Recollections of a Trumpet Player

One of the most colourful characters in the whole Town of Mount Royal during our years there was undoubtedly MRHS's Dirctor of Music, Dr Harrison Jones, affectionately known to one and all as "Doc Jones". There was hardly any aspect of music in TMR that Doc Jones was not involved in. As far as I am aware, he was, at different times, organist and choirmaster in each of the Town's Protestant churches, in addition to his untiring activities in MRHS, the local Curling and Country Clubs, and elsewhere. His organizational ability was phenominal and he always seemed to have something going on, yet he was never too busy to stop and chat, or to encourage a fledgling musician.

I shall not attempt to describe Doc physically, since I could not hope to improve on the splendid portait of Doc Jones painted by Marcy Goldman. In fact, I shall not attempt to describe anything that Marcy has already done so well. What follows are my personal recollections of a wonderful human being.

I had the privledge of getting to know Doc quite well, since I started playing the trumpet in the school orchestra (I wonder if we didn't call it a "band" in those days) when I was still attending Dunrae Gardens (grade 6, I think). His son Rick, who was even younger than I was, and I used to attend trumpet lessons together, on Saturday mornings, as I recall. Later on, my sister, Joan, took up the trombone, and my brother, Richard, who became a close friend of Rick Jones, took up the Euphonium.

Susan and Claire at the piano

Looking back, it's amazing to think that we used to put on performances of Gilbert and Sullivan Operas, with student casts and orchestras. Most of the students in the orchestra had never even seen a musical instrument at close range – other than possibly a piano – before they started at MRHS! Even if the performances might not always have been up to professional standards, the important thing was that WE DID IT! Constantly inspired and nudged on by affable Doc Jones.

"Doc" had an easy-going outlook on life. Most choirmasters tear their hair out when choristers that they have been relying on don't show up for the Sunday service, but Doc didn't let this worry him. He simply held his choir rehearsals on Sunday mornings before the service. That way he knew exactly who he could count on to sing at the service, and didn't waste time rehearsing with anyone else.

What we learned about music under Doc Jones's twinkling eyes has been a solace and companion to me throughout a turbulent life. Thanks Doc!

My parents became great friends of Harrison and his wife, Claire, (as they called them – he was always "Doc Jones" to me) and on my infrequent visits to Montreal in later years I sometimes had the pleasure of visiting the Joneses in their house on Norway Road, which – of course – had a special music room, equipped with both a piano and an organ.

Doc Jones's wife, Claire, was also an accomplished musician. She both played and taught the piano. On one of our visits to Montreal from Sweden, where I have lived for the past 25 years or so, Doc and Claire invited Mum, Dad, myself and my two children, Håkan and Susan, to come over for drinks and a buffet. Susan, who was 9 at the time, "just happened" to have her piano book with her. After the preliminaries had been attended to, Claire said, "Come on Susan, lets play some piano." (or words to that effect) whereupon they sat down together at the piano and Susan played through her entire book, with Claire turning the pages. There were tears running down my face afterwards, when Claire said in a hushed voice, "You know, she didn't make a single mistake." It felt as if the torch had been passed on to yet another generation, who will remember the Joneses for the wonderful inspiration that they have been to all of us who have had the privledge of knowing them.