Out of Tune (19 page)

David and Les in a serious political discussion, 1996. (MELVYN TUCKEY)

Margaret Helfgott on her wedding day in Jerusalem, with her mother, Rae Helfgott, who flew in from Australia for the occasion,
1988. (DOREEN KAHILLA)

Macpherson told me that the claim made in Gillian’s book that Claire married with a view to making money out of David’s career
is preposterous. David did not earn money and was a complete financial burden to Claire throughout their marriage. Her eldest
son had to find a job to help out because David wasn’t earning anything.

Claire has already suffered more at the hands of the Nazis than most of us are ever likely to endure. It is impossible adequately
to express how upset my family and I are at the association of words like “hell” and “devil” with my former sister-in-law,
one of the kindest and most decent people I have ever met. “It is just outrageous,” says my brother Leslie.

To all those who know Claire, Gillian’s remarks would be laughable, were they not so cruel. That Claire is an extremely generous
person can be seen, for example, by the fact that she shared her home for three years with a runaway Aboriginal girl who was
desperate not to return to the orphanage from which she had escaped. Another Aboriginal girl, who was blind from birth and
lives in an institution, comes to stay with Claire every weekend.

Even today, in spite of what David says—or is made to say—in
Love You to Bits and Pieces,
Claire tells me of her concern for David’s welfare whenever we speak. As far as his current fame is concerned, she says “for
David’s sake, I’m happy that he believes that he has made it, but I’m sad at the way he has been exploited.”

I received a lovely letter from Claire’s eldest son Ray after
Shine
came out.

“Dear Margaret,” he wrote. “It is, unbelievable the way that your father has been portrayed, particularly in the film. I recall
meeting him on a number of occasions including when he visited our home. He was nothing like the person he is now being presented
as by Gillian and others. His concern for the family always came through and I found his manner to be unassuming and gentlemanly….
I know how difficult David could be, particularly as his condition deteriorated. However, I was always impressed by the way
his family stood by him and tried to help. Then as now, it was very easy for everybody to offer advice and criticize, but
when it actually came to helping David through his difficult periods those same people would not be there. Unfortunately,
David’s talent attracted people to him in the way in which many people wish to be associated with success or apparent success.

“I clearly recall the love and care your father and family had for David, no matter what, so can empathize with the suffering
created by the absolute distortion that has been presented about your father and the family in general. It is very sad that
such a circus has been created around David and to me the motives are obvious. However, doing it by walking over the memory
of a decent person such as your father is unforgivable. I can clearly understand, because the absolute garbage that Gillian
has written about my mother has deeply upset me, too.”

I find these words heartwarming. I also feel that it is Allan Macpherson, who knew David and Claire intimately, who gives
an accurate summary of the whole situation. In his words: “At the time, it was very sad to see them going through what was
a massive struggle. But it is even sadder today that David recollects—through the opinions of his second wife—that his life
with Claire was such a misery. The truth is that if there was any misery then it was indisputably attributable to his own
condition and illness. Life with Claire was never “hell” for David. He was extremely fortunate that he had someone so considerate
and responsible to look after him.”

W
hen David left Graylands Hospital and moved back home in April 1975, my father was seventy-one and six years into his retirement.
Heartbroken to see David in such a sad condition, Dad dedicated the rest of his life to helping his son.

Looking after David was a great strain on the family. While the mentally ill suffer great pain, the impact on their family
and those around them is often forgotten, even though they are in effect the secondary victims of mental illness. David could
be extremely difficult. For example, he made Dad send all his clothes to the dry cleaners, which would cost my father a small
fortune. He also insisted that he be allowed to practice the piano whenever’ he liked, even in the middle of the night. My
father acquiesced to almost all of David’s wishes. He was still in excellent physical shape despite his heart and chest problems,
and would often hop on the back of Leslie’s motorbike and go off and run errands for David. David’s eating habits were also
prone to radical change. On some days, he would eat nothing at all, while there were other periods where he gorged himself
and became quite overweight. At one stage he grew a beard, and on occasion he stooped over like a hunchback.

Dad was always looking for ways to stimulate David. He thought that learning something new would be good therapy, and asked
David if he would like to play the violin. David was very enthusiastic. “He was an extremely fast learner; he had perfect
pitch,” recalls Leslie, the violinist in the family, who helped my father teach David this new skill. Despite his poor health,
David was very ambitious. After only a few lessons he was attempting to tackle some of the more difficult violin concertos,
such as the Tchaikovsky Concerto, although getting through such demanding works was a struggle. David also liked accompanying
Leslie’s violin playing at the piano. Leslie had reached a high level of proficiency, passing his seventh-grade practical
violin music exams.

