My first music concert was a performance by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchcestra in the Great Hall of Exeter University, at the age of ten.

It sounds very fancy, but my main motivation for going was because it involved a coach trip – always exciting, even if just a few minutes across town – and an afternoon off school.

I guess I’d been allowed to go for two reasons – it was music (my dad had been a bandsman in the army and played in dance bands, and my mum was always keen to encourage us to experience culture) and it wouldn’t have cost much (depending on my sense of the household economy, I’d sometimes withold the notes about trips I thought were too expensive).

So, off we went to see a proper orchestra. Presumably, they used to play in the day for school groups before their evening performance for the grown-ups.

I don’t remember much about it (it was well over half a century ago), except for thinking it was loud, and after a while a bit boring!

My most vivid memory was when we were leaving – a classmate (let’s call him Simon) was crying. What was wrong?

“I didn’t enjoy it,” he replied tearfully.

Well, so what? Lots of us didn’t enjoy it.

“My dad said I could go, but I had better enjoy it,” he sobbed. The implication being ‘or else!’

It seemed like a problem that was easily to overcome. Tell him you did enjoy it!

But he said he couldn’t do that – presumably, young Simon didn’t dare lie to his dad. Or he was just an impressively honest child.

I never found out what he told his dad, or what the consequences were. But, all these years, later, Simon’s tearful reaction is what stuck with me from that school trip.

Sorry, Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra. I’m sure you were brilliant.