FRIDAY 26TH DECEMBER

“Santa Claus has the right idea. Visit people once a year.” (Victor Borge)

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I REMEMBER being really angry when my parents admitted that there was no such person as Santa Claus.

I REMEMBER my father telling us children that on Hogmanay there would be a man at Kirkintilloch Cross who had as many heads as the days in the year.

I REMEMBER carols being played and sung by the Salvation Army outside our tenement building in the dark.

I REMEMBER that our family and the family of our father’s brother George used to get together every New Year’s Day, meeting in each other’s homes on alternate years. There was always a huge meal, and I think there was a bit of rivalry between our mother and Aunt Jen.

I REMEMBER our parents taking us to a pantomime in a Glasgow theatre. I was more interested in the musicians in the pit than what was happening on the stage. In those days theatres had fairly big orchestras.

I REMEMBER that, as a young man, I used to attend the New Year’s Day performance of Handel’s Messiah in St. Andrew’s Halls. Every seat was occupied by the time the Glasgow Choral Union and the Glasgow Orchestral Society took their places, and from midday till three o’clock we sat enthralled by the music.

This is a clip of "For unto us a child is born" with Sir Colin Davis conducting the London Symphony Orchestra and the Tenebrae singers.


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A sad tale -

‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste.
All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvellous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."

So - away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

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The Nativity by the 15th century Italian painter Piero della Francesca

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Naturally being a church organist for many years Christmas had added importance for me. As early as October, music had to be chosen for the special services, and, if a cantata was to be performed, September wasn’t too early to start practising.

Christmas services were always very well attended, and it was a great experience to accompany the singing. Unfortunately a problem arose one Christmas Eve service at Lenzie Old Parish Church. Because the licensing hours had been changed, the hour of the pubs’ closing time coincided with the time folks were arriving for the service, and quite a number of drunks came into the church. There was a lot of noise and some disruption, and we soon learned that ours was not the only church to be affected in this way. Many of the congregation vowed never to come again to a Christmas Eve service, which was sad for a solution to the problem was found. In the years that followed, rather than turn people away from the church, any drunks were led in to the hall where they were given coffee and something to eat, and they could hear the singing coming from the church.

Christmas Day services are designed for the children of course, but I was always sorry for our own three girls on Christmas morning. Instead of playing with their toys and games, they had to come to church with us, although I don’t remember them complaining.

I’m often asked if I miss playing church organ. Well, all that was a long time ago. My answer would be - no, I don’t miss it, but when I hear “O come all ye faithful” on Songs of Praise……………

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Recently on YouTube I’ve been re-discovering songs I haven’t heard for more than fifty years, many of them giving me a real thrill. This one has no connection with Christmas or the New Year, but in some way it seems suitable for this time of the year - Paul Robeson singing “When you come to the end of a perfect day”.



The New Year lies before you
Like a spotless tract of snow
Be careful how you tread on it
For every mark will show. (Anon)



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FRIDAY 19TH DECEMBER

My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that? (Bob Hope)

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Christmas in the 1930s was very different from the Christmases of today.

In Scotland Christmas Day was just like any other working day, with offices, shops and factories open as usual, and Hogmanay and the New Year were much more important, New Year’s Day being a general holiday.

I believe that there was Midnight Mass in most Catholic churches on Christmas Eve, but the other churches didn’t have any services either then or on Christmas Day.

We children of course became very excited as the big day drew near. I remember that the living room in our tenement house looked wonderful with paper decorations round the walls and extending across the ceiling. I mentioned in an earlier blog that Rita doesn’t think we got many presents. I seem to remember that we did, but memory can play tricks, and I may be thinking about one particular Christmas.

Each year we went to the Sunday School Christmas party where we played the usual games and Santa Claus handed out gifts to us all. I don’t think people had Christmas trees in their homes in those days, but there was always a big tree at the party.

Our parents usually took us to Glasgow to see Santa Claus in a big store. On one occasion we were passing through a number of corridors lined with toys and novelties, when we came across a huge teddy bear, taller than an adult. As we passed it, our father shook its paw and said “How d’you do?” And its head fell off!!!

On the Sunday nearest Christmas Day, we sang the usual Christmas hymns in church, but there was no tree and no decorations.

It wasn’t till the late 1940s that Scotland began to make more of Christmas. Perhaps the change was due to our servicemen coming back to civvy street, having experienced how it was celebrated elsewhere. This was certainly the case in our church when the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols was introduced, but I think it was some time later that services on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were begun. I remember one local minister telling me that he went to bed at ten every night, and had no intention of changing his routine!

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A real weepie, bringing back a lot of memories for me -
“The Little Boy that Santa Claus forgot” sung by Phyllis Robbins




“Christmas Morning” by the Swedish painter Carl Larsson (1853-1919)

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The Druids thought the mistletoe
Would stop the meanest witches,
Cure the deadliest disease,
Keep cradles safe from switches.

Today it is the symbol of
The mystic power of earth,
For when the sun’s about to die
In love we find rebirth. (Anon)

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As I already indicated, New Year was much more important in those days, and most families had some kind of celebration on New Year’s Day. In our house we stayed up on Hogmanay, and when midnight struck we wished each other a Happy New Year, had a small glass of non-alcoholic wine with some shortbread or a piece of New Year bun, and went to bed.

In other homes of course families would gather to toast the New Year with something a bit stronger than our Co-op wine, and would have a party which might last till early morning. Many folk would go out “first-footing” and it was important to take a bottle with you.
The “first foot” is the first person to visit you after midnight and, in order to bring good luck, he should have dark hair and carry a lump of coal. I understand that in some areas he carried a piece of cake or bun, coal and a coin, to ensure that there would always be food, warmth and money throughout the coming year. I’ve heard that some folk at midnight open their back door to let the old year out, and open the front door for the new year to come in.

