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When Kate was sixteen years old she let it be known in no
uncertain terms that she wanted a mandolin for Christmas. Our
mother, who was slaving away at a part-time job, decided that
this Christmas she would buy watches for her two younger
daughters. When Kate saw her little present under the tree,
she knew right away it was not a mandolin and she threw it
across the room. Anna was happy with her watch. Our
grandfather, who witnessed this scene, decided to make up for
Kate’s unhappiness and searched through the catalogue for a
mandolin. When he couldn’t find one, he opted for a guitar.
Mother said, “Make that two, dad, I don’t want Anna making
a scene.” Our father, silent up until this point, asked what
was wrong with the fine old 1910 Gibson arch-top that was
hanging on the wall, and she replied that’s precisely what
was wrong: it was old – and broken. “Remember, Frank? Kate
hit Anna over the head with it.”
A couple of weeks later, the big flat cardboard boxes arrived
at our house. Mother and grandfather were beaming in
anticipation of the expression of joy that would soon spread
across her daughters’ faces upon seeing the guitars for the
first time. Father knew better and left the room. We opened,
we saw, we screamed – “Yuck! They’re Western guitars
with f-holes! And they’re cheap! Just look at the strings:
they’re steel and they’re two inches from the fretboard!”
Kate picked up her new guitar and was about to throw it across
the room when Anna stopped her and suggested instead that they
go down to the local pawnshop and trade them in for two Goyas
with nylon strings. We did and thus we became folk singers.
-- Kate
and Anna McGarrigle,
Montreal
, 1993
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