A Moving Piano Story

How do you move a piano up the stairs? Hire a bunch of strong guys to manhandle it up? That will work. Use a slide-and-pulley system, as a neighbor once did? If you have the technical skills, that will also work. Or maybe you decide, since you have neither a superior knowledge of engineering nor the money for strong guys, that you will simply push it up, Laurel and Hardy style. That’s the option my parents chose. One day, they decreed that the old upright piano was to move upstairs…

The “why?” is still debated among family members. Was it my constant practicing of Schubert’s “Who is Sylvia?” or my rendition of “Little Brown Jug (how I love thee)”? Or was it simply to make way for a larger sofa? We shall never know.

And so they start - pushing and shoving, grunting and groaning. After about ten minutes the piano is finally in the hall, at the bottom of the stairs right by the ornate frosted glass front door - newly and very proudly - installed. Before I go on I need to briefly mention that my parents are wearing their slippers – not sturdy footwear – not even after the recent encounter between Dad’s big toe and a rather unyielding brick¹.

Having got this far they are encouraged by their progress, and press on. By this time, my two younger siblings and I (a nonplussed eleven year old) are watching from the safety of the space under the staircase². Mum is at the top of the piano, pulling, and Dad is underneath, pushing. Amazingly, the piano starts up the stairs. Much heaving and coordinated shoving ensues and yes up it staggers, bit by bit, step by step. It climbs up six or seven steps. We creep out from behind our shelter. It’s going well. Maybe our parents aren’t so crazy.

Then it happens. Mum suddenly slips and loosens her grip. The lower end of the piano shifts slightly onto Dad’s unprotected toe. (Is it the same one he broke earlier? Nobody ever asks). He cries out in pain and then he lets go. This is not good. No one says anything as the family piano slides elegantly down those half a dozen stairs and right out through our - newly installed - glass front door. Smash! Yes the piano is now firmly wedged half in and half out of the door; surrounded by broken glass. Only then does the shouting start.

Did Dad find a new respect for using the right tools, professional movers or even protective footwear? No he did not. But that’s the nature of things. The piano, of course, reclaimed its rightful place downstairs. As for me, I gave up on “Little Brown Jug” – it was time to move on.

¹Dad, of course in his slippers, was playing football with my brother. Whilst showing my brother a particularly tricky shot at goal, Dad managed to kick a brick (this was probably the brick destined to keep the oven door closed for many years – another story). He broke his big toe and it was very painful.

²Our teachers, still affected by the Second World War, tell us if the bombs drop you need to go under the stairs as this is the strongest part of the house.