My first experience of celebrating New Year in the traditional way didn’t happen till I was 27 years old. Jean and I had become engaged the previous August, and I think she was anxious to initiate me into the customs of her family. Strangely enough, neither of us can remember much about that night. (No insinuations, please!) I know we started off in her house and then went out, but who we visited we can’t recall.

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I remember that, when I was a boy, there was one New Year’s Day programme on the wireless that my father would never miss, and that was Harry Lauder. I could never understand his popularity, yet at one time he was said to be the highest paid entertainer in the world. I feel that those few remarks about New Year memories wouldn’t be complete without one of his songs, so here‘s “A Wee Deoch-an-Doris”



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This week there was an important landmark for my WISE MEN SAY blog. The post on Tuesday was the one thousandth since I began in February 2006, and I published again my favourite saying -

“You will find meaning in life only if you create it. It is not lying there somewhere behind the bushes, so you can go and you search a little bit and find it. It is not there like a rock that you will find. It is a poetry to be composed, it is a song to be sung, it is a dance to be danced.” (written by the Indian mystic Osho 1931-1990)

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FRIDAY 12TH DECEMBER

Without music, life would be a mistake.  (Friedrich Nietzsche)




MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE PIANO

I think I’ve already said that I wasn’t terribly keen on learning the piano. However, like everything else, my parents made the decision, a piano was bought and Rita and I went every week to Aunt Frances for lessons. The fact that she was our aunt made no difference - she was pretty strict with us, and, supervised by our mother, we each did our half-hour’s practice every day. Very soon I discovered that I liked to have an audience, and was always keen to perform for anyone who would listen.

Frances had a string of letters after her name, and used the recognised methods of teaching. Later on however, she was clearing out her sheet music, and I acquired a number of popular songs which I eagerly practised - Old Faithful, O Play to me Gypsy, When I grow to old to dream, I’ll never say “never again” again, and my favourite Red Sails in the Sunset

This record of 1935 is by the Casani Club Orchestra. This band, resident at the Casani Club in London, was led in the 30s by Charlie Kunz and it’s likely to be his piano-playing which is heard on the record.



During the few years before the war, our summer holidays were spent at Lower Largo in Fife. Despite the fact that this was a fairly small resort, there was a concert party performing twice daily on the pier. The first year we were there, it was in the open air, but after that the shows were inside a large tent. Of course I was thrilled with them, and would have attended all the performances. When we were back home, I spent hours at the piano, pretending I was playing for the concert party.

At secondary school a big annual event was the dance and, in preparation for this, there were dancing lessons. I was usually given the job of pianist, with the result that I never really learned to dance satisfactorily.

The music for the actual night was provided by a band made up of boys slightly older than I was. A few years later their pianist left and they asked me to join them. I suppose that they would probably have had no more than 4 or 5 engagements per year, but my parents said “No”. That was a great disappointment to me. Playing in a dance band was not quite respectable, it seemed!

A time came when I did play at dances, but, in order to book me, one band-leader used to approach my father to get his permission. I’m sorry to say that there were occasions when I played at dances without telling my parents.

I’ve been remembering the many “classical” pieces I learned in those far-off days. One of them was the famous Minuet by Paderewski, and I found this clip of the composer himself playing it in the 1936 film “Moonlight Sonata”. He had an interesting life as pianist, composer and diplomat. During 1919 he was Prime Minister of Poland, signing the Treaty of Versailles for his country, and later became Polish ambassador to the League of Nations.



During the second world war there were many charity concerts in aid of the war effort, and very often I took part as accompanist. Most folk had to spend their holidays at home and during the Glasgow Fair Fortnight there was every type of entertainment in the parks or in the local halls, and I had a great time playing for them.

While in the RAF I was able to enjoy my music to the full. Our small band, consisting of trumpet, guitar, double bass, vocalist and me on piano, played regularly on the camp and in nearby Carterton.

I had an unusual musical experience when I broke every rule in the book. The Royal Naval School of Music at Burford were holding a big dance there, and, strangely enough, they didn’t have a pianist available that night. They got in touch with our CO’s office and I was delegated to do the job. And so it came about that a RN vehicle was sent for me, and, on arrival at the dance hall, I had to change into the full dress uniform of a RN musician - totally against all regulations!!! That was the first time I played with a full dance band, and it was a great thrill!

I don’t know when this next video was made - “In the Mood” played here by the Glenn Miller Orchestra led by Tex Beneke. There are 4 trumpets, 4 trombones, a French horn, 5 saxes, the usual rhythm, plus a string section which is seen briefly towards the end of the clip



After demob I played with a number of bands, mainly deputising, and it wasn’t till I was married and we had our three children that I joined a “big band”. The Metronomes line-up was 2 trumpets, trombone, 2 saxes, piano, drums and vocalist. They played for dancing every Saturday night in Riddrie, Glasgow, and had quite a number of dances and weddings elsewhere.

Eventually, reflecting the general changes in popular music, the services of the two sax players and myself were dispensed with, being replaced with guitars. Rock ‘n Roll had arrived!!!

Coming Soon -

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE ORGAN

FRIDAY 5TH DECEMBER

THIS WEEK’ S QUOTATION -

Most people say that as you get old, you have to give up things. I think you get old because you give up things.  (Theodore Francis Green)

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Following my invitation for anyone to have a go at composing haiku, I must thank Natsuko who sent me three. I posted one of them on the HAIKU HOMESTEAD site on Wednesday. Here it is -

rough winter crossing
queasy faces, silent, grim
harbour lights shine out

I like it. Anyone else want to try?



Our friend Leonard Lewis died three years ago last Tuesday at the age of 78.

