I first saw the BPO in 1946 or 7, when they came over with Furtwängler to give two goodwill concerts in London and Oxford.

My Dad took me to the Oxford one in the Town Hall, and we sat quite near the front. I remember being knocked out by the Schubert Great C major Symphony under the famous conductor’s eccentric leadership. I dare say I would have liked it a lot less now, but I certainly didn’t dream then that I would one day conduct the orchestra.

Forty years later, however, due to the explosion of interest in our Beethoven recordings with EMI, I as indeed invited, in the same week as New York and Chicago. I turned down all three. My poor agent nearly had a heart attack. But my reasons were simple. I wasn’t entirely sure I yet had the fire power for this high level. But, much more importantly, I didn’t need to be fed by novelty-loving managements to orchestras who would almost certainly hate what I wanted from them. I remember Elmar Weingarten, the BPO Artistic Adviser, sitting with me in the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, trying very hard to persuade me. But I still think I was right; it was too soon for either the BPO or me.

Five years later, after successful engagements with large symphony orchestras in England and America, I was happy to have a stab at Berlin, but by then they had stopped asking! I couldn’t very well write to them saying I’d changed mind about their invitation five years ago.

My luck changed when Elmar Weingarten became the Intendant, and picked up the phone almost at once (so he flattered) to give me some dates.

My debut with the Berlin Philharmonic came directly after concerts in the USA, and I arrived jet-lagged. The next morning my alarm didn’t go off and I only woke when Elmar called in a state, as the first rehearsal was about to start. It transpired that the new driver had been too scared to wake me! When I finally arrived the band were having an early coffee break. When I joined them some bright spark said that this was a first:  most conductors didn’t sleep too much but too little before facing this formidable crowd! As we started I apologised profusely and said that the beer was on me when we finished. Things looked up then and we got on well. I took a risk when a player was late in the afternoon. I called out “You’re  Late”. Fortunately they laughed. The beer was good.

The wonderful Philharmonie hall, with its golden shell, was built right next to the East German border, as a sort of cultural challenge to the Communists. Audiences flocked to it in vociferous numbers. They had a tradition at the end of a concert of clapping until the orchestra had left the stage, and even after, if they liked the conductor. So I was quite taken aback when the stage manager said I had to go on again, on my own, even though I had my jacket over my shoulder to cool down. It was touching to be appreciated in this manner on a first appearance.

I conducted five or six of their subscription concerts in the next years. They’re a headstrong crowd, technically formidable. It was always a little like driving a Formula 1 racing car on an unknown circuit. Exhilarating, but requiring a good deal of concentration.

A few occasions stand out:

A London/Proms-type programme with quite a bit of pompous Elgar and Walton, to which we invited the British Ambassador. In one rehearsal, after a particularly rousing March Imperial I impetuously cried out: “Now you see why we won the war!” They yelled approval; I must have been mad.

Opening one concert with the Brahms Violin Concerto, we all had to wait 5, 10, 15 minutes, while the eccentric Nigel Kennedy alternately drank large mugs of tea and went to the loo. The band were not all impressed, nor by his stamping with his bovver boots in time with the music when we finally began. Still, quite a good performance in the end, bumps and all.

In the second half of this concert was Elgar 1. Filmed by a Japanese company, it was on Youtube last time I looked. The playing was superb; some English audience members came round with glowing appreciation (one in tears). But Elmar and I were shocked by the rather cool reception from the conservative regulars. Karajan never played it so it can’t be good.

A notable concert was a repeat of a Berlin programme in the Salzburg Easter Festival, the special week Karajan had set up with the BPO many years earlier. It was attended by a sort of club of very wealthy people from around the world. Now it was my old ally Claudio Abbado who invited me to share the conducting.

After I had given a fairly nifty account of Berlioz’ Fantastic Symphony at the closing concert, there was a dinner for the most expensive people of all, under the auspices of Eliette Karajan. Kay sat next to the Aga Khan, and I next to the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein-Sayn (who was not aware until I told her that her ancestor had encouraged Berlioz to write The Trojans). Kay and I exchanged uneasy glances across the room. We didn’t really do “grand”. The chair on my left was so far empty.

The President gave a laudatory speech, and Kay was given a magnificent bouquet. After about 20 minutes Eliette appeared, a little the worse for wear, to fill the chair on my left. Our good friend Michi Berger-Sandhofer, who was running the event, was rattled. Eliette needed a late salutation, so Michi seized Kay’s flowers and bestowed them graciously upon the widow. There was much muttering from the Aga Kahn, but Kay took it all in her stride…

For one of my last concerts with the Berliners their latest Chief, my colleague Simon Rattle, asked me to conduct the Bach B Minor Mass, and indeed attended himself. We had a fine cast of soloists, and the splendid RIAS Choir, with whom I worked so often over the years. The big question was how would the BPO handle the vibrato question. The answer was pretty well, much the same as the Vienna Phil a couple of years before.

I had a beautiful layout, with the singing and woodwind soloists raised up in a row just behind the organ and strings. I asked the Leader and the winds to stand for their solos, which they all did with a will,- except the young Leader. He, poor fellow, refused to stand, and treated the whole vibrato idea as a huge joke.

The concert went well, with huge warm applause at the end. I was amused to read the two reviews (yes they still have them in Germany). A male reviewer hated the soloists, the choir the orchestra and the conductor. Why did the music dance? This was supposed to be a serious (boring?) Mass, in a minor key. (Actually it’s mostly in the major) But a female reviewer simply loved it: “We were on Cloud Nine”. “Glorious, dancing music from the summit of the Baroque”.

The poor Leader was singled out for his lousy solo. What neither reviewers nor I had been told was that he had contracted some neurological  disease which meant he wasn’t able to stand for long. Indeed I believe he had to leave the profession shortly after. I was furious. Why on earth had the management not warned me? I could have gracefully handled the situation, and helped him.

Conducting 10 or twelve concerts withe BPO was quite exhilarating. But enough is as good as a feast.