The following report has been received by our special reporter, John Barleycorn, who investigated a new community event in the hills above the Golden Valley. The organisers have asked us to thank all those who supported the Folk Music Workshop held on Wednesday 24th November at Newton Church Room. A provisional date for the next Workshop has been provisionally set for Wednesday 28th January at 7.30 p.m. This is much later than hoped but the previous two Wednesdays clash with other events which could reduce the number of people able to attend.
Having checked my destination on the Ordinance Survey sheet I set out into the night and eventually climbed 800 feet to enter the network of lanes which led me to the venue. GPS, mobile phones and even the traditional phone box cannot be relied on should the darkness and the matrix of lanes defeat you.
Having found the venue I was soon being made welcome in a warm cosy church room which was refurbished about 8 years ago. There were about 17 people present who had appeared out of the night from the two adjoining parishes of Newton and St. Margaret’s and others who had travelled from Rowleston and even Llanfihangel Crocorney across the border in Wales. Villages here do not have centres with village greens but have populations dispersed along the many lanes and at the end of tracks leading from what seem like field gates. The community therefore proves its existence at gatherings such as these, church services and funerals, and at the many events held at the larger Escleyside Community Centre. Some people make the mistake when visiting the area of thinking that they would not like to live in what seems to them to be an isolated place but it would seem you are isolated as much as you wish, unlike the forgotten flat in a city block where no one knows each other, and what’s more, don’t seem to care about it either.
I had no idea what to expect from a Folk Music Workshop. From the information which had reached me it seemed that turning up and being prepared to listen or join in with the occasional chorus would be sufficient, but things soon gained momentum after a warm up song, Drill Ye Tarriers Drill. We were invited to make suggestions as to what might be attempted and a suit case of song books was soon being explored by many of us. Decisions were also made as to whether an accompaniment could be provided either by the banjo or the guitar which had been brought along. A modern keyboard was usful for establishing a preferred pitch but otherwise many of the songs were unaccompanied. Although many said they came as listeners, judging from the pleasant group sound which emerged the majority seem to have been prepared to have a go.
The main objective, getting people singing, was soon achieved. This would not be a place for those who want well rehearsed pieces and brilliant musicianship. The ethos is one of encouragement and tolerance so that the songs really did come from the folk present. Sea shanties were a good mainstay with their strong rhythms and robust choruses. So too were the old community songs such as Pack up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag, the final song of the evening. Along the way we had old favourites like the Leaving of Liverpool, When the Boat Comes In (sung by a genuine Geordie visiting the area) and the undoubted hit of the evening, Down on Misery Farm, sung by genuine farmers, one playing an accompaniment on an accordion, recently released from a loft where it had lain for many years.
By popular acclaim it was agreed to try and make the workshop a monthly affair once Christmas was over. With five apologies received it would seem that an attendance in the twenties is perfectly possible. As I drove off into the night well refreshed by the experience and the combination of a hot drink and a small army of snacks and cakes I was reminded that things only happen when people turn up and have a go. Quite a simple idea really.
Monday, 30 November 2009
Saturday, 28 November 2009
The Destroyers in Concert :Birmingham Town Hall, 11 Oct 2009
There I was again, dancing like a mad woman at the front of the crowd to The Destroyers and as usual being moved by the creativity and talent of this 15 member ‘boy’ band! The Destroyers play Baltic gypsy music that just makes your feet want to dance, with tales spun by the great Paul Murphy. All I could think of was "Here we go!"The order of songs that evening is a bit of a blur, mainly because of all the frenetic dancing that me and my friends did for the evening at the front of the crowd. All the songs were familiar to me and drawn from their newly released first album called Out of Babel.
One of my favourites, Out of Babel, is really, for me, a great ode to Birmingham and the diverse cultures that contribute to its makeup. Its a crowd rousing song which ends in the chorus "Here we go" My favourite verse draws from the Biblical tale of the tower of Babel where the people of Birmingham, coming from both the East and West, all talking different tongues, must now learn how to sing as one. Its a celebration of the cultural diversity we have in the city and how we should celebrate what we have. And as relevant to Birmingham this song is, it could be an anthem for the UK as a nation.