He and I met at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire where we were doing our National Service. We soon became friends for we shared a keen interest in all things connected with entertainment. We joined the station concert party where he was a jack-of-all trades and I provided the music. For one of our shows we had the professional assistance of Ralph Reader of Gang Show fame who was on our station planning that year’s RAF Pageant at Olympia.

One of our cast was a civilian worker Bunny Shayler, a comedian who had his own small group of entertainers outwith the RAF. Leonard and I joined them and we did quite a number of shows around Oxfordshire. I remember going to one village in the wilds where, on our arrival at the hall, Bunny was greeted with “Are you the man from the BBC?” (He rather traded on the fact that he had once been on BBC Midland Children’s Hour). Not long afterwards though, he appeared on radio in Hughie Green’s “Opportunity Knocks”, and I was one his supporters who accompanied him to the live broadcast in the Paris Cinema, London.

This is a photo of Leonard with me taken sometime in the late 1950s.



After demob Leonard worked in rep at Morecambe and Ashton-under-Lyne before going to the Library Theatre, Manchester. I met up with him again when he came to Glasgow to join the BBC as a TV production assistant. He and his wife Jean and their three little girls came to live in Lenzie and our two families got on well together.

In 1963 his work took him back to England, and his family followed of course. From then on, his name appeared regularly in Radio Times as director or producer of Z Cars, Softly, Softly, When The Boat Comes In, The Good Companions, Flambards and others. Before he retired, he was executive producer of the long-running BBC soap “Eastenders”.

I must mention that the playwright Alan Plater wrote a very fitting obituary which appeared in the Guardian on 11th January 2006.

This is a photo I took of Leonard and Jean at their home in Somerset.



When I think of the RAF Concert Party, I always remember Leonard on stage, dressed as a butler, reciting this monologue -

A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.
The matter appears to be pressing.
Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,
I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know.
There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.
I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,
And also a whisky and 'polly'.
I don't know what time you retired to bed,
But the party sir, must have been jolly…
…If you'll pardon my saying so.

The lady in question a-waiting below,
Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,
And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,
A pugnacious character one might infer,
Whom the lady describes as her brother.
The elderly female is quite commonplace,
A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,
Who shouts in a nerve wracking falsetto voice,
And her language is painful to hear, sir…
…If you'll pardon my saying so.

The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.
He refers to you, sir, as a 'twister.'
He threatens to alter the shape of your 'clock,'
To break you in half, sir, and knock off your 'block,'
Unless you do right by his sister.
The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,
That you made her a promise of marriage.
She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,
While you, sir, ride by in your carriage…
…If you'll pardon me saying so.

Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,
He is fuming to beat all creation.
My lady, your mother, is up in the air.
She is having hysterics and tearing her hair,
And borders on nervous prostration.
Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,
And look up the times of the trains, sir?
Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,
And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir…
…If you'll pardon my saying so.

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In this short video, I reckon there are glimpses of more than 80 paintings cleverly merging into one another. I’m sure you’ll recognise quite a few of the subjects.



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MORE RAF MEMORIES

Like so many others, my time in the Service began at RAF Padgate. From there, I went on to RAF Bridgenorth, Shropshire for square-bashing, and then to Halton where I trained as a dental assistant. I spent a few weeks at St.Athan in South Wales before being posted to Brize Norton where I would stay for the rest of my service.

Of all the jobs in the RAF at that time, mine surely was the cushiest. Located in Sick Quarters, the dental surgery had a personnel of just two, the dentist and myself. From the time I started at Brize Norton till the day I left for demob, I was never on parade and never had to be inspected. The reason was that, when all the other airmen were on the square at 8.20 a.m., I was with the medical orderlies in Sick Quarters attending to the dental sick parade - and very few reported dental sick!

The first dentist I worked for was Flight-Lieut. Cloutman. He was a real upper-class type who was obviously keen to make the RAF a career. When he was posted elsewhere I was quite glad, and imagine my surprise when his successor turned out to be someone I knew by sight. Flying Officer Copstick had just graduated from Glasgow Dental Hospital and this was his first posting. We worked well together.

Morning break was at ten o’clock, and you could go either to the NAAFI or to the Church Army for tea, coffee, rolls, etc. The Church Army hut was handier and I usually went there. There was always a number of us waiting outside for the door to open, and I remember that each day the radio inside the hall was playing the Housewife’s Choice signature tune.

In many ways my job was just an ordinary five-day week job - free at week ends and in the evenings. Wednesday afternoons were for all kind of sports, and you needed a really good reason to be excused. And yes, I had a good reason! Rehearsing with the concert party and with the Brize Rhythm Group.

Lots more memories to come - but one more just now. This might be called My Most Embarrassing Occasion. I managed to get home leave frequently but there was one Christmas when that wasn’t possible. Now, there’s a tradition in the RAF (perhaps in the other Services too) that the officers serve dinner to the airmen on Christmas day. I was looking forward to the meal, but got the shock of my life when I went in, for out of all the people there I was the only one not in uniform!!!!!!!
I was so used to being in civvies in the evenings and week ends that it never entered my head to wear uniform. And no one had thought to tell me what was expected. Now, the remarkable thing is that not one of the officers spoke to me about what could have been considered a serious faux pas.

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The song “My Happiness” always reminds me of Brize Norton for it was very popular then, and I was always a fan of Judith Durham.



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Finally, a story………

One day an Englishman, a Frenchman, an Indonesian and a Chinaman were passing a drinking fountain, when the Englishman said, “Look, someone’s left a cup on the wall here.”

“No, no”, said the Frenchman, “that’s not a cup, that’s a tasse.”

“You’re both wrong,” said the Indonesian, “It’s a cawan.”

“Now, hold on,” said the Chinaman, “you’re all wrong, that’s a pei, and I can prove it. The Chinese dictionary is much older than any of yours, and anyway more people speak Chinese than any other language. So it’s called a pei.”

