The Musical Museum's founder, Frank Holland MBE, discovered a number of Mills Violano Virtuosos underneath the railway arches in Waterloo South London. Several of these were sold, exchanged or used for spares. In 1976, Michael Woolf, a visitor from New Zealand purchased one of these which, by Franks own admission was suitable only to "Keep for Spares".
Now, some 30 years later, this instrument has been brought back to life and is now in a playing condition.
This is the story, in the owner's words and photos of this instruments remarkable journey from South to West London and onwards to the southern hemisphere. It is the Musical Museum's pleasure to host this page.

New Zealand prior to the 1980s was a rather insular place. Providing food (mainly sheep) for Britain, and the New Zealand society was firmly stuck between the lower middle and working classes. Currency and importation restrictions reflected this and the country was anything but consumer-based. People kept their furnishings, carpets, clothing and cars, carefully maintaining things so that they would last for a lifetime. Sometimes literally so.

This meant two things for someone interested in old items. A lot of cars on the road were classic or vintage vehicles - my third car, bought in 1960, was a 1926 Buick that had travelled only 55000 miles and was in virtually new condition. Not purchased so much for its historical interest as for the fact that it was reliable. The young collector could acquire vintage phonographs, musical boxes and other interesting items, cheaply. Not only was this a time before such things became fashionable but also because they were around the place, people simply didn't throw things away, and had not done so for several generations.

This of course was before today's global community.

Although the value of the New Zealand dollar was artificially high, sustained by the borrowings of successive governments, communications were slow (letters) or expensive (telephone calls or telegrams.) International travel was costly and protective duties meant that it was difficult to import items.

So mechanical music enthusiasts at this end of the world would pore over catalogues and other literature, and in our imagination stroll the British Piano Museum, and the American showrooms of Hathaway and Bowers. This latter sustained by David Bowers' copywriting skills. Those catalogues make fascinating reading today. Through this research we learnt about the wonders of instruments that had never existed in this country, and dreamed of seeing them one day. Sometimes one of our number was able to make a trip overseas, and on one of these Alan Brehaut from Timaru in the South Island had been able to obtain a Violano Virtuoso. The only one in this country, it was in need of restoration. No one in NZ had the necessary skills and it sat in its shipping crate for many years. Occasionally I was able to make a pilgrimage and would inspect and photograph this iconic machine, dreaming that one day it would come back to life. You need to be something of a romantic. (This Violano, now the property of Rod Cornelius, has been restored and plays well.)

In 1976 I was able to visit the UK for the first time since leaving aged nine in 1948. I was determined that I would visit collectors in Britain and the USA, learn what I could, and if at all possible acquire a Violano

I had joined MBSI and during my few days in London I visited Arthur Ord-Hume, the late Bruce Angrave, David Tallis and Jack Donovan. I telephoned the British Piano Museum on Sunday morning and made myself known. I was given specific directions for travel by tube and bus from my bed and breakfast in Russell Square to the Museum. On arrival I paid at the door and recognised Frank Holland who was guiding a tour group around the exhibits. (It had been he I had spoken with by phone.) Seeing me he called: "Hello Sir - have you come from New Zealand?" I replied:"Yes - that's why I'm late!" The group laughed and Frank and I had established a rapport

Among the wonders on display was a single Violano (playing Little Girl) and another. This was a sad hulk, leaning against the wall. The bottom of the case had rotted away, as had about a foot at the base of one side. The bottom doors were missing, as were most of the upper glass panels. There was no violin or fingering mechanism, no feeder governor or motor, and most other removable parts had been cannibalised for restoration of the Museum's other Violanos. Acting on a rash impulse I determined to buy this machine. Written on the back of the machine (in Frank's handwriting) were the words "Keep For Spares." Those words are still there.