Keeping with the times there is another track called "where has all the money gone", about the financial crisis we are in. There is quite a lot of jazz influences in this song which does not make it not one of my favourites, but it is yet another one to get the crowd singing along. There should be more of these songs in all idioms, especially folk: Please let us know if you have come across any and leave the details as a comment with a cross reference to it.
The Destroyers love to experiment and I have seen many of their shows where they allow individuals in the band to show off their talents and creativity such as the Halloween special a few years ago at the Glee Club, where they provided soundtrack to some famous black and white horror movies, a collaboration with the Dhol Blasters, and more recently, a sound track to the Flatpack show, Curzonara, at the Town Hall. I am notoriously known by my friends at Birmingham Friends of the Earth for stalking out the Destroyers at Glastonbury and usually have about 3 to 4 shows at this one festival. You will see from the review of their performance at the Sheep Music Festival back in the Summer that I have even infected by parents with the Destroyers bug.
This night they didn't disappoint either, where Copanistas starts with a slow solo on the Armenian duduk, I think from memory. I have visited the Armenian museum in Jerusalem and my family was very moved by the music played at this understated small museum in the shrinking Armenian quarter. There is something very haunting about Armenian m
usic and this song took me back to the beautiful sun-drenched courtyard in the middle of Jerusalem and memories of the tragic history of the Armenians'. This track moves forward with a solo on the oud and builds to a crescendo which then brings the whole of the band into the track before returning to the fast and frenetic music that the destroyers are so good at. As with all of the Destroyers tracks, even when they start slow, they build up speed and tempo towards the endthrough the track, and this is no exception.And then there are other very fun tracks, like The Glass Coffin Burial of Professor Zurinak which is a creepy tale of Professor Zurinak who is buried alive in his coffin and builds to the chorus cry of "Let me out". Yet another crowd rousing song and lots of manic dancing. The Destroyers have produced a great video to go with this. Then there was another favourite, the tale of Methuslelah Mouse, who will live for ever but sadly comes to an abrupt end. Then there are moving songs like Questa Canzone, beautifully sung in Spanish or it could be Italian (oops I didn't know I was so bad at identifying my languages!) about how music transcends borders and brings people together, another one of my favourite songs, and ideas.
The evening was ended by bringing out their support band the Old School Band and doing a frantic Irish jig, which I was told by someone at the back of the Town Hall brought the whole crowd to a bouncing reverie. Thank you Destroyers, till the next time!
Mary Horesh
(Photos courtesy of Ben Mabbett- cheers!)
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Don’t let them Rob us of our Election Night Results
Although the thought of an election is somewhat daunting and depressing I can’t help looking forward to them. For as long as I remember election results have been more a feature of election night rather than the following day. It was the ‘night’ which really made my day. At first this was on the wireless, yes it is still wire less, and I used to ask my parents who the various people were and why they were always having ‘Parties’. My parents were from a mixture of tradesman, military and professional stock and so I was always curious to know whether the latest result would help the Conservatives or not. I think the first election I remember must have been the one which resulted in the defeat of the Atlee Government and the return of Churchill in 1951. Ever since I have always taken an interest and with the coming of television coverage I have managed to stay up for much of the night to see how the villains and the saints would get on. The election of 1964 and the end of Sir Alex Douglas Home’s ambitions is probably the most memorable especially as I saw on my bed-sit TV that my then MP, Home Secretary Henry (babbling) Brooke, had lost his Hampstead seat. A close second must go to the defeat of Michael Portillo with what must go down as the one which drew the loudest response. I think most of the street where we were living at the time could not have missed the wave of cheers which rippled along the terrace at about 3 am.
Whether it has all been worth it is a recurring question but it has certainly been fun. I think I have managed to catch most of them down the years and a young teenage daughter eventually joined me in this late night lunacy. Imagine the disappointment then when I heard that more local authorities are planning to postpone their counts until the following day. Talk about hiding the democratic process. While trendy suited types try to convince us we should be able to vote in supermarkets and probably soon by hitting the red button, turn outs falls and fewer and fewer people vote. Consequently more and more people fail to recognise the dangers of going into to their own little private worlds as though this makes them comfortable and safe. It does neither; it simply makes them more and more ignorant of what is going wrong with the system. The tragedy of this retreat is that they have no idea what the growing British Mediocracy and Bureaucracy, which is stunting the growth of British Democracy, will lead to.