While they were arguing, a Buddhist came past and drank from the cup.
“Whether you call it a cup, a tasse, a cawan or a pei,” he said, “the purpose of this vessel is for it to be used. So why don’t you stop arguing, and drink?”

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FRIDAY 28TH NOVEMBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be. (Robert Browning)

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In October 1943 I began dental studies at the Anderson College of Medicine in Glasgow. For the first year there were only two subjects Chemistry and Physics - at school I had dropped Science after Third Year. I didn’t find the course interesting at all, and listening to lecturers reading from well-used scripts was a bit of a bore. Nevertheless I passed the exams without difficulty.

I enjoyed the next year more for that consisted of Anatomy and Physiology, and we made a start in the Dental Hospital lab. Some of the classes were held in St.Mungo’s College next to the Royal Infirmary, and I think it was there that we had to attend lectures where a dead body was dissected. Quite a few students fainted at the earlier sessions, but it wasn’t till a later occasion that I suddenly felt dizzy. I slipped out of the room and sat with my head between my knees till I recovered.

This was wartime of course and, like every other building, firewatchers were needed to alert the authorities should enemy action result in a fire. I took my turn at Anderson college and two of us had to stay overnight. We slept in a large dimly-lit room lined with shelves of glass jars containing all sorts of foetuses . A bit scary!

In the dental lab we were taught the work which is done by dental mechanics, and looking back it seems as if we spent most of the time queuing up at the office to get the materials we needed or to have our completed work passed as satisfactory. I found that, whereas at school the staff were genuinely interested in our progress, the very opposite was the case at the dental hospital.

I must mention that during my time there I did something bad. Contrary to regulations I made a set of dentures for my father!

Among the students I made a number of good friends, quite a few of whom, like me, gave up the struggle. One of them became a primary school teacher and for a while taught in Kirkintilloch.

And of course the time came when, armed with probes, drills, and shattered nerves, we were unleashed on the patients. Attired in white coats just like real dentists, we tried to convince the public and ourselves that we knew what we were doing.

And that was when I realised that this career was not for me!

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THE SMOKE SIGNAL by Frederic Remington 1861-1909. Born in New York he was a painter, sculptor, illustrator and a writer of both fiction and non-fiction



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Jean and I were married in 1954. Our first house was a 3-apartment in Loch Road, Kirkintilloch.

Ten minutes walk in the direction of Lenzie led to Woodilee Hospital, better known locally as “the asylum”. We found that quite a few of our friends from outwith the district had reservations about living so near to such an institution. Of course I had always been used to seeing patients out walking about the town and knew that the more serious cases were kept locked up.

One of the patients I knew quite well. He was a very good dulcimer player and appeared regularly as a solo artiste at local entertainments. He kept a little notebook in which he recorded every tune he could play and every one of his engagements since the 1920s. His big moment of fame came when he performed on a early STV show hosted by Bill Tennant. It was said that Peter could have been discharged from the hospital any time, but his family wouldn’t agree to “sign him out”.

Some of the patients just appeared to be eccentric. There was one man who seemed to be very wealthy for he wore an astonishing range of expensive suits, including complete highland dress and cowboy attire. I seem to remember that he used to visit the small shop near us and buy a large number of loaves to feed the birds, though I may be getting him confused with another patient.

Built in 1875 the Woodilee grew to be a very big place (in 1930 it had 1250 beds) with its own successful farm. I remember when the hospital staff used to hold an annual dance in the ballroom and there was always a tremendous rush by the general public to obtain tickets. I often played at functions there, and for a couple of years provided the music for the staff’s pantomime in the Town Hall.

As time went on there were big changes in mental health, with more and more patients able to live in the community. So the Woodilee gradually treated fewer people until it finally closed in 2001.

In its final years there were a number of wards for people with Alzheimer’s disease, and among them was my father. He had gradually become a problem at home for my mother (although she didn’t admit it for quite a while). That was certainly the best place for him. He always knew us when we visited and seemed to be quite content. He died there on 13th July 1982 aged 88.

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Thanks to Anne for sending me the following. I think it’s excellent.



One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.

“One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

“The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked, “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed”.

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This music clip is of Sarah Chang playing “Cantabile” by Paganini. Born in Philadelphia, she was a child prodigy at ten years old and now is well-known internationally.



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Finally, here’s a photo of Binks, the little dog Rita and I had when we were teenagers. The canal bank was a favourite place for dog-walking, and Rita recalls the day when Binks fell into the canal. The bank was rather high at that place, and Rita had to lie down flat and reach down to rescue the dog.



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FRIDAY 21ST NOVEMBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTE

To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent — that is to triumph over old age. (Thomas Bailey Aldrich)

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AND SO ANOTHER IMPORTANT ANNIVERSARY has come and gone - the signing of the Armistice ninety years ago at the end of the first World War. Although I wasn’t alive then - we called it the Great War, it seemed to be very much in people’s minds when I was small. I have a national newspaper which was issued on the day I was born, and it’s surprising that a fair amount of news in it either directly or indirectly concerned the war. My parents frequently referred to it in general conversation and my father often spoke of “when he was in the army”. As a very young child, I thought he had been in the Salvation Army for that was the only army I knew.

I particularly remember that, if I was given a toy that was “Made in Germany”, that was bad, but if it had been made in Britain that was good!

My father was among the many local men who volunteered as soon as war was declared, joining the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. He fought in France and a sniper’s bullet got him in the shoulder.

And that’s really all I know of his time in the army. I very much regret not having asked him for his full story, but, as so often happens, it’s only when old folk are gone, that we think of all the things we might have found out about their life.

I once asked my father what was the happiest time of his life, and his reply surprisingly was “my time in the army”.

