When Hans Richter took over the conductorship of the Hallé Orchestra early this century, he can not have been happy with what he heard from the bassoon section. At that time only the French system was used in England, and apart from a few notable exceptions, tended to be played with a buzzy, un-centered tone; (even in my boyhood a London professional was referred to as "Buzzer Gordon"). Richter decided to import his own bassoonist, a Viennese who played the German, Heckel system. But more than that, he offered from his own pocket a scholarship at the Royal Manchester College, to a beginner on the bassoon. Thus it was that the fifteen year old Archie Camden, having seen the announcement in the newspaper, turned up at the audition with a borrowed (French) instrument, and struggled to play a scale of F major (without a B flat, as he could not find the illusive key). Three years later, now on a Heckel, provided by Richter of course, Archie was playing already in the Hallé, and became the first Englishman to play German system.
During the next two decades or so, a general change-over took place from French to German bassoon, and towards the end of Camden's career, few indeed were the exponents of the Buffet. He himself became to the bassoon what Leon Goossens was to the oboe, and this was due in great part to his emergence as a soloist. With Hamilton Harty, Richter's successor, he rediscovered the beautiful bassoon concerto of Mozart's youth, and in the early 1920's, after several very successful performances, made the first gramophone recording of the work. These were the pre-electric days when the soloist had to play into an enormous horn-like amplifier, and no splicing was possible as records were made in four minute "takes" corresponding to the length of a side. This concerto went on to three and a half sides, and to fill in the remaining minutes, Archie made an arrangement of a movement from a violin sonata by Senaille; this Allegro Spiritoso became what amounted to his signature tune.
Archie's joy in living never left him throughout his long life (he died in 1979 at the age of ninety-one). In his later years he amused himself by writing an autobiography, and his Mancunian wit makes "Blow by Blow" a joy to read or peruse. He as a great raconteur and loved to tell stories of his experiences and of fellow musicians and conductors. Of Beecham arriving at the last moment at a concert, giving his great down beat with the famous Sir Thomas yell. He had expected the Mastersingers Overture, but what came from the orchestra was the "naked bleat of two flutes" as they had before them A Midsummer Night's Dream Overture. As Camden says: "an astonished Beecham at once recognized this. His free hand stroked his neat beard, and with quizzical look he modified his beat to the gentle start of the Mendelssohn work." Of Camden himself conducting a Gilbert and Sullivan opera in Rochdale when he felt obliged to complain to the manager about the extraordinary noises coming from the one and only double bassist. "He's completely incompetent and ruining the show. He really must go, or else I must". The manager took his pipe out of his mouth--these were fighting words. "Well lad, happen 's is. But it'll be thee that goes. Bogger owns theatre!"
It is fun to read these stories, but perhaps more important is that here we have so much to learn about an orchestral musician's life during some two thirds of the present century, before orchestras were flown to all parts of the globe as a normal part of their work schedule. One would hardly find today, as the BBC Symphony did in 1936, a large portion of the Vienna Philharmonic set up on the station platform in the early morning, playing Strauss waltzes to wish the Englishmen well, on their journey on to Budapest. The conductor was Franz Lehar.