Is the hiding of the electoral process in the daylight hours when so many voters are at work, give or take 3 million unemployed, part of a cancerous plot? I suspect not, but I do think that it is part of this nations unwitting progress into undemocratic ways, which, if we are honest, have hardly advanced much since universal suffrage began to emerge after the Reform Act of 1832. The Duke of Wellington is reputed to have said after the passing of the Act that, ‘ the mob will now rule’. Unfortunately that mob, the ordinary working and trades people of the country, do not seem to have had much of a look in as the aristocratic embrace of the British Constitution has worked its magic and produced all kinds of leaders which eventually revert to the status quo of middle or upper middle England. We may well be about to see an election which will give rise to a government, which like that of Sir Alec’s or Harold Macmillan’s, owes more to the playing fields of Eton, rather than to those of the grammar school, let alone the New Universities, comprehensive and secondary moderns: yes they still exist as well.
. The minor public schools, Winchester etc, (Fetters?), have always been well represented in Parliament, and this will no doubt continue, although many Oxbridge students now see their destinies elsewhere. How can the less fortunate people get into Parliament, let alone feel they are represented by people they have something in common with? There are those who will say that this might not lead to better government, but judging from the social background of the many Parliaments I have seen come and go, I remain to be convinced that it has yet been properly tried. Robbing the ‘ordinary people’ of the traditional circus of Election Night will not help, and will probably do great harm, to any attempts to re-engage people in the political process. The move away from the depressing low turnouts that our ‘democratic processes’ seem to bring about will not happen. Perhaps compulsory voting will be the next bright idea to finally turn the electorate into the unthinking, obedient servants of the failed Jerusalem that Britain will have become.
Dacier
Whether it has all been worth it is a recurring question but it has certainly been fun. I think I have managed to catch most of them down the years and a young teenage daughter eventually joined me in this late night lunacy. Imagine the disappointment then when I heard that more local authorities are planning to postpone their counts until the following day. Talk about hiding the democratic process. While trendy suited types try to convince us we should be able to vote in supermarkets and probably soon by hitting the red button, turn outs falls and fewer and fewer people vote. Consequently more and more people fail to recognise the dangers of going into to their own little private worlds as though this makes them comfortable and safe. It does neither; it simply makes them more and more ignorant of what is going wrong with the system. The tragedy of this retreat is that they have no idea what the growing British Mediocracy and Bureaucracy, which is stunting the growth of British Democracy, will lead to.
Is the hiding of the electoral process in the daylight hours when so many voters are at work, give or take 3 million unemployed, part of a cancerous plot? I suspect not, but I do think that it is part of this nations unwitting progress into undemocratic ways, which, if we are honest, have hardly advanced much since universal suffrage began to emerge after the Reform Act of 1832. The Duke of Wellington is reputed to have said after the passing of the Act that, ‘ the mob will now rule’. Unfortunately that mob, the ordinary working and trades people of the country, do not seem to have had much of a look in as the aristocratic embrace of the British Constitution has worked its magic and produced all kinds of leaders which eventually revert to the status quo of middle or upper middle England. We may well be about to see an election which will give rise to a government, which like that of Sir Alec’s or Harold Macmillan’s, owes more to the playing fields of Eton, rather than to those of the grammar school, let alone the New Universities, comprehensive and secondary moderns: yes they still exist as well.
. The minor public schools, Winchester etc, (Fetters?), have always been well represented in Parliament, and this will no doubt continue, although many Oxbridge students now see their destinies elsewhere. How can the less fortunate people get into Parliament, let alone feel they are represented by people they have something in common with? There are those who will say that this might not lead to better government, but judging from the social background of the many Parliaments I have seen come and go, I remain to be convinced that it has yet been properly tried. Robbing the ‘ordinary people’ of the traditional circus of Election Night will not help, and will probably do great harm, to any attempts to re-engage people in the political process. The move away from the depressing low turnouts that our ‘democratic processes’ seem to bring about will not happen. Perhaps compulsory voting will be the next bright idea to finally turn the electorate into the unthinking, obedient servants of the failed Jerusalem that Britain will have become.
