The rehearsal in a small wooden hall in Wentworth was not going well. It was a hot and airless building, and the students were cramped and tired from an all-day bus-ride and little sleep the night before. Their instruments warmed quickly and went sharp, and the students were slow to adjust their tuning. The posture of the students was also lax as they lounged about in their casual clothes.
Joseph Jones would normally stop the band after a few mistakes. However, on this occasion, he moodily wallowed in the disgraceful performance. With fierce sarcasm, he waved his baton through the piece, glaring at any student who thought to stop.
“Onwards, onwards! Don’t any of you dare stop!” Joe called bitterly as the band butchered The 1812 Overture. His English accent always seemed more pronounced w
