Donald Sprinck recalled
Merchiston and a self-absorbed non-games player determined to swim against the tide – oblivious to the fact that he swam like a stone – were a likely recipe for disaster; that disaster was averted was due to some fine teaching, the loyalty of a small number of good friends and, in large part, the influence of DBS.
From the time when I started taking organ lessons with Donald, he became more of a mentor and friend than ‘just a teacher’. What a talent he had, both as pianist, organist and tutor – with additionally a gift for composition. In student years he had played major piano concertos at the RCM under the bâton of Adrian Boult (to whom, memorably, he once introduced me during the interval of an Usher Hall concert). Donald could play anything at sight, transpose it into any other key, and in the case of melodies alter and improve upon the harmony to enable the music to communicate more meaningfully. He was a godly, Christian gentleman, of great patience and compassion. His severe speech impediment, brought on by a sudden fright in his own schooldays, made conversation with him extremely slow and laboured, but during lessons this did not seem to matter, as he would invariably play what he intended to communicate – and in any event, his singing was perfectly normal and unencumbered. He imbued his pupils with an appreciation of the perfection of Palestrina, the purity of form and line of Handel, the strength and beauty of Brahms and, more selectively, the lush harmonic world of Delius (whose Brigg Fair variations he held in high esteem). He encouraged his protégés to try their own hand at composition, so when I penned a somewhat derivative hymn tune, with celtic overtones, instead of ‘knocking’ it (as a lesser teacher might well have done) he praised the effort, and dignified it by writing a choral prelude for organ, based upon my tune – thereby proving that straw can indeed be spun into gold!
Going to Usher Hall concerts or McEwan Hall organ recitals with Donald was always a privilege, because you would get an expert appreciation and evaluation of the performance from him afterwards, thereby sharpening the critical faculty. For some of us, re-inforcement came by way of a highly unofficial (and therefore all the more pleasurable) bite of supper at Crawfords afterwards.
Not everyone knew of Donald’s undeclared passion for steam trains. He was aware that I knew my way around most of the engine sheds of Scotland, so one weekend in my Rogerson East year (it may have been for the ‘Duke of York’s Holiday’) he suggested that we did the ‘Three Lochs Tour’ together. And we did – we caught an early train from Waverley, changing at Glasgow Queen Street for Balloch, thence by steamer to Tarbet, coach to Arrochar, steamer again down Loch Long and into the Holy Loch before disembarking at Helensburgh and back by rail to Edinburgh, after a full and wonderful day. To see him on the open water, so exhilarated – by a non-musical activity, was rare indeed!
After leaving Merchiston, I maintained regular contact with this great and quiet man. Returning in 1972 from a five-year stint in New Zealand I was just in time to see him two last times in Scotland before retirement drew him to Sussex, to be near his sister. However, we remained in close, if all too infrequent, correspondence till the time of his death. I’m sure I am far from alone in recalling him with gratitude and affection.
John Caithness (1956-60)