During the primary years, my sister and I were required to add a musical instrument to our education period. This requirement was placed upon us by our mother; the only choice offered to us being the type of instrument we would like to learn to play. We both chose the piano, not out of any careful planning or any real understanding, simply because we had one— Mother playing the piano accordion, and to some extent, the piano herself.

As far as I was concerned, five years of purgatory followed, constantly aware of my contemporaries outside the window playing while I practiced my pieces. When we left school, our mother’s strategy had been realised as music was part of our lives by then. Both my sister and I, reasonably competent pianists, the choice then was left to us to either continue on or do otherwise.

Music was very much an active past-time within our family circle; my aunt and uncle running a small dance band, skilfully arranging music for it themselves. Intrigued by their example, we joined some of our friends similarly interested. Our mother’s wisdom of insisting we learned to play an instrument now came into its own, and we began to generate a repertoire as we moved out into the teenage music scene.

Over the years, both of us have continued to dabble in music, my sister acquiring several keyboards, and myself a new piano. During a particularly traumatic period in my life, I was grateful of my mother’s fore-sight, immersing myself in music for relief. Throughout the nineteen nineties, I occupied myself in creating some tone poems that emulated the pets we had kept in the past. During this period, I was also involved with writing ‘The Cyannian Trilogy’, while on the horizon another project was immerging. As I wrote this fourth book, I was encouraged by my mother to attach my tone poems to it. It is, however, beyond the scope of this introduction to go into any great depths of explanation, but I hope that those who may read the fourth book, ‘Sixty Psychic Years’ will now be aware of my reasons for writing all my books and tone poems.

Undoubtedly, they will never make ‘the Albert’. But my hope is to raise awareness in us all that the wealth of a world is not only measured by the minerals extracted from it. The treasure chest picture on the front of my music album represents what I consider to have been the treasures that have graced my life since childhood. The pieces reflect the characters of our family pets, and I sense their presence whenever I play them. Essentially, I feel they represent all pets. For me, they take me back time and time again to watch these little ones performing impishly.

The jingle of Tabby Sam’s bell playing endlessly with her ball on a string. Old Trampy, a gentle giant in every sense of the word. Bels, Mum’s little miniature poodle, full of mischief and who developed the ability to woof with the ball in her mouth so as not to lose it. Phoebe, sedate and gracious, so lady-like when settling on your lap. Poppy, Mum’s little toy poodle left in my care, very bossy and definitely to be considered as number one. Finally, old Popsy. This piece raises irrepressible nostalgia in me. A dear, clever, tolerant little dog who bore the brunt of an unruly child’s addresses for years. Seen in this picture, he still spans the years to wish me a happy birthday, courtesy of one of the many old snaps my father took of him.

But let us not forget Mother Earth. She remains the underlying purpose for all my submissions and I put this question. Will humanity, at last, realize how she has been abused before it is too late? Walking home from a call-out during an early mid summer’s morning, I was privileged to witness a Gossamer Sunrise; thousands of dew-ladened spider’s webs sparkling in the sunlight. Unfortunately I had no camera with me. The picture used, however, reveals my part of Earth in all her majesty, and leaves me to contemplate over how we must all simply waltz in time with our world.

CJB.