Beatrice Harrison wrote her autobiography shortly before her death in 1965. Written with infectious zest, this book tells the story of an historic career, from pre-1914 days when Beatrice studied in Germany and, much to the Kaiser's disgust, carried off the coveted Mendelssohn Prize at the age of 17, to the Second World War.
In 1924, Harrison became world famous with a BBC broadcast, from her Surrey garden, of a nightingale accompanying her cello - the first of many live broadcasts that sent the public wild with enthusiasm.
Beatrice Harrison gives vivid glimpses of the musical life of her time, in which she shared with three exceptionally gifted sisters. She tells of her adventures touring in the early years of the century in Europe, Russia and America, meeting such figures as Faure, Popper, Glazunov, Paderewski and Kodaly. She associated with many of the important composers of one of the richest era of English music. Delius wrote his Double Concerto for Beatrice and her sister, May, after hearing them play.
Charming and idiosyncratic memoir of an extraordinary English cellist. Her writing may not necessarily dazzle, notwithstanding the editors' judicious cuts, but her life does.
My absolute favorite bit was the sea crossing where she helped collar some German spies - apparently they were entirely unsuspicious of the musician daughters of a retired English colonel! But the girls were curious about the sounds of tearing paper in the cabin next to theirs, nimble and plucky enough to climb up to a vent to listen in, and perfectly fluent in German. They reported everything to the captain before debarking, as I recall, and read later about the arrests and conviction (without further involvement).
I think the prefatory matter and epilogue are largely skippable. There's some mild interest in portions of the original introduction, to the extent it tells the story of how the book came to be published. And the epilogue is a little depressing, as it discusses certain claims (presumably baseless) that the nightingale singing in response to the cello was not real. But if you want to believe that kind of malarkey, why bother with this book at all?