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W hen gordon smith asked who might write a chapter about Cliff for this book of essays, I responded “Could I do it?” without a moment’s thought. For years Cliff and I had talked about recording his stories, his memories, and his ideas as a family project. This opportunity gave us the push to do it, while also moving the boundaries to include professional circles. It was more difficult than I had expected to shift from soulmates to oral history collaborators. All the good conversation topics that have energized our relationship initially evaporated in the face of the microphone, but we eventually relaxed and recorded about ten hours of conversation.1 Of course, my perspective as both a colleague and, for more than two decades, his life partner is a particular one. I know his views rather well and had easy access to the boxes of memorabilia, tapes or CDs, and the cabinets full of scores.2 But I hardly claim objectivity. I can only write this with enormous love and professional admiration, and in a style that is personal rather than academic. Article-length professional biographies often start with authority figures in the relevant art or discipline, with a pedigree of teachers and influences . They often ignore the formative influences, families, and childhood experiences. Unless they are autobiographies, they may ignore the way in which individuals narrate their lives. I want this “portrait” to have some of those often-ignored features. I’ve attempted here to convey not just the historical information, but something of the way in which Clifford Crawley stories his life and his work. 23 Conversations with Clifford Crawley beverley diamond TWO From England to Canada There are magical moments in life and they often come at unexpected times. I think we don’t really want to analyze them too much. Otherwise, the magic might disappear. Clifford Owen Crawley3 was born on 29/1/29—that is, 29 January 1929, a date he likes written as a palindrome with the 29s mirrored4—in Dagenham , on the outskirts of London, England. He describes it as “a bit dreary,” a place where “all the houses were the same.” Most houses in the area were rented in this working-class district. His parents were able to buy a home in nearby Rush Green, not far from Romford, when Clifford was about four years old. Of German origin, his mother, Lottie Becker, came from a large family of bakers. His father, Thomas Owen, was a lorry driver, after serving with distinction in the army in World War I. His father’s father had been a minister in the German-based Catholic Apostolic Church. Cliff’s most illustrious ancestor is arguably a distant relative on his father’s side, Thomas Hill, who invented the postage stamp. While his family history includes tradespeople, clergy, and inventors, Cliff characterizes his beginnings as “working class.” As he chats about his life, I note that he is keenly aware of class culture, but emphasizes a capacity to move across social boundaries; he has an eye for the quotidian , even the seemingly banal; and he pays close attention to turning points, tragic or lucky. His life, as he tells it, has dramatic “magical moments”— and so, as it happens, does his music. Neither he nor his older sister Anne recalls much music in their parents ’ home, though both of them would pursue professional careers in the arts. Cliff recalls his mother picking out tunes on their upright piano, and his lifelong love of radio was inaugurated by the Home Service and Forces Program on the BBC. There he heard the big bands of the day— Stanley Black, Henry Hall, Glenn Miller, and Robert Farnon, the Canadian who was much better known in England than in Canada—as well as singer Vera Lynn. He took piano lessons from a local teacher who routinely fell asleep during lessons and he served as a choirboy in an Anglican church in Romford from the age of seven. He also loved to buy printed music in Romford, or later at Foyles bookshop—still one of his favourite places in London. “My first score was Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony … because that was the cheapest one—only two movements, fewer pages,” he explains. By the age of seven or eight, he had composed his first piece, Andante in G for piano.5 Much later, he became deeply conscious of social class and was attracted to comedians such as Peter Cook and Dudley...

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