On that Sunday in 1976 I broached the subject of the "spares" Violano with Frank. He was reluctant to sell it to me, advising me instead to find a complete machine. He telephoned another museum (I think Paul Corin in Cornwall) but no machine was available. I told Frank about the New Zealand traditions of preserving older items. He was still unwilling to sell the hulk and I left, with the understanding that I would return before leaving England.

I phoned a few days later and he agreed to sell the machine. The problem of how to value it was solved by our agreeing to involve Christopher Proudfoot of Christies South Kensington. Frank and I phoned Christopher independently and each described the Violano remains. Our descriptions tallied and Christopher suggested a value of five hundred pounds.

After a couple of days a message at my lodgings informed me that Mr Holland had invited me for dinner at the Museum on Saturday evening, the last night before I was to leave England. When I arrived Frank showed me into his office in what had been the vestry of the church, and then into the kitchen (I noted the bathtub, also in the room) where he opened a tin of something and tipped half of the contents on to each of two plates. That was our meal. We adjourned to the museum and Frank searched for Violano parts while I fed the Museum's Violano with coins. I left England early the next morning. My travels took me through parts of Europe and I heard instruments including Violanos in the Museum Spieldosen tot Pierement at Utrecht, and the Baud Freres Museum at L"Auberson.

I next travelled to America and enjoyed Violanos in some collections on the West Coast.

Returning to New Zealand I began a correspondence with Frank who was now reluctant to send the machine, although happy to write on the subject.

Two years later I was on holiday in California with my family. I telephoned the American International Galleries (previously Hathaway and Bowers, now relocated to the industrial city of Irvine) and manager Bonnie Tekstra welcomed me, saying that she had heard I was in town and that someone else there wished to speak with me. The familiar voice of Frank Holland said: "So there you are - no wonder I couldn't contact you in New Zealand yesterday." Frank had been invited to appear on a Japanese television show and had travelled to New Zealand to visit his brother Maurice, then living in Christchurch. He had sought out a few mechanical music enthusiasts but could not find me because I was overseas. The coincidence of our meeting was astounding: neither of us knew that the other was in the USA.

Frank travelled light around the world, with one small cardboard suitcase and a canvas rucksack. He had no transport and I had bought a car so gladly became his driver. We had a nice lunch with Bonnie Tekstra, spent some time enjoying the Galleries, and then I drove him to Hollywood where we found him motel accommodation. My family and I were staying with my brother a little distance away in the San Fernando Valley and when I asked Frank if I could help in any other way he telephoned David Bowers who he was to meet that evening. When I offered to drive him there he put me on the phone to David who insisted that I join them at his home and then at a fine restaurant. David was living in Beverly Hills and when I arrived I found the other guests were Jerry and Sylvia Cohen, well-known collectors who were friends from my previous visit to the area, and also a young couple from Boston - Ken and Sandy Goldman. We enjoyed David's collection at his home and then had a wonderful meal at Le Restaurant, a famous venue. Before dinner the group discussed plans for the next morning. Frank and the Goldmans were to visit San Sylmar - the Tower of Beauty housing the Nethercutt Collection. I offered to drive Frank and he insisted that I join them for the tour. But this was a problem: tours were confirmed and booked well in advance with no alterations possible. Frank picked up the telephone. "Mrs Nethercutt? Frank Holland speaking. Michael Woolf is coming with us tomorrow. All right? Thank you!" General surprise.

The next day the group enjoyed the tour and Frank and I each recognised the famous Reginald Foort travelling Moller organ, stored while in transit to its installation at the Glendale Civic Auditorium.

I had undertaken to deliver Frank to the Airline offices for his return flight to Britain that day but was running late for a meeting with a group with offices on Sunset Boulevard. I left Frank with the receptionist of the West Coast Branch of Actors Equity who took care of his transport arrangements. He later reported to me that all had been well and that the receptionist later visited the Museum in London.

Many years later I was in Boston at a meeting of AMICA and was invited to the stately home of Ken and Sandy Goldman. I wandered through the rooms housing one of the great collections of automata and mechanical music and on leaving Kenny took me aside. "See what happens" he said "When we go to dinner with people like you!"