This is a photo of him, probably taken in 1915, when he would be 22 years old.




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ON THE STREET WHERE WE LIVED

I was 10 years old when we moved to the semi-detached house in Northbank Avenue. The street we left was one of contrasts. Bisected halfway down by Oxford Street, the upper part where we lived consisted of well-kept tenements, 4 villas near us, a primary school, a church and 2 more private houses.

My pal Andrew lived in one of the bigger tenement houses across the road. He was one of a big family, and each time I called to ask if he was coming out to play his mother, having answered the door, would go off to fetch him. That was when his siblings one by one would peep out from the kitchen door to inspect me, each head appearing at a different level.

The lower part of the street, which stretched down to the main road, had a picture house, a bus garage, and a small hall which may have been used by British Legion members. Quite a few of the houses were of the room and kitchen type with outside toilets, and the families who occupied them seemed to have a large numbers of children. I was inside one of those houses only once, and that was when I was teenager. I had to deliver a message to a semi-professional musician who lived there with his wife and 3 or 4 children. Where they all slept I don’t know, but Bob’s double bass took up valuable space in the bedroom!!!
There were two “sweetie” shops, one of which was really the living room of a house. Another one was used by a shoe repairer for his shop. We children had a morbid interest in the fact that he had just one leg and got about on crutches. A member of the Salvation Army band, he taught his two sons the trumpet and when they grew up both were well-known locally as dance band musicians. The younger one for a while worked in London with some of the country’s top dance bands.

I must say a little bit more about our picture house. Of the two cinemas in the town, the one in our street was the least attractive. The films shown there were often unknown and the brightness of the screen seemed to dim every twenty minutes or so. Of course you must remember that in those days it took years for new films to come to a local picture house. However that didn’t stop many folk being enthusiastic cinema-goers, and, with each picture house changing their programme every two days, it was possible to see a different show six nights a week!!!

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This picture “Soap Bubbles” was by Elizabeth Gardner 1837-1922 who married the painter William Bouguereau


http://gardenofpraise.com/child8.htm

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DUGGAN’S DEW OF KIRKINTILLOCH



There used to be occasions when Americans visiting Kirkintilloch asked to be directed to the Duggan’s Dew distillery, and were disappointed to find that no such place existed.

In fact there was - and there still is - a popular whisky in America called “Duggan’s Dew”. The makers had taken the name from a series of short stories published in the Saturday Evening Post. Written by Guy Gilpatric 1896-1950, they featured Colin Glencannon, a ship’s engineer on a tramp steamer who with his dog Mary had come originally from Kirkintilloch. He was very fond of a drink, his preference being the whisky made in his home town, and there was always a mention of “Duggan’s Dew” in the stories. I believe a 39-episode series based on his adventures was produced for TV in the late 1950s but information about this is scarce.

The author himself had an adventurous life. An airman in the first World War, he became a stunt and test pilot, and took part in a number of films. In one film he had to crash a plane, but another “take” was needed, and he had to do it once more - with another plane, I presume. Incredible!

You can read one of the Glencannon short stories by accessing this site -

http://gaslight.mtroyal.ca/glencX02.htm

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Instead of a music clip this week I thought you'd like to see this video of a very young polar bear called Knut



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BLOGS GALORE

No one seems to know how many blogspots there are on the internet. Covering every possible subject and topic, it appears that this is something that's here to stay. In April 2005 it was estimated that there were 50.75 million worldwide.

I started my first blog Wise Men Say in February 2006 and the following month began the MyHaiku site which continued till last July. I very soon discovered that few people knew what a haiku was, and I've always been hoping that my efforts might create an interest.

I'm especially enthusiastic about my new HAIKU HOMESTEAD site, and would like to make a suggestion. Compose a haiku, send it to me and I'll publish it on HAIKU HOMESTEAD (anonymously, if you wish).

and finally -

this verse has three lines
and seventeen syllables -
is it a haiku?

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FRIDAY 14TH NOVEMBER

ANOTHER MILESTONE

Last Monday was my birthday and I posted these haiku on my new HAIKU HOMESTEAD site.

eighty-three today
from the shaving mirror
an old face looks out

closed circuit TV
that old chap looks familiar -
so he should, it’s ME!!!

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A BIRTHDAY CARD



This card was sent to me by the Sunday School and I see from the reverse side that our address was Burnbank Terrace, Lenzie. That was where I was born, but I think that by the time my second birthday came around we would have moved to the tenement in Kerr Street, Kirkintilloch.

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This photo is the earliest one I have. I’d love to know was in my mind as I stood there.



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The Christian Church didn’t always approve of observing birthdays and the rejection of celebrating them continued right down to the 4th Century. So many customs and traditions had their roots in paganism and that was the case with birthdays.

An article from the German magazine Schwabische Zeitung in April 1981 explains that the origins of celebrating birthdays “lie in the realm of magic and religion”. It continues - “The custom of offering congratulations, presenting gifts and celebrating, complete with lighted candles, in ancient times were meant to protect the birthday celebrant from the demons and to ensure his security for the coming year.”

Both the Romans and the Greeks believed that everyone had a spirit who attended the birth and watched over him or her for life, and birthday celebrations were partly in honour of that guardian angel or spirit. There was a special significance about sacrificial fire and lighted tapers, which explains why we have candles on our birthday cakes today.

Were birthday parties common in my childhood? I don’t think so, for I can’t remember us having any or going to any. The only children’s party I recall (apart from those held by the Sunday School) was one which our Aunt Frances had for her piano pupils, and all I can remember is that I refused to join in a kissing game and went in a huff.

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Here are photos taken at the beginning and end of my schooldays.

