In August Joseph Groocock retired from teaching, and from this world, at the age of 83. Over the past 60 years he taught thousands of music students, first in St Columba's College, Rathfarnham, then in Trinity College, the Royal Irish Academy of Music and the DIT College of Music in Dublin. He became known to countless others in the early days of broadcasting and gramophone societies, and through choirs such as those of the Irish Countrywomen's Association and, for several decades, the University of Dublin Choral Society. He is remembered by those who heard his presentations, or sang under him, as a lovely man who delighted and charmed them, and who gave to many their first real musical impetus, striking a musical spark within them.
One of his early pupils at St Columba's writes: "He had an infectious laugh, which was preceded by an explosive "g-ha". He was almost always easy-going, although there is a story that he was once encountered storming towards the warden's house, muttering: `I'm very angry with the warden - I'm going to see him now.' When informed that the warden would be away until next Tuesday, Joe immediately calmed down and replied: `Then I'll be very angry with him on Tuesday.'
"He inspired a love of music in many of us, especially at his informal organ recitals after the Sunday evening chapel service. As we processed out of chapel, Joe would play an improvisation on the final hymn tune, often cunningly weaving in a bit of the latest popular song. Then we'd rush back into chapel to join the varied group of boys and masters gathered round the organ bench. The most favoured had the privilege of sitting beside Joe and turning the page when he gave a brisk nod . . . His legs flew over the pedals, and his arms might have been those of the six-armed Hindu god as they pounded the keys and stabbed at the organ stops."
As a teacher his method was to lead by example; he would pose a contrapuntal problem and set his pupils to come up with as many solutions as they could, while he on the blackboard swiftly outnumbered us. The Bachelor of Music degree in Trinity College in the late 1960s and early 1970s was entirely taught by him, and all hinged on the writing of fugue. His bible was Bach; his harshest criticism was: "Would Bach have done that?" (softened frequently by "he could have . . .").
He would test our harmonic exercises, making chords in the air with his hands; then he would praise our efforts, gently pointing out any unintended effects we had produced. Above all he made sure we heard what we were doing, and he was snortingly derisive of any music teaching that was not firmly based on ear training. At the thought of such humbug his eyes would flash. Otherwise, he spoke with seemingly excessive modesty, but always with the authority of one who was utterly intimate with the process of composition in many styles. His performances of Baroque music were historically informed, long before that phrase became current. As a composer he had nothing to do with modernity, but was able, for example, to provide the Prelude Brass Ensemble with a brilliant and beautiful piece after the style of Brahms.
In his life Joe was both spartan and extremely hospitable; pupils meeting him for the first time would feel tremendous relief on finding a truly welcoming personality in what were often intimidating surroundings. He is remembered with deep gratitude by many for his painstaking kindness and thoughtful sympathy in their times of difficulty. he "abominated fuss," but created an easy atmosphere in any company; to the last he was full of humour, endlessly interested in the people he met, and warmly appreciative of kindness in others.
Once during his final illness, in St Vincent's Hospital, he remarked with much feeling how lucky he was, to be cared for by such nurses and such a family. His visitor also felt lucky in life, and said so; Joe reflected and said, "One is lucky."