My meeting up with Frank Holland in California may have spurred him to action on the Violano. Or perhaps it was because of my poor handwriting. Frank received his Honour from the Queen and I sent him a note remarking that perhaps the initials M.B.E. stood for "Music Box Expert." Frank misread this and replied "What do you mean Music Box Exporter??? Against my principles! Anyway you'd better have the thing!" He then put matters in train for the shipment of the Violano. And raised the price to six hundred pounds.

I investigated the Customs situation and discovered a category that was free of duties and taxes. The regulations for this class of goods stated that it was restricted to "Specimens of Biological, Etymological, Zoological" etc etc. I researched in more detail and found the word Sociological. Therefore I prepared a case for free entry on the grounds that this Violano was a sociological specimen, for use in studying the lifestyles of our ancestors. The Customs people asked some questions including whether it was to be used for its original purpose. I replied that it was not, because its original use was to make money. I produced reprints of original catalogues and other information to support the statement and it was accepted by the authorities. The Violano was approved as a free entry.

I arranged for a shipping company to collect the machine from the Museum. The ship went to the wrong New Zealand port and road transport was necessary. Then it was too heavy to be lifted from the truck and was to be stored overnight. And the radio news carried the story of a serious fire in the storage premises. When I was able to contact the manager of the transport company he told me that they had moved from those premises some time ago but the building still bore their name. And so in 1980, four years after I first saw it, the Violano remains arrived at my home.

I started searching for the missing parts and was helped greatly by the late Harvey Roehl, Ed Hattrup, Rudy Edwards and Warren Dale. From Rudy I obtained an original Mills violin (although the body had been badly damaged,) a newly overhauled feeder motor with flywheel, the remains of a feeder governor, finger magnet racks, a contact roller and some original rolls. Ed Hattrup provided weight arms and weights, a bow motor governor, bow arms and bows, the tremulo contact, the violin neck plate and bearing plus "p" housings and other parts. Harvey Roehl had a bow arm support. From Warren Dale came an original split spool, finger magnet assembly and some case hardware. Warren has since confirmed that these parts came from a machine in the "Doby Doc" collection, as reported in Art Reblitz' "The Golden Age of Automatic Musical Instruments." I am delighted that parts from another otherwise lost machine have played a part in the resurrection of this one. A philosophy somewhere between recycling and immortality!

Some other necessary parts were ordered from Terry Houghawout. A replacement phenolin comb for the contact rail was made here in Wellington.

A skilled violin maker here replaced the damaged violin body with an appropriate substitute and the violin has now been re-coloured as a perfect match

My research continued passively over many years during which some other Violanos were imported to this country.

Alan Brehaut having sold his original machine to Rod Cornelius, imported another that had been restored. Jonathan White bought a machine in the USA and had it restored there before bringing it to New Zealand. And that is how Kevin Seay, a technician living near Jonathan, gained experience that enabled him to restore my machine. Jonathan's Violano had been restored by Craig Brougher and Kevin did some maintenance and other work. He then restored Rod's Violano. On this basis I was able to send my machine, largely in parts, to him for a complete rebuild. The piano was rebuilt by Gordon Meader, a piano technician in the same area. New hammers were made and a general rebushing of the piano action was carried out. Somewhere along the way the original piano magnets, which had been rewound and refurbished in Wellington, disappeared, so a new set was made.

The case was refurbished and French Polished by Malcolm Akehurst.

This project has been successful in bringing back to life an instrument that had been considered lost. It illustrates perfectly the motto coined by the eccentric, enthusiastic, voluble and inspirational figure of the founder and original Curator of the British Piano Museum, Frank Holland:

"To Restore Not Destroy"

I am humbled and honoured to have been able to resurrect and preserve this prime example of man's ingenuity.

Michael Woolf
January 2005