Primary 1 at Lairdsland School



I’m in the middle row, 4th from Left. (Notice the butterfly?)
In the back row 4th from left is Betty Hamilton whose aunt was married to my uncle George, the minister who became Secretary of the Baptist Union of Scotland. On the extreme right on that row is Walter Nisbet a 2nd cousin of mine. Standing next to me is Johnny Lang - we came in contact with each other very often through our music, he played trumpet and was associated with the Players Club.
In the front row 4th from the left is Archie Little who later on played violin in our music group.

Year 5 at Lenzie Academy


Back Row -Roderick Maclean, Thomas Morgan, Ronald Renfrew, James Hendry, Robert Goodwin, Harold Street, John Roy, Geoffrey Allan
Third Row - William Rankin, James Anderson, Ian Macpherson, Douglas Smith, David Anderson, Ian Brown, Me, Jack McIntyre, Andrew Buchanan
Second Row - The Rector Mr Farquharson, Vera Hutchison, Nessie Miller, Nancy Creighton, Ian Paterson, Blair Miller, Archie Little, Graham Davidson, Mr Mutch
Front Row - ?? , Nancy Beddoes, Essie Fleming, Mary Graham, Miss Harley, Betty Anderson, Lora Miller, Evelyn Dunn, Alison Macleod

The three violinists are all there - Douglas Smith now in Australia, Andrew Buchanan who sadly died as a result of a street accident a good many years ago, and Archie Little now in Edinburgh.

I’m in touch by e-mail with both Douglas Smith and John Roy who is in Canada.

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This poem is rather sad, but perhaps quite appropriate for EIGHTY PLUS.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER (Thomas Hood 1799-1845)

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white;
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday -
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing;
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;

It was a childish ignorance,
But now ‘tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from Heav’n
Than when I was a boy.

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Now, two more photos -
The first one of Jean and I taken a few days after my 56th birthday, and the other on my 60th when the girls in the office organised this surprise for me.





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As usual, a video clip to finish with. This trio from Korea are known as 3 Ladies and here they have fun with the opening theme from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. (I had no success when I tried to get more information about them. Google had many references to 3 Ladies, but none applied to those musicians.)



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FRIDAY 7TH NOVEMBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

Some people,
no matter how old they get,
never lose their beauty—
they merely move it from their faces
into their hearts. (Martin Buxbaum)

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CALLANDER RE-VISITED

In the 1970s my parents had a caravan at Callander and our family have happy memories of holidays and week-ends in and around the town.

Last week-end Jean and I spent an enjoyable few days there, and were glad to find that much of Callander remains the same - the River Teith with the swans and ducks, the mound where Margaret and Fiona used to sit playing their guitars and attracting the attention of interested boys, the main street with the big Dreadnought Hotel, numerous gift shops and cafes (many of them closed at this time of the year). And of course looking down on the town the imposing Ben Ledi with a little snow on its summit.

Some things have changed of course - the church with the tall steeple is now the Rob Roy museum, the Ben Ledi café is now a fish and chip shop, and the little sweet shop where we bought "soor plooms" is no more.

We were most fortunate in choosing that particular week-end, for up till then the weather had been continuously bad, and just the week before our visit there had been quite a bit of flooding when the Teith overflowed.

Here are a few photographs I took over the week-end.








On Tuesday I began a new Haiku blog called HAIKU HOMESTEAD and today's posting includes a photo taken at Callander. http://haikuhomestead.blogspot.com

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Some months ago I referred to the fact that there were very few motor cars when I was young. Most of the goods vehicles were horse-driven. However, more and more bus services were being introduced, and, as the streets gradually became busier, it was clear that certain “rules of the road” would be needed.

So it was that in 1931 the government issued a booklet which detailed instructions and regulations for road traffic. The illustrations it contained are rather amusing and here are a few from that very first edition of THE HIGHWAY CODE.





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It’s interesting to note that for many, many years Kirkintilloch district had three institutions for mentally deficient people. The earliest was Woodilee Hospital (known to us as “the asylum”) which functioned from 1875 till 2001. Then came Waverley Park Home 1906 -1993, and from 1936 till 2002 Lennox Castle Hospital.

I knew Waverley Park very well, for I entertained there on many occasions. When it opened, its purpose was to provide for the “Care of Defective and Feeble-minded Children”. In practice it was a home for girls and women, though I suspect that the women had been in the home since they were quite young.

The girls were always thrilled when visitors came to entertain, and enjoyed taking part.A church dramatic club which always performed comedy plays was very popular, and my violinist friends and I provided music between the acts.

A few of the girls who were more intelligent worked outside as domestic helps, and one in particular was employed by a local doctor for many years. All of them went out en masse each week, on Sunday mornings to church, and to the cinema on Saturday afternoons.

I used to dread meeting them in the street. They walked in a long line two by two, and, if they happened to see me across the road, they would nudge each other and point over to me. If I saw them before they saw me, I would take avoiding action by darting into a close, and wait there till they had passed by. Remember - I was probably aged 15 or 16 at that time.

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This is a great video for relaxing, with the music turned down soft in the background. The paintings are by Yao Fenh Shakya and the music by Karunesh.



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FRIDAY 31ST OCTOBER

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN

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THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION -

If we could be twice young and twice old we could correct all our mistakes. (Euripides)

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MORE MEMORIES OF SCHOOL

In an earlier blog I said that my fellow-pupils in primary school were generally well behaved. That was true also in secondary, although sometimes we were high-spirited and ready for a bit of nonsense.

There were quite a number of teachers with whom we would never consider stepping out of line. However, the science teacher was a poor old soul (he seemed very old to us), and a favourite ploy with some boys (not me, sir) was to turn on a Bunsen burner and blow into it. The result was that the burner which the old fellow was using to demonstrate an experiment, would go out. On another occasion someone attached an iron clamp to the back of his jacket, and he strolled round the classroom with it hanging like a tail behind.

