History, especially music history, can be weird. Sometimes a composer who is immensely popular during their lifetime can get swept under the metaphorical rug after their death, becoming nothing less than a footnote or being forgotten altogether. Others can experience more unfortunate circumstances – they can die young, their music can be lost, or their life situation can prevent them from gaining their well-deserved exposure.
One composer that remains on the fringes of history is the twentieth-century British composer Lilian Elkington. Born in 1900 in Birmingham, England, she studied composition at the Birmingham and Midland Institute School of Music and frequently performed as a concert pianist. Sadly, once Elkington married, she gave up composition to devote herself to being a mother and wife (as was the reality of many female composers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries). Perhaps even more tragic was that her entire compositional output was “disposed of” once her husband remarried after her death in 1969. (It is unknown whether this was by accident or on purpose.)