Dacier
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
Why Quality Meat Producers Should Not Feel Threatened by Meat Free Mondays
Eating The Planet?, is a report produced by a collaboration between Compassion In World Farming, and Friends Of The Earth, and puts forward the view that vegetarianism is not essential for feeding the rapidly expanding world population. By ditching intensive forms of industrial farming there would seem to be a good chance of producing enough food for everyone without destroying the planet. The snag for carnivores is that they should eat less meat. For a refreshing analysis of the issues see respected food writer Joanna Blythman who tells it like it is when it comes to meat and the planet Less meat, more veg
You may have already read the article by Mary Horesh on Meat Free Mondays and the other items on this site on that subject. This is now a growing debate and there is much more to be said and there are some who would prefer to blur the arguments due to vested interests. Some will say that this is all a vegan or vegetarian plot to stop us eating meat, while others will question why they should see their diet as part of the environmental debate. There is a long way to go before these opposing camps are put into the side aisles while the majority of us get some facts and figures. Some of those figures do not make pleasant reading and the statistics for beef production are no exception.
The three issues which make beef an environmental problem are water consumption, the sourcing of animal feed and methane. This means that the piece of beef on your plate is there because of combinations of several inputs which raise questions of sustainability. My personal view is that these issues are worth confronting because I not only want to maintain my dietary choices to include beef but I want to see those who produce this product locally to do so by sustainable methods while keeping our farming economy. Although many will argue that the land taken up for producing beef should be used for producing food for a vegetarian diet, there is considerable doubt as to whether the local climate would allow this.
Herefordshire Beef is a product which should be up there in the marketing bright lights as a sustainable quality product with excellent feed stuff sourcing and high welfare standards. Provenance is therefore all important as is educating the consumer in such matters. If price is the only criteria that the shopper applies then a niche product will never compete against the cheap, poor quality meat products on the market. Consumers have to be confronted with the true environmental and welfare costs such products involve. Alongside this the consumer has to be made aware that we eat too much animal protein in this country and by cutting back on meat generally, better quality meat could be bought for the days when meat is on the menu. A prestige and preferably regional market should be developed in which quality producers make sure it is their product that is purchased for the Sunday roast.
You may have already read the article by Mary Horesh on Meat Free Mondays and the other items on this site on that subject. This is now a growing debate and there is much more to be said and there are some who would prefer to blur the arguments due to vested interests. Some will say that this is all a vegan or vegetarian plot to stop us eating meat, while others will question why they should see their diet as part of the environmental debate. There is a long way to go before these opposing camps are put into the side aisles while the majority of us get some facts and figures. Some of those figures do not make pleasant reading and the statistics for beef production are no exception.
The three issues which make beef an environmental problem are water consumption, the sourcing of animal feed and methane. This means that the piece of beef on your plate is there because of combinations of several inputs which raise questions of sustainability. My personal view is that these issues are worth confronting because I not only want to maintain my dietary choices to include beef but I want to see those who produce this product locally to do so by sustainable methods while keeping our farming economy. Although many will argue that the land taken up for producing beef should be used for producing food for a vegetarian diet, there is considerable doubt as to whether the local climate would allow this.
Herefordshire Beef is a product which should be up there in the marketing bright lights as a sustainable quality product with excellent feed stuff sourcing and high welfare standards. Provenance is therefore all important as is educating the consumer in such matters. If price is the only criteria that the shopper applies then a niche product will never compete against the cheap, poor quality meat products on the market. Consumers have to be confronted with the true environmental and welfare costs such products involve. Alongside this the consumer has to be made aware that we eat too much animal protein in this country and by cutting back on meat generally, better quality meat could be bought for the days when meat is on the menu. A prestige and preferably regional market should be developed in which quality producers make sure it is their product that is purchased for the Sunday roast.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Cometh the Hour: Goeth the Man: as the Wootton Basset Cortège Lengthens time is running out for Gordon Brown
I apologise for this somewhat gloomy article but as I sit here on this hillside with the mist still clinging to the fields this is the political landscape I see. These things will pass and some sunlit uplands will eventually appear. When that will happen and how it will be achieved is not for my failed generation to determine. Any ideas, especially from those involved in the political process, would be welcome.