If any of my classmates ever played truant, I wasn’t aware of it. I must tell you however that some of us for a time managed to “plunk” gym. Nobody really enjoyed the gym periods, for we seemed to spend most of the time running round the room. I think the idea was mine, and one day 2 of 3 of us, instead of attending, went to a rarely used small room next to the ladies staff room where we passed the time doing homework. We weren’t missed and the following week more boys joined us in our little hideaway.

This continued and the number of escapees grew each week. It bacame obvious that the gym teacher wasn’t interested in whether we attended or not. It was also obvious that the more people who gather in a small room, the noisier it will be. The din was heard in the ladies staff room, questions were asked, and unsatisfactory answers given. Surprisingly no punishment followed (I think the Head knew that the gym teacher was really no use), but from then on we had to attend the gym class.

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This still life is “Apples and Jar” by Samuel Peploe 1871-1935. Born in Edinburgh he was one of the four Scottish Colourists.
Last week one of his paintings was sold for £529,250.



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MORE RANDOM MEMORIES

I’ve been told that I could talk before I could walk. My mother used to recall the occasion we were visiting a friend’s home. The lady took me up in her arms, and pointing out the window towards the railway said, “Look, there’s a choo-choo”. To which I replied, “No, no! That’s a train!”

When I was about 10 or 11, I produced my first blog - 8 handwritten pages of drawings, jokes, short stories, puzzles and family news. My magazine must have had a name, but I’ve no idea what it was. Members of my mother’s family were persuaded to part with a penny for the privilege of borrowing it for a few days, and it was such a success that I followed it up with a second edition even better than the first. It was returned to me with the front cover marked where egg yolk had been spilled.
I was upset! I was horrified! I was blazing mad!
I produced no more.

A few years later my next major opus was to be an opera. The short overture was quickly completed - a very sombre beginning on double basses which merged unexpectedly into a bright 6/8 march. The first scene was a forest glade where a boy and his sister would have a duet followed by a minuet-like dance. And that’s as far as I got. The unfinished song began with the boy -”O sister dear, come o-o-over here”. Thankfully I can’t remember any more.

For many years Lou Preager and his band were the main attraction at Hammersmith Palais de Danse, from where they made regular broadcasts. In 1945 in collaboration with the BBC he organised a “Write A Song” contest with a major prize for the winner. By that time I had made up quite a few tunes, and I thought “This is my big chance!”
I chose one of my compositions, tidied it up a bit and wrote it down on manuscript as neatly as I could. My effort was a slow waltz called “You’re not to blame” (with words which I’ve no intention of quoting here), and I sent it off.

Yes, that was the last I heard of it! What was the song that won? A quick waltz written by two middle-aged ladies Eily Beadell and Nell Tollerton. Here it is, sung by Paul Rich with the Lou Preagar band.

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A SAD POEM

A mother was washing her baby one night,
The poor little thing was a terrible sight,
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin,
It was really a skeleton covered with skin.

The mother she turned for the soap on the rack,
She was only a minute but when she got back,
The baby was gone and in anguish she cried
“O where is my baby?” and the angels replied:

“Your baby’s gone down the plug-hole,
Your baby’s gone down the plug,
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin
It should have been washed in a jug”.


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FROM MY ALBUM

This photo of my father’s family was probably taken about 1916




Back Row: John b1900, my father Robert b1893, Charlie (Charlotte) b1896, George b1892, and Jean b1898
Front Row: Lizzie (Elizabeth) b1905, Grandma (Charlotte) b1865, Walter b1910, Grandpa (John) b1868 and Isa (Isobel) b1900
John and Isa were twins -the only twins that I know of in the wider family.
Have you noticed that my father and Charlie have their pinkies linked?

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Finally, looking forward to Guy Fawkes Night and Bonfires, a cautionary limerick written by Herbert Langford Reed, 1889-1954

There was a young man of Herne Bay
Who was making some fireworks one day,
But he dropped his cigar
In a gunpowder jar,
There WAS a young man of Herne Bay.


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FRIDAY 24TH OCTOBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

No one grows old by living - only by losing interest in living. (Marie Beynon Ray)


I REMEMBER -

I remember the September day in 1937 when our town made the front page of the national newspapers.

We were all shocked to learn that 10 young tattie howkers (potato pickers) from Ireland had lost their lives when fire broke out in the bothy where they were living. They were the male members of a group from Achill in County Mayo.

This is Achill Island



The girls, some of whom had brothers and cousins among the dead escaped, as they had been accommodated in a separate building. The cause of the tragedy was never really known.

I REMEMBER the summer evening in 1940 when a company of the Free French Alpine Chasseurs arrived in our town. They, along with others of the Allied forces, had been forced by the Germans to evacuate Norway, and we saw them looking absolutely exhausted coming along the road.

Many of them were billeted in a church hall near where we lived, and quite a number of the local families would invite one or two of them for tea. We got to know one soldier quite well, Marius Reviglio. He had been a lift attendant in Nice and so his English was fairly good.

We were surprised to see how easy-going the French soldiers were in comparison with the other nationalities. I don’t think it occurred to us that, after their Norway experience, they would be entitled to a complete rest.

On one occasion when Marius came to us for tea, he told us that he had to meet an officer at a certain time. When it was time for him to go, he was still drinking tea, and we pointed out that he was going to be late. You can imagine our surprise when he replied “Ze officer, he will wait”.

I REMEMBER that the little music group we had while at secondary school started off as a trio with Douglas and Andrew on violins and myself on piano. We held concerts in each other’s homes and relatives were pressurised into attending. I don’t recall if there was an admission charge or perhaps a collection, but I know that we sent donations to the RAF Benevolent Fund.

Later we added another violin played by Archie and we had a number of “outside” engagements including a church dramatic club’s productions, when we provided the pre-curtain and interval music.

