I nearly fell of the path into the wadi on my walk yesterday. Let me tell you how that happened. But, be warned, this is a long, tortuous and fairly pointless explanation, which takes us past some of the icons of twentieth century entertainment.

The more erudite of my readers will already have guessed that two of those icons are Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, because they will have recognized this week’s title as a quote (the most famous quote) from To Have and Have Not. This is, in fact, a complete red herring, although I welcome any excuse to watch again that iconic scene.

There is, of course, the added frisson of knowing that we are watching the first moments of what was to become the real-life love of Bogart and Bacall. With benefit of 20/20 hindsight, we are confident that we can see the chemistry on the screen.

Falsely referencing the film also gives me an excuse to casually let drop two pieces of trivia about that scene. It was not originally in the script co-written by William Faulkner, nor in the Ernest Hemingway novel on which the film is, very loosely, based. The author of those lines was Howard Hawks, the film’s director, who wrote them as a screen test for debut actress Lauren Bacall.

Her performance in the screen test not only won her the part, but also compelled Hughes to insist Faulkner work the scene into the film. No mean achievement: Hawks made the only film ever adapted by a Nobel Prize winner from the novel of a Nobel Prize winner, and then he himself penned the film’s most memorable lines.

The other piece of trivia, which I find touching but you might think is a little saccharine, is that thirteen years later, at Bogart’s funeral, Bacall placed a whistle in his coffin.

However, as I said, this post has nothing to do with any of that. I must apologise for misleading you there. I should, in fact, have added two words to the title; it would then read: You Just Put Your Lips Together and…blow…and…draw.

The even more erudite of my readers may realise that ‘draw’ here is, in a particular context, the correct technical term for ‘suck’, so that the quote means You Just…Blow and Suck. And what is that context? Playing the harmonica.

And who, I ask you, is the twentieth-century icon of harmonica playing (or as he insisted on calling it, mouth-organ playing)? Well, your answer to that question will tell me a lot about you. If you say: ‘I don’t know any twentieth-century harmonica icons’, then you are either not British or American, or you are British and under 55, or you are American and under 85. If, on the other hand, you say: ‘Why, Larry Adler, of course!’, then you are the reverse…or a harmonicafficianado.

Which brings me back to my walk, and my narrow escape from tumbling into the wadi. I was striding along, listening to a typically quirky and fascinating edition of the Revisionist History podcast that I recommended last week. when I heard Malcolm Gladwell say:

“Larry Adler was the greatest harmonica player in the world. Your grandparents would know who he was.”

I was a bit surprised at that, but then I decided that Gladwell’s target audience are probably in their 30s, and Adler shone in the 40s, 50s and 60s, so maybe the ‘grandparent’ reference wasn’t so outrageous. But then Gladwell continued:

“I have to admit I’d never heard of him…”

That statement shocked me so much that I almost lost my footing. How could he possibly not have heard of Larry Adler? Everybody knows Larry Adler!

Back home, I first googled Malcolm Gladwell to discover that he is 63 years old. Even making allowances for the fact that he grew up in small-town Canada, his self-professed ignorance made me feel 80 years old.

I then started WhatsApping assorted friends and relations of various ages and of British and American origin. I started with a couple of Americans, one in his early sixties and the other in her early seventies, both people of culture and sophistication and lovers of good music. Neither of them had any idea who Larry Adler was. I followed with a Brit in his 40s, and drew a similar blank. (He tentatively wondered whether Adler had played J. R. Ewing in Dallas.)

At this point, I was starting to wonder whether I was losing touch with reality, or whether Malcolm Gladwell had got together with a group of my family and friends to play an elaborate trick on me. Imagine my relief when I turned in desperation to Bernice and her reaction was identical to mine.

Further enquiries led me to the conclusion mentioned earlier, that the only people who know of Larry Adler are British and over 55, or American and over 85.

‘Why?’, I asked myself. ‘Why this age difference?’ I knew that Adler had spent a lot of time in Britain, but plenty of American celebrities in the 50s and 60s toured in Britain. And then I did a little research and discovered the obvious answer. But before I share it with you, let’s go back and trace Adler’s career from its beginnings.