As I predicted in a post some months ago (Sunday, 19 July 2009 Gordon, do you Remember Vietnam?) , as the number of deaths in Afghanistan mounted so too would the pressure on Gordon Brown. With the latest loss of life and further concerns about inadequate supplies of equipment we are assured by the Prime Minister that he has done his best. Unfortunately at some time or another we all have to recognise that our best is not good enough and I am afraid that, judging from his demeanour, he is beginning to realise this. His administration seems to be sleepwalking into an election without any real clue as to what it is doing and with no hope of winning. Is this a parallel with Afghanistan? Whilst we probably have some sympathy for a man that has been severely damaged by the failures of Blairite New Labour I can still find it in my heart to have some sympathy for the poor devils who will inherit the Brown portfolio of muddle and indecision. Will they do any better? I have my doubts.
It should not be forgotten that the funding and procurement strategies which have lead to the present peacetime budget for a war all started when Gordon was running a tight ship at the Treasury which was cutting back on defence budgets. The procurement of unsuitable equipment has been known of since the Iraq War and now the consequences showing in another. It is therefore no surprise that support for the Afghan War is fast evaporating and that the Sun newspaper is now starting to turn the electioneering screw.
As the public contrast all this with the support which has been given to the bonus junkies, previously known as bankers, with the increased taxation for the rest of us, they will see that the New Labour train, now in its Brown livery, is fast heading for the buffers. It is remarkable that within this decline time is still being found to emasculate Parliament and bring in changes without debate. MPs still allow a hyper-active Executive to undermine an increasing number of our civil liberties in the retreat from Democracy to Bureaucracy. Sleep walking into disaster seems to be catching with so many MPs no longer conscious of the fact that they are supposed to scrutinise legislation. So much so that their nods have now rubber stamped a vast volume of guillotined measures at the behest of the Home Office and the Association Chief Police Officers.
With a hopeless Government comes a hopeless electorate in the sense that they will have lost both the will to vote and any belief that our democratic system can be taken seriously. Our present Secretary of State for Defence for example is now putting forward the nonsense of a policy which will no longer defend vast tracks of Afghanistan but will concentrate resources to defend populated areas. This is not defence, but a managed retreat, and presumably proceeds on the assumption that the nice Taliban will not congregate in large numbers in the vacuums thus created, before encircling prior to delivering the fatal blow. It should be noted that the Taliban’s choice of transport, the small motorcycle, is already an improvement on the push bike of the Vietcong.
If our political leaders cannot properly support our armed forces, then why should the British public support the war? We have now come to the point where leading military men are doing the work of government in telling us that the war is necessary to prevent terrorism in the UK. This is not their job. Our so called elected leaders should be doing this but it would seem that even this is now beyond their limited talents.
Unfortunately we now have to watch the dying stages of this Rump Parliament and this incompetent Government with all its dreaded consequences. Our political classes have failed and there is little chance that we will get anything more than a bunch of apparatchiks to replace them who have got to Parliament by the modern route of party worker or research unit placeman. No wonder the details of the election debate cannot yet be faced by any of our political parties. They all know that whatever the outcome the result will be unpleasant. In the meantime I fear that Al Qaeda will have moved to Somalia and that British Democracy will still be waiting for a bed in Intensive Care.
As I predicted in a post some months ago (Sunday, 19 July 2009 Gordon, do you Remember Vietnam?) , as the number of deaths in Afghanistan mounted so too would the pressure on Gordon Brown. With the latest loss of life and further concerns about inadequate supplies of equipment we are assured by the Prime Minister that he has done his best. Unfortunately at some time or another we all have to recognise that our best is not good enough and I am afraid that, judging from his demeanour, he is beginning to realise this. His administration seems to be sleepwalking into an election without any real clue as to what it is doing and with no hope of winning. Is this a parallel with Afghanistan? Whilst we probably have some sympathy for a man that has been severely damaged by the failures of Blairite New Labour I can still find it in my heart to have some sympathy for the poor devils who will inherit the Brown portfolio of muddle and indecision. Will they do any better? I have my doubts.
