I could always hear Mrs Cheetham from the corridor of the Victoria Park High School music department. She was either joking around with students who were jamming after school or chatting with her colleagues whom she seemed to regard as family. Every Wednesday afternoon, my mom would drop me off at piano lessons with Mrs Cheetham.
Mrs Cheetham would always sigh as she sat next to me and then explain how busy she had been. She would always be doing something extraordinary, like working on the score for the school play or helping students prepare for theory exams. In addition to the care she had for her students, I cannot recall a single lesson where she did not speak about her children or grandchildren. Her love for her family was so clear and beautiful.
Her passion for both music and teaching was shone through in everything she would do and say. First and foremost, she was a great musician. I could put any sheet music in front of her and she could read it flawlessly. I would often bring sheet music that I had no intention of learning, just because I wanted to hear her play. But, she was also blessed with the gift of being able to teach, and in doing so, nurture and develop the potential in others. I had never come across a woman like her before. I think she worked miracles in my life, even years after I had gone to lessons with her.
In my second year of university, I was struggling with my course work and I snuck into the School of Dance to play piano. I had not touched a piano in a long time, and I had almost forgot what it meant to me. In that moment, I reflected on three lessons that I had learnt from her, and it gave me the energy to get back on the horse and keep reaching for my goals:
Discipline
She expected me to practice every day and go through technical work of scales, arpeggios and other various exercises that would test my finger and wrist strength and flexibility.
“You have got to put in the work, daily”, she would tell me. She could always tell if I had not practiced enough. When I did, I could see her eyes light up and she would challenge me more.
In addition to drilling in me the discipline of daily practice, she was also concerned about how I practiced. Did I just go through each scale half-heartedly, or did I go into different variations of staccato, legato, crescendo or diminuendo? Did I just go through the major and minor arpeggios, or did I also go through the dominant 7th and diminished 7th? She taught me to be disciplined about putting my all into whatever I was doing.
To this day, I have put the discipline she instilled in me into every aspect of my life- work, friendships, exercise, studies, and more. I had never been challenged with discipline in the way that she challenged me, and it shifted my approach towards the way I thought about tasks.
Patience
‘Get comfortable with reading the treble clef, and the bass clef and then slowly put them together.’ She knew that I am an impatient person. I would often get frustrated with myself if I could not read a piece or made frequent mistakes. She would remind me that it does not happen overnight. I cannot just be everything I want to be without putting in the effort.
When I thought that I had mastered a piece, she would put the metronome on half the beats per minute required for that piece and I would play at that speed. She knew that I could play it at the correct speed, and sometimes even faster, but she wanted to make sure that I was giving every bar the texture that it needed. I had to be patient to get through the piece at a gallingly slow speed, but she was sitting with a pencil, taking notes by my side. When I completed the piece, she could point out the parts that I missed because I had rushed it. Her guidance was always valuable, and it ensured that I would be better than I had been before.
Self-belief
As much as she pushed me to practice with discipline and be patient to see the results, she never doubted my capabilities. She believed that I should go for gold in every Eisteddfod, and distinctions in every exam. Mrs Cheetham had the most incredible way of motivating me to do more and try harder, because I can. I always looked forward to music lessons because it built my confidence and I would leave the lesson wanting to go to the nearest piano and give my best.
I wish that I had told her how the lessons she gave me were about so much more than piano pieces. She taught me discipline, patience and most importantly, self-belief. These were the real lessons that I needed.
When I heard about her passing, I wished that they had made a mistake, and I could run over to the Victoria Park High School music department and find her sitting by the piano, playing Dohnányi’s Canzonetta (op. 41 no. 3) with a metronome ticking away in the background. I wanted to hear her tell me that I should have practiced more, which she was always right about. But, mostly, I wanted to walk down the corridor and hear her laughing with the students and colleagues who loved her so much.
Life cannot grant me those moments again, but it has certainly given me the most incredible memories. I found myself looking at the sheet music she guided me through, and noticed how many pencil-scribbled notes she had made on all the pages. I thought to myself, what a beautiful journey.
