From Musician magazine .121.


"But even in conversation, Hitchcock can't help revealing his

gift: a mind's eye barraged with images. When I ask him about his origin,

he thinks for a second or two, half-smiles and delivers the following:

'A great oak tree fell into a river and split open, and a roll of

transparent cling film came out, in a long oval shape. Inside that there

was a woman made of glass, and inside that woman made of glass there was a

whole little network of tiny wires. Gradually, the cling film melted away

and the woman made of glass swam out of the river. She began to fly and

she developed beautiful topaz wings which lifted her high above the orange

wood, and she flew all the way to the long white tower and then she

hovered just above the long white tower.

She was wearing dancing shoes and as she had learned to fly, she

had learned to dance, and she rotated round and round. She had very

elegant legs and she was an elegant dancer, and the foot of her ballet

pump came down onto the top of the white tower and suddenly she froze, she

became a statue and she was glass no more, she was alabaster. The tower

underneath kind of glowed gratefully, as you would expect, and the woman

with a beautiful expression on her face turned to stone, and then the

wires inside her fell right the way down to the bottom of the tower.

It's not interesting to say what was in the tower, but at the

bottom of the tower was a very very English sort of man with a couple of

bow ties on and a walking stick and a dog named Colonel. He just held his

hand out, down came a long copper coil, and he reached out his hand and he

squeezed it and a look of quite pleasure came over his muted English

features and his toes began to vibrate. Colonel the dog rushed outside

and barked, something was in the air, and sure enough, floating down the

river from the opposite direction came an iron submarine which for some

reason floated.

It was full of Chinese boys who were all growling and gnashing and

rubbing their saliva on the back of each other's palms. Suddenly their

overlord, who was called the Pumpkin, came through. He was three times

their size and he just wore a pumpkin head like on Halloween, with a grin.

He lashed the Chinese boys and spat on them all and then he pointed his

whip to the sky and the Chinese boys all looked up.

They saw this bird that looked terribly nervous and suddenly

exploded into a storm cloud, and the storm cloud drifted toward the white

tower where the woman in the statue was, and it got bigger and bigger.

And this guy the Pumpkin was egging his Chinese boys on down the reiver -

"Owee, ooh," like that - and they were getting closer and closer to the

tower, and the Englishman downstairs did absolutely nothing, just stood

there holding the coil, and then the storm cloud got bigger and bigger.

It was a raging storm by now. Little filaments of lightning were

zooming out, and eventually the dog ran back inside and a few drops of

rain fell and the Englishmean held out his hand, went "Hmmm," had a glass

of sherry and went back indoors and shut the door discreetly. The tower

was now surrounded by yammering Chinese boys, and the Pumpkin was standing

there overlording them, trying to get his whip round the tower, but it was

quite greasy - no, it wasn't greasy, it was whip-resistant - so anyway,

predictably a bolt of lightning struck that statue at the top and went all

the way down to the man at the bottom. And the tower disappeared and the

Chinese people disappeared and everyone disappeared and there was just me,

sitting in a pool of placenta on a table in Paddington. And that's the

true story, and you're the first person to hear it.'"

This story was my first exposure to Hitchcock - I happened on it flipping through a friend's copy of _Musician_ and looking for the John Lennon article while trying to miss the James Taylor interview without bothering to check the table of contents. I've never read a table of contents since.

N.b. I'm typing this from a Xerox and some of the words are blurred. If you don't like it you can go to, uh, your local library and see if they have the back issue. It's issue 121, I think, the one with John Lennon on the cover. 

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