The child who shirks scales - said Misss Beake - will become
A woman whose fingers are each one a thumb
But Susan McAlister Bevington-Bales
In spite of this warning would not play her scales.

The scene is now changed, it is Broadcasting House
And whose is that figure as quiet as a mouse
That trembles and starts, and now flushes, now pales
Why, Susan McAlister Bevington-Bales
Observe how she timidly takes her position
To play in a British Broadcasting audition
And listen once more to that haunting refrain
The Robin, it seems, is returning again
But before the first movement had drawn to a close
The Director of Music with dignity rose
And said as he saw Aunt Sophie turn pale
'That person can never have heard of a scale.'
And through the vast doors of the cold BBC
Crept Susan McAlister Bevington-B.

But early next morning, oh hark, what is that?
It is Susan attacking the scale of A flat
And as I was taking my afternoon tea
I heard the chromatic commensing on C
And mingled with buses and hooters and bells
Arpeggios leaping like lively gazelles
  Con brio on the uppermost peak
(The neighbours are moving on Saturday week)

It is Broadcasting House. Several years pass away.
How familiar that figure just ceasing to play
'Enchanting!' says Sophie, 'Divine' whispers Mac
'Miss Bales, we are happy to welcome you back.'
'And here is your contract we beg you to sign
Your signature here, if you please, on this line
But before you go further - we may call you Sue?'
Which shows what continual practice will do.

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