It should not be forgotten that the funding and procurement strategies which have lead to the present peacetime budget for a war all started when Gordon was running a tight ship at the Treasury which was cutting back on defence budgets. The procurement of unsuitable equipment has been known of since the Iraq War and now the consequences showing in another. It is therefore no surprise that support for the Afghan War is fast evaporating and that the Sun newspaper is now starting to turn the electioneering screw.
As the public contrast all this with the support which has been given to the bonus junkies, previously known as bankers, with the increased taxation for the rest of us, they will see that the New Labour train, now in its Brown livery, is fast heading for the buffers. It is remarkable that within this decline time is still being found to emasculate Parliament and bring in changes without debate. MPs still allow a hyper-active Executive to undermine an increasing number of our civil liberties in the retreat from Democracy to Bureaucracy. Sleep walking into disaster seems to be catching with so many MPs no longer conscious of the fact that they are supposed to scrutinise legislation. So much so that their nods have now rubber stamped a vast volume of guillotined measures at the behest of the Home Office and the Association Chief Police Officers.
With a hopeless Government comes a hopeless electorate in the sense that they will have lost both the will to vote and any belief that our democratic system can be taken seriously. Our present Secretary of State for Defence for example is now putting forward the nonsense of a policy which will no longer defend vast tracks of Afghanistan but will concentrate resources to defend populated areas. This is not defence, but a managed retreat, and presumably proceeds on the assumption that the nice Taliban will not congregate in large numbers in the vacuums thus created, before encircling prior to delivering the fatal blow. It should be noted that the Taliban’s choice of transport, the small motorcycle, is already an improvement on the push bike of the Vietcong.
If our political leaders cannot properly support our armed forces, then why should the British public support the war? We have now come to the point where leading military men are doing the work of government in telling us that the war is necessary to prevent terrorism in the UK. This is not their job. Our so called elected leaders should be doing this but it would seem that even this is now beyond their limited talents.
Unfortunately we now have to watch the dying stages of this Rump Parliament and this incompetent Government with all its dreaded consequences. Our political classes have failed and there is little chance that we will get anything more than a bunch of apparatchiks to replace them who have got to Parliament by the modern route of party worker or research unit placeman. No wonder the details of the election debate cannot yet be faced by any of our political parties. They all know that whatever the outcome the result will be unpleasant. In the meantime I fear that Al Qaeda will have moved to Somalia and that British Democracy will still be waiting for a bed in Intensive Care.
In Defence of Remembrance Day
I am of an age that means my dad served in the First World War. My grandfather served with distinction in the Boer War, a war which gave rise to the invention of the concentration camp and thus should have little distinction. One of my uncles climbed from a shell hole filled with the dead and survived and a cousin was with the Tank Corps at the Crossing of the Rhine. Another uncle parachuted in on D Day as a War Correspondent for the London Evening News. I clearly remember my Grandpa Outten, RSM, mentioned in dispatches, introducing me to customers in the public house my parents ran, as the next generation of soldier from the family to be there for King and Country. In the attic I found a book of pictures of the battle fields of the battles of the Somme and of Passchendaele and wondering how my dad came through it all. Contrary to grandpas expectations I didn’t follow into the ranks thanks to a growing realisation that it all seemed rather pointless. Especially as we were now in what grown ups called a Cold War, a hot war in Korea, an invasion of Egypt and several unpleasant affairs with people who didn’t seem to like us very much in Kenya and then in Cyprus. Finally, I came across the details of the holocaust and then saw the pictures of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. This can’t be right I thought and have been opposed to war as a marvellous adventure which will solve all, our problems ever since. Recent history not only seems to prove this but also and that we have landed ourselves with even more problems..
However, due to my ancestry and upbringing, I do not see Remembrance Services as glorifying war as many seem to think. I feel they should be seen as a warning from history but also a reminder that so many people, when called upon, have faced the unpleasant music of war, whether in the mud and trenches that awaited my Dad at the ripe old age of 18 or the prison cells or firing squads for the prisoners of conscience or the poor wretches who could not take another day of the shells. For much of my life I have asked myself whether I would have the nerve to face such a nightmare. Being one of a very privileged generation who has not been called on, I will probably never find that answer, but I like to think I would display some kind of courage, whether as an opponent to, or a participant in, some kind of unimaginable warlike experience. Once I was preparing to go off to cross the fence at Porton Down as part of a demonstration against germ and chemical warfare. My Dad tried to dissuade me and I rather unfairly asked him what he was doing at my age. As with all matters from the war, silence was the inevitable response.
