Sometimes it seems that we idolize the material things in life that gives meaning to our existence. As an excuse for this misplace adulation of our "domains", we seem to attach them to the gods that we pray to. These gods are usually innocent bystanders.

When one is a young trumpet player, many opportunities to perform in churches present themselves: weddings, the occasional funeral as well as the never ending sequence of Sunday morning services.

I was a senior in high school, when I was the friend of Wieke Andeweg,  the organist for the local Calvinistic church. I don’t know where I met him but I do remember that he once played a foul trick on me when he explained that Coca Cola can be made by mixing some granulated coffee and Eno (selzer for those in the USA) in a glass and then adding water. He was such an earnest liar and trickster, that I tried to make my own Coke several times – each time using different proportions in the mix – before I realized that I had been had, commonly called embarrassment.

Anyway, Wieke was an excellent organist and used the huge pipe organ at a church near to my high school. The church was his god. The huge array of pipes were situated behind the pulpit, while the keyboard console was at the back of the church – the side where the main entrance to the building was as well - just in front of the gallery. I always situated myself on the gallery from where the sound of a trumpet produced a cool echo, especially when god’s flock were not there. It is important for this tale to keep in mind that as one entered the church through the main entrance, one first encountered the organ console just to the left and which was just visible from the gallery. One accessed the gallery via steps situated in the entrance hall, before entering the church itself.

Most important to my participation in godly music was the fact that my school’s headmaster Mr van der Walt was one of the officials of the church. Thus, by playing  regularly at various services seemed a beneficial thing to do for my school career and subsequent professional career. You see, during those years (1965-68), music as a subject at a prominent and exclusive school for boys was unheard of. It was only after many visits to the school that my mother managed to get special permission from the school, the head master, and the the Department of Education, for me to do music as a seventh subject. I had to drop one of the other subject and decided that biology had to go. The thought that I would never have to draw an amoeba, frog’s leg or cell again was probably why the sound of my trumpet had an extra sparkle from there on forward.  Further conditions to my music education were that my parents would be solely responsible for my music tuitions, research and everything that is associated with learning music. The written exams were to be done in the headmaster’s office and the arrayed collection of canes against one of the walls is permanently etched in my mind. Trumpeting in the same church where the headmaster beseeched god, therefore seem like a fortuitous opportunity.

Wieke and I rehearsed together irregularly in the church, and that is how I got to know the person who polished god’s temple – his name is no longer in my memory, and that is not important. We shall call him Janitor. Janitor was a most meticulous person. The dark wood of the pews gleamed, the floors shone and sparkled, and the smell of fresh polish pervaded the air. This being an age when technology was not yet so advanced, Janitor had to put a lot of muscle power into cleaning the temple of his lord. The shininess of the church was Janitor’s god. Now we had three spiritual forces at work in this building – the floor, the organ, and the headmaster.

It should be mentioned that neither Wieke nor Janitor were heavy built, but both being from Dutch parents, had formidable verbal abilities.

The first time we rehearsed Wieke warned me not to venture past the organ console inside the church as this would cause footsteps to appear on the highly polished floor. This would make Janitor most unhappy as footsteps were to be limited to the two meters between the entrance to the church auditorium and the organ console. Wieke had a nifty way of limiting his steps to about two, and elevating himself onto the seat of the organ console. Not wanting to blaspheme against Janitors deity, I avoided he floor all together, and usually climbed the stairs to the gallery without leaving a footstep on the church floor. From up their I could overlook the organ console and was always amazed at Wiekes offbeat swaying on the wooden organ bench. Musicians tend to move when they make music, perhaps as part of the expression, perhaps to get rid of extra energy. Who knows, but it is rarely in time to the music.

On this particular day we were working on Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary (there is no trumpet player alive who has not played the Trumpet Voluntary, or who will soon do so.) At some point, Wieke had the idea of hearing how the trumpet would sound at the front of the church – where the pulpit is situated, and promptly got up from his organ and walked to the front of the church. Oops!! As he walked he left behind him a trail of whitish footsteps on the otherwise gleaming floor.

I blew a few phrases of the Voluntary, and Wieke nodded in satisfaction. However, he now had to walk back to his organ and now there were two rows of footsteps, one in each direction. Already in those years I was more of an observer than a participator in the dramas of life, and I remember thinking “I wonder what is going to happen now.”

My curiosity was answered a few minutes later when, in the middle of the trill on the D - always starting on the upper note, as required for music of the Baroque - the organ suddenly stopped its thunderous accompaniment and an excited voice began uttering a series of words, which I could not comprehend. Soon it sounded like a fight between two yapping dogs. Looking down, I saw Janitor excitedly gesticulating to the floor, shaking his finger and yelling at Wieke. Wieke by now was standing, responding in kind.

Suddenly, silence fell and a hiatus of a few seconds ensued, the two gentlemen stared at each, and with the suddenness of an excited cockerel the janitor brought his fist down on top of the solid wooden top of the organ console. The impact was loud but of course did not damage. Again we had a short hiatus, and then, like a cougar, Wieke leaped from the elevated console on top of Janitor and the fight was on. Two gods had been sinned against that day, and violence was the result.

Alas, it lasted no longer than twenty seconds before Janitor took his leave – no clear winner. Wieke looked up at me and said “shall we start from the beginning?” As I waited for my point of entry into the music following the introductory bars, I wondered if the church's god would be upset by the footprint. After all it would merely glide and hover through the air, and not need to walk on the floor, and therefore would leave no identifiable prints. In any case by next week the floor would be spotless again.

I played the Trumpet Voluntary with extra gusto and performed the trill on D with flourish, starting on the note above, as demanded when performing the music of the Baroque.