The Violin That Kept Playing a personalized book with your child as the hero

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, Grandpa climbed the creaky ladder to the attic and came down carrying something long and dusty. He laid it on the rug, blew the dust off with a great *whoosh*, and opened the latches. Click. Click.

Inside, on a bed of faded blue velvet, lay a violin the colour of warm honey.

"I played this when I was your age," said Grandpa. "It has been waiting a long time for someone new. Sam, it's yours now."

Sam touched the strings very gently. *Plink.* The sound seemed to sparkle in the air.

That same week, at music class, Mr Okafor tapped his baton on the music stand. "The town's winter concert is coming," he said, pointing to a poster of a golden lantern. "Our children's orchestra will play. And the opening melody, the very first notes of the whole evening, will be played by…" He looked at Sam. "You."

Sam's heart did a little skip.

At home he set the sheet music on the stand, tucked the violin under his chin and lifted the bow. The beginning of the melody was slow and gentle, and he loved it straight away. But in the middle there was a fast part, a quick run of notes that tumbled down like a waterfall. Sam's fingers tried to keep up. They tangled. They slipped. The violin let out a long, terrible *SCREEEECH*, and Biscuit the cat shot under the sofa with her ears flat.

Sam tried again. *Screech.* And again. *Squeak.*

At last he laid the violin back in its case. "It's too hard," he said. "My fingers just can't go that fast."

At the next lesson, Mr Okafor listened to the fast part and nodded slowly. "Of course they can't," he said. "Not yet. Nobody plays a hard passage fast on the first day. Here is what real musicians do." He took a pencil and drew little lines across the music, cutting the waterfall into tiny pieces. "Learn one little piece at a time. Play it as slowly as a tortoise first. When it's easy, play it a little faster, like a rabbit. Then join the pieces together."

He set a wooden metronome ticking on the table. *Tick… tick… tick…* "This will keep the beat for you, like a heart."

So every day after school Sam practised. Not the whole melody, just two or three little pieces. Slowly, with the metronome ticking like a sleepy tortoise. Grandpa sat in his armchair, listening with his eyes closed and tapping one foot on the carpet. When a wrong note squeaked, Grandpa didn't frown. "Aha," he said. "That note is a clue. It's telling you exactly where to practise."

On a chart on the wall, Sam stuck a star for every piece he learned. Day by day the tortoise became a rabbit, and the little pieces joined up into one long, shining run.

Then came the first rehearsal with the whole children's orchestra. Sam was so excited that he played the melody faster than everyone, and louder than everyone, until the music sounded like a tangle of string.

His friend Lily, who played the cello beside him, leaned over and whispered, "Listen to us too!"

Sam listened. He heard the cellos humming low, the flutes floating high, the drum keeping time. He played a little softer, and a little slower, until his violin fitted in among them like the last piece of a puzzle. And suddenly the music was beautiful. Not his music. Everyone's music.

On the night of the concert, the hall glowed with warm golden lights. Sam stood at the front of the stage in his blue velvet concert outfit, and his hands trembled a little. He took a deep breath. He found Grandpa in the audience, smiling, and he lifted his bow.

The slow, gentle beginning floated out over the hall. Then came the fast part, and Sam's fingers ran down it like a waterfall, just as he had practised. He was nearly at the end of the solo when —

*PING!*

A string snapped and curled loose from the violin.

The whole hall went silent. Sam's heart thumped. For one second he wanted to stop.

But he remembered all the slow, careful practice. He knew the melody so well now that he could hear it inside his head. So he kept going. He moved his fingers to the three strings that were left and played the melody on them instead. Behind him, Mr Okafor nodded, the orchestra leaned in, and they followed him all the way to the last note.

When the music ended, there was a moment of silence. Then everyone in the hall stood up and clapped and cheered.

"Real musicians," said Mr Okafor, beaming, "keep playing even when something goes wrong. Tonight you were a real musician."

Sam looked out at Grandpa, who was clapping hardest of all, with happy tears in his eyes. Then Sam turned and waved Lily over. "Come on," he said, "we made this music together." And side by side, the violin and the cello, they took their bow.