And so on November 11th I will remember them: those fellow apprentices with my Dad from Salisbury who all went off with the Somerset Light Infantry and for whom the journey across the channel Folkestone was a one way trip. I will try to imagine what it must have been like for my Dad in one of the many artillery barrages on the Somme. When watching a documentary about the battle of El Alamein he once commented on the sound track, ‘you can’t begin to imagine what a barrage sounds like’. I am pleased to say I can’t, although when one reads that the opening explosions in the battle of the Somme could be heard in the quiet of Hampstead Heath, I get the idea.
Remembrance Day should be seen as a reminder of mankind’s persistent mistakes. It makes me thankful that I have not had to face such terrors, but it also reminds me that a time will come in everyone’s life when we all have to have courage. Whether the fallen of all our wars displayed that at their last we shall never know, but sadly they were there having to face it whether they liked it or not. That surely should be remembered and deserves our respect.
However, due to my ancestry and upbringing, I do not see Remembrance Services as glorifying war as many seem to think. I feel they should be seen as a warning from history but also a reminder that so many people, when called upon, have faced the unpleasant music of war, whether in the mud and trenches that awaited my Dad at the ripe old age of 18 or the prison cells or firing squads for the prisoners of conscience or the poor wretches who could not take another day of the shells. For much of my life I have asked myself whether I would have the nerve to face such a nightmare. Being one of a very privileged generation who has not been called on, I will probably never find that answer, but I like to think I would display some kind of courage, whether as an opponent to, or a participant in, some kind of unimaginable warlike experience. Once I was preparing to go off to cross the fence at Porton Down as part of a demonstration against germ and chemical warfare. My Dad tried to dissuade me and I rather unfairly asked him what he was doing at my age. As with all matters from the war, silence was the inevitable response.
And so on November 11th I will remember them: those fellow apprentices with my Dad from Salisbury who all went off with the Somerset Light Infantry and for whom the journey across the channel Folkestone was a one way trip. I will try to imagine what it must have been like for my Dad in one of the many artillery barrages on the Somme. When watching a documentary about the battle of El Alamein he once commented on the sound track, ‘you can’t begin to imagine what a barrage sounds like’. I am pleased to say I can’t, although when one reads that the opening explosions in the battle of the Somme could be heard in the quiet of Hampstead Heath, I get the idea.
Remembrance Day should be seen as a reminder of mankind’s persistent mistakes. It makes me thankful that I have not had to face such terrors, but it also reminds me that a time will come in everyone’s life when we all have to have courage. Whether the fallen of all our wars displayed that at their last we shall never know, but sadly they were there having to face it whether they liked it or not. That surely should be remembered and deserves our respect.
Monday, 2 November 2009
The Banjo as an Instrument of Liberation
When my daughter set up Tales from under Blackhill for me some time back all I knew was that after five years of not writing anything the time had come to return to the keyboard. I had no idea about what to put in a profile or how the blog would develop and so I included a mention of occasional references to the banjo. The time has come for an explanation.
Unlike so many politicians, most of whom are sadly, a long way off retirement, and probably have jobs and income which make their work fairly rewarding, I have always been a firm believer in retirement. I deliberately worked towards this end for many years and although I like to think I was pretty good at my job, I always felt there were other things I might do just as well, but would enjoy more. As my chosen time of retirement approached I was glad that I had the choice to go a bit earlier as the prospect of another five years on the educational conveyor belt was not an attractive proposition. I wonder whether all the advocates for raising the retirement age will feel the same as they approach their sixties?
Plans are always so attractive and I was quite prepared for the great retirement plan to hit the rocks at some point. The idealised image of my retired self which accompanied the concluding years of employment was that of sitting in a chair, in a bib and brace overall, with a banjo. I would like to have placed this image on a veranda on a silent, dry afternoon with just the crickets for the rhythm section, but that was going a bit too far.