I read online that he told the story of how, at the age of two, he went off alone, and was discovered by his parents standing on a pool table in a neighbourhood saloon singing a popular song of the time. However, as Adler himself pointed out in an interview: ‘Raconteur is a very polite word for liar,’ and at least some of his wonderful stories probably need to be taken with a pinch of salt.

What is well documented is that Adler taught himself harmonica as a child. At the age of 14, he ran away from his home in Baltimore, with $25 that he had saved from winning music contests. He arrived in New York, where he sneaked into a theatre to audition for Rudy Vallée. This led to vaudeville work, and eventually, to a career in film. In 1934, he played Rhapsody in Blue for George Gershwin, who commented: ‘The goddam thing sounds as if I wrote it for you!’ If you listen to Adler playing it, you can see what Gershwin meant.

The same year, he was hired to perform in London, where he became an overnight star. British audiences seemed more receptive to the harmonica, and, reportedly, harmonica sales in Britain spiked as his fame grew. His repertoire always included popular and classical music. (In his debut competition, as a 13-year-old, while other kids were playing folk music, he performed a Beethoven minuet. He won the competition, of course.)

Between 1936 and 1954, he premiered music written for him by half-a-dozen classical composers, including Vaughan Williams’ Romance in D flat for harmonica, piano and string orchestra, Milhaud’s Suite Anglaise and Malcolm Arnold’s Harmonica Concerto.

In the 1940s, Adler toured in the States and internationally with Paul Draper, a tap dancer. Draper was clearly no slouch, as you can see here, and their show was a great success. During the Second World War, he played for the troops, travelling with Jack Benny and other big names.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, brings us to the reveal. Suddenly, in 1948, Adler and Draper found all their usual bookings cancelled. The reason, as you may have guessed, was that they had both been accused of being communists.

Adler was called to testify before the House Committee on Un-American Activities, and, when he refused to co-operate (he claims that he was given a list of 12 names to ‘expose’), he was blacklisted. He sued, and the case resulted in a hung jury.

Then and there, Adler turned his back on the USA, and, although he returned later to perform there, he never lived there again, making his home in London, where his celebrity continued to grow.

As well as being a wonderful interpreter of others’ music, Adler was also a prolific composer – although, since he did not read music, he was unable to write any of it down. He began a new career as a composer of film music, starting, in 1954, with the English (very English) comedy about rival vintage-car drivers taking part in the London-to-Brighton rally, Genevieve. The film was a huge hit in Britain, and the music was nominated for an Oscar. Please have a listen: it’s a delightful piece in its own right, and Adler plays it with gusto and virtuosity.

Of course, when the film was released in America, all mention of Adler was removed, and the Oscar nomination was in the name of the music arranger. As Adler later commented: ‘How fortunate that it did not win.’ Eventually, the Academy righted that wrong, and restored Adler’s name on the nomination.

Adler went from strength to strength in Britain, culminating with an album of Gershwin songs recorded with George Martin for Adler’s 80^th birthday in 1994. The album reached No 2 in the British charts, although that may have something to do with the format. Each track was sung by an invited guest, accompanied by and orchestra and Adler. The guests were: Chris de Burgh, Sting, Lisa Stansfield, Elton John, Carly Simon, Elvis Costello, Cher, Kate Bush, Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, Oleta Adams, Willard White, Sinéad O’Connor, Robert Palmer, Meat Loaf, Issy Van Randwyck. Adler promoted the album on tour, opening each concert with a performance of Rhapsody in Blue in which he played piano and harmonica simultaneously!

In 2001, Adler was one of a galaxy of stars who performed for Prince Philip’s 80th birthday. He counted Prince Philip as a friend, since he was a member of the Thursday Club, the dining and drinking luncheon club that featured in an episode of The Crown and that apparently counted among its members Arthur Koestler, Cecil Beaton, John Betjeman, the Kray twins, David Niven, Peter Ustinov and Kim Philby. Limitations of time prevent me giving the background of that extraordinarily motley crew. If you do not recognize the names, an hour’s googling is liable to raise your eyebrows.

So, if Larry Adler is someone you had never heard of before, consider your musical education now a little more rounded, and, as an encore, listen to him enoying himself playing Summertime with Itzhak Perlman.

I have to go now, to welcome back – for their last three days in Israel – the kids and Tao, who seems to have been enjoying himself up North.