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I first met Luigi Dallapiccola in 1946. The annual Festival of the ISCM—lapsed during the war—took place in London that year, giving an opportunity of renewing old acquaintances and meeting new colleagues.My first sight of Dallapiccola—no one, not even his wife, Laura, ever calls him Luigi—was of a tiny figure of great vitality and dignity on which was poised a large, noble head (then black-haired) tilted at a strange angle when looking up into the faces of those he was speaking with. The speech was always accompanied by many gestures from his large, expressive hands.

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