too much for her. All but one of her teachers eventually had to go, with the one that was left working as a self-employed teacher and renting a room. The upper storey was turned into a flat and rented out. But all the cats stayed! What was Miss Dinsdale like as a teacher? She was terrifying! She was a small, scrawny woman with fingernails like talons. If a hapless young pupil made too any wrong notes, those talons would dig into his or her hands. And she shouted when she was angry; and she was often angry. But the odd thing was, I loved her. She knew exactly what kind of music each pupil liked to bring out the best in them. I did well in the exams under her tutelage. And when she was not being driven mad by wrong notes, she was a lovely person. When I was 14, my family moved to New Zealand. We did not take the piano with us, but my parents bought another, not as elegant or as pleasant to play. I had a new teacher too and one I could not get on with. She did not have Miss Dinsdale's temper or her talons, but she was not half as good the teacher. She organized a concert every year to show off her pupils. I hated it, but I was given no choice, I had to take part. She seemed to have no understanding of how to treat individual pupils so we were all treated exactly alike, regardless of temperament or ability. If a pupil was naturally talented and would reflect well on her, then she was pleasant. If a pupil was like me, someone who only wanted to learn for their own pleasure, then she was sharp-tongued and impatient. I managed to persuade my parents to let me stop the lessons, but I did not stop playing for myself. I have Miss Dinsdale to thank for my love of classical music. She introduced me to Bach, Beethoven and my favourite, Greig. It is a love I have never lost. Sadly, Miss Dinsdale died many years ago and I regret that I never got the chance to thank her. So I would like to say it now, thank you Miss Dinsdale and bless you.