Orchestral musicians love stories about conductors who can't hear what's going on. This is partly out of a sense of natural justice (“I'm expected to use my ears, so why can't that man on the podium use his?”) but more because a conductor who hears everything gives them focus. His awareness of details helps their concentration and their ability to play as an integrated unit. It's frustrating to play with a conductor who doesn't hear what's happening. I know—I've done it.

The importance of ear training can't be overemphasized, and it's never too early to begin. When I was five, I started piano lessons with Miss Ianthe Bridge in Canterbury, who immediately began training my ear. During my earliest lessons she'd produce a model of a flight of steps named after the notes of the scale (do, re, mi, etc.), with a soldier standing on each step; then she'd hand me a soldier and ask me to sing his note. She taught me to sight sing to “tonic sol-fa” where “do” is the keynote, whatever key you're in. (That's different from solfège, where you name the notes like a typewriter, regardless of their place in the key.) Miss Bridge had a large dog called Toby who lay on the rug during all my lessons and growled when I made a mistake. I wonder if any readers have come across the name “Ianthe” or been scared into practicing by a dog.