Nevertheless, the new banjo already purchased, the day of liberation arrived. Sadly the number of hot dry afternoons over the past few years has not been very many and as with most of my DIY, the veranda has not got beyond the planning stage. But the banjo playing has come on a treat in so far as self amusement is concerned. When I say ‘come on a treat’, I mean that its five strings and its open back sound has accompanied me into a liberated life, which is now proving to be the true reward for what I look back on as a lifetime of obstacles, irritations and frustrations. Not from the many students that I had the privilege to teach, many of whom said thanks, but with the dunderheads who thought they knew how to run a teaching environment and were only trying to run the show because they neither liked, nor could perform, other than in a mediocre fashion, the teaching function. There were of course some notable exceptions but unfortunately they were in the minority.
So for me the banjo is my symbol of liberation which is apt, as the instrument comes to us through slavery. It is an African instrument thought to have originated in the Gambia. With the liberation of the slaves the banjo soon found its place in New Orleans Jazz. Those early jazz musicians, so close to their slave forbears, expressed their freedom in a way which I first heard in the late fifties and which continues to set my feet tapping. I later discovered white banjo music through the civil rights music of Pete Seeger and in the Britain of the sixties, the playing of Peggy Seeger which so often accompanied much of Ewan Mc Coll’s repertoire. I will never be bored with the instrument. It is rather like my public speaking, more suited to rabble rousing rather than the refined after dinner speech, and I love it for that, if nothing else. One day I will find a tutor and have a lesson but in the meantime my DIY veranda awaits and I am still waiting for that long hot summer afternoon with the crickets in rhythm section.
Dacier
Unlike so many politicians, most of whom are sadly, a long way off retirement, and probably have jobs and income which make their work fairly rewarding, I have always been a firm believer in retirement. I deliberately worked towards this end for many years and although I like to think I was pretty good at my job, I always felt there were other things I might do just as well, but would enjoy more. As my chosen time of retirement approached I was glad that I had the choice to go a bit earlier as the prospect of another five years on the educational conveyor belt was not an attractive proposition. I wonder whether all the advocates for raising the retirement age will feel the same as they approach their sixties?
Plans are always so attractive and I was quite prepared for the great retirement plan to hit the rocks at some point. The idealised image of my retired self which accompanied the concluding years of employment was that of sitting in a chair, in a bib and brace overall, with a banjo. I would like to have placed this image on a veranda on a silent, dry afternoon with just the crickets for the rhythm section, but that was going a bit too far.
Nevertheless, the new banjo already purchased, the day of liberation arrived. Sadly the number of hot dry afternoons over the past few years has not been very many and as with most of my DIY, the veranda has not got beyond the planning stage. But the banjo playing has come on a treat in so far as self amusement is concerned. When I say ‘come on a treat’, I mean that its five strings and its open back sound has accompanied me into a liberated life, which is now proving to be the true reward for what I look back on as a lifetime of obstacles, irritations and frustrations. Not from the many students that I had the privilege to teach, many of whom said thanks, but with the dunderheads who thought they knew how to run a teaching environment and were only trying to run the show because they neither liked, nor could perform, other than in a mediocre fashion, the teaching function. There were of course some notable exceptions but unfortunately they were in the minority.
So for me the banjo is my symbol of liberation which is apt, as the instrument comes to us through slavery. It is an African instrument thought to have originated in the Gambia. With the liberation of the slaves the banjo soon found its place in New Orleans Jazz. Those early jazz musicians, so close to their slave forbears, expressed their freedom in a way which I first heard in the late fifties and which continues to set my feet tapping. I later discovered white banjo music through the civil rights music of Pete Seeger and in the Britain of the sixties, the playing of Peggy Seeger which so often accompanied much of Ewan Mc Coll’s repertoire. I will never be bored with the instrument. It is rather like my public speaking, more suited to rabble rousing rather than the refined after dinner speech, and I love it for that, if nothing else. One day I will find a tutor and have a lesson but in the meantime my DIY veranda awaits and I am still waiting for that long hot summer afternoon with the crickets in rhythm section.
Dacier
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