By now our whole house was filled with music. There were two pianos, four violins, bongo drums, a xylophone, and a chromatic
harmonica—all of which my father had taught himself to play. Most of all, in his retirement Peter finally had time to play
his beloved piano to his heart’s content. He would spend up to five hours a day practicing intricate pieces by Chopin, Liszt,
and others.

Although his fingers had hardened and become stiff after a lifetime of manual work, my father was able to negotiate the difficult
passages and accomplish all sorts of wonders at the keyboard. He also had more time to compose music for the piano. “Have
you heard this melody before?” he would often ask me, concerned that he had unintentionally appropriated another composer’s
work. I would reassure him that he had not. David, like me, was very impressed by Dad’s ability as a composer. I still have
the letters that David wrote to me in Israel after Dad’s death; for example, in the one of February 4, 1976, he praises Dad’s
talents as a composer and tells me he was planning to “record Dad’s fabulous compositions for the ABC.” And in his letter
of April 2, 1976, David says: “Dad produced some beaut [sic] compositions before he died.”

Among other things, my father used his music to express his love for his adopted country. In 1973, Australia decided that
it had finally had enough of the British national anthem “God Save the Queen,” which Australia had retained even though it
had been independent since 1901. Seventy-odd years later someone decided that it was time Australia had an anthem of its own.
So a competition was held to choose a new national anthem, and my father was one of the 2,500 Australians to submit an entry.
The anthem he wrote went as follows:

“Australia—my wonder land”
by E.P. Helfgott

While the language is simple, much of Australia’s essence is contained in my father’s words—courage, spirit, open spaces,
and bright skies. He also expresses his devotion to the country that took him in, with phrases such as “Aussie to be—we are
proud,” and “Australia—my wonder land.” His idealism, optimism, and hope for mankind are made clear in the last verse: he
speaks of fighting for the right cause, for all mankind and for human rights, and he links this to Australia—“your stars are
bright.” Not a bad effort for a Polish-Jewish immigrant with hardly any formal schooling.

In the end, none of the entries submitted were considered suitable, and it was not until 1984 that a new anthem, “Advance
Australia Fair,” was chosen. My father’s composition is more idealistic than this anthem, which is structurally more formal
and uses traditional lyrics.

As well as taking a stab at the national anthem, my father composed a piece of music that he called Fantasia for Solo or Orchestra
and Vocal. He was thrilled when I played this at the Fremantle Music Society. “I am very proud that it was performed publicly
by my daughter,” he told me. “I couldn’t have asked for more in the world than to have my dear Margaret play the piece for
me.”

Although this book is primarily about David, it may be helpful to mention a little of what I was doing after David went to
London. In the years during which David was studying at the Royal College, I was also spending a great deal of time at the
piano. I had practically stopped playing during the previous four years, because I was an adolescent who wanted to assert
my individuality. In addition, having David around, with his often difficult behavior, had inhibited me. Then, when David
went abroad, I began practicing regularly again and took lessons with Madame Carrard. I obtained my associate in music in
piano performing—an advanced music diploma issued under the auspices of the universities of Australia—which I completed in
under a year, achieving good marks. In 1967, I entered the Perth finals of the Commonwealth Concerto and Vocal Competition,
coming in second. In the following year I actually won the competition and was sent to Melbourne to compete in the Commonwealth
final. I didn’t win, but it was very exciting to have gotten so far.

A year later, at the age of twenty-three, I was back in Melbourne, where I stayed for three years, studying piano with Ada
Corder, better known under her maiden name, Ada Freeman. Ada was renowned in Melbourne musical circles for having taught Nancy
Weir, one of Australia’s leading pianists. She was an inspiration to me; we had an excellent rapport and what was meant to
be a one-hour lesson would often run to three hours at no extra cost. After the lessons, I would practice for about five hours
a day on a piano that my mother’s sister-in-law, Auntie Gertie, had kindly lent me. At the same time I supported myself by
working part time for a law firm.

My musical life was a very full one. I appeared as a soloist with the West Australian Symphony Orchestra and the Melbourne
Symphony Orchestra. The whole family came to hear me play when I appeared in Perth. My father called me “a real knockout,”
and said that I had “brought the house down.” I was fortunate in having very good conductors. In Perth I played under the
sympathetic baton of Sir Bernard Heinze. He made me feel very special, by guiding the orchestra to take into account my own
interpretation of Liszt’s “Hungarian Fantasy.” I gave the piece a Gypsylike flavor, and Heinze ensured that the orchestra
flowed with my approach. For the Melbourne performance I played Rimsky-Korsakov’s Concerto in C-sharp Minor, conducted by
the distinguished Dutch conductor Willem van Otterloo. Several of my performances were broadcast on Australian television,
and I also received good write-ups in the papers.