The Minister in his vote of thanks rebuked us, half in fun, half in earnest, for playing “Anywhere on earth is Heaven when you’re with someone you love”.

I REMEMBER the day in June 1965 when the Queen and Prince Philip came to Kirkintilloch.

At that time I was on the staff of the Town Council working in the Burgh Chambers. When we learned of the impending visit, many of my colleagues announced that they weren’t really interested and wouldn’t go to see them. And I felt much the same way.

However, as the big day grew nearer, members of the staff including myself were asked to assist in the stewarding of the many schoolchildren who would be attending.

And guess what happened - everyone of us, including the most anti-royalist, suddenly became enthusiastic about the whole thing. The event passed off very well indeed, and the Queen and Philip were their usual charming selves. And we were just as excited as the school children!!!


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FROM MY ALBUM -



The Jaap family about 1888
Back row: my grandfather John Armour b1868, Walter b1866, Richard b1870 and Robert b1872
Centre: Andrew b1875
Seated: George b1834, James b1878 and Jean Armour b1841

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LIFE IN THE TENEMENT - The Wash House

In the back court behind tenement buildings stood the wash house. Inside there was a boiler heated by a coal fire and either a sink or washing tub where the clothes could be scrubbed by hand. Having been washed, the clothes were squeezed through a wringer and then hung out to dry. Of course if the weather was bad, you might have to dry your washing indoors. In the kitchen/living room there was a pulley suspended from the ceiling, which could be lowered by ropes and, after the clothes had been hung, raised again.

Jean tells me that she personally hated washday, for often her mother would keep her off school to fill up the boiler with water, make up the fire and light it, and fill the two tubs with water from the boiler.

Each family had their own particular day for using the facility, and there could be trouble if someone had hung out their washing on the wrong day. Can you imagine two women battling it out in the back court, washing being flung everywhere, scrubbing brushes flying. And faces at every window, enjoying the show!!!


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A FAVOURITE PAINTING



“The Order of Release” by another of the Pre-Raphaelites John Everett Millais 1829-1896

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A FAVOURITE POEM

As a white candle
In a holy place
So is the beauty
Of an aged face.
As the spent radiance
Of the winter sun,
So is a woman
With her travail done,
Her brood gone from her,
And her thoughts as still
As the waters
Under a ruined mill.
(Joseph Campbell 1879-1944, Irish poet also known as Seosamh MacCathmhaoil)


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Finally, here’s an amazing clip of two brilliant jazz musicians, Stephane Grappelli 1908-1997 and Django Reinhardt 1910-1953 playing “J’attendrai”.

Both are excellent of course, but I was astonished at Django’s guitar playing. When a young man he was seriously injured in a caravan fire and lost the use of two fingers of his left hand. Watch how he does a jazz improvisation using only two fingers. Astonishing.



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FRIDAY 17TH OCTOBER

THIS WEEK‘S QUOTATION

When you’re old, you wonder how you could be over the hill, when you don’t even remember being on top of it. (Anon)


A SAX, A BANJO AND A PIPE ORGAN

I’ve already mentioned that when I was young I used to like listening to Henry Hall on the wireless. It must have been the rhythm that appealed to me for at that time I wanted to play the banjo.

Later when I was in my teens this desire had changed and my new desire was the saxophone. For a few weeks one summer a friend gave me a loan of an alto sax, and, with a great deal of energetic blowing and occasional shocks to the neighbours, I succeeded in playing one tune “It’s foolish, but it’s fun”.

Realising that I was quite keen on the instrument, my father took me to a music shop in Glasgow, hoping to pick up a sax for about £5. I can still remember the condescending manner of the salesman when he said to my poor father “You must be mistaken, sir. Alto saxes cost in the region of £40”.

Of course that was out of the question, but shortly after that incident I inherited a banjo from an unexpected quarter. The story went that my Uncle John when a young man had been jilted by a girl, and to compensate for his disappointment had bought a banjo. He hadn’t made much of it, and so it came to me, complete with plectrum, tutor book and banjo case.

I persevered with it for a while without much enthusiasm, for by that time the banjo was no longer fashionable and my tastes were changing again.
Soon I was having lessons on the pipe organ in our church, and a whole new world of music was opening up for me.



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LIFE IN THE TENEMENT

It must be difficult for a young person to imagine what it was like to live in a tenement building around 1930.

We had no electricity. Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was usually above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen, shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.

The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated, unless there were visitors or perhaps someone was ill.

The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food would be cooked. There were surfaces where pots could rest near the fire and often there was a swivel plate where a kettle could sit to boil up water over the open fire.

The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily, and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded by the diligent housewife.

A sink with one cold water tap was usually located at the window, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.

This room of course was the most important room in the house - everything happened there, it was where we lived. There was a bed in the recess where Rita and I slept. There was a big dresser with lots of drawers and a long shelf on the wall above for crockery. There was the big coal bunker, and the coalman would climb the stairs two or three times with a sack on his back to replenish our supply.

We were fortunate in having our own indoor toilet (no bath of course), but in other tenements toilets were out on the landing, and in some cases shared with other families.

So - no central heating, electric heaters, electric kettles, cookers, washing machines, tumble dryers, vacuum cleaners, shavers, hair driers, and of course things like TV and computers hadn’t been invented.

Nevertheless, that was our house - our home. And, despite anything I might say about our strict upbringing, it was indeed a happy home.

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As a boy I spent a lot of happy hours drawing with pencil and paper, and I believe the results were quite good. A few years before I retired I thought I’d better prepare for it by trying a new hobby. And so it was that I took up water colour painting. Some of my efforts must have been quite good, for I managed to sell a few at art exhibitions. As time went on however, music again began to take up most of my time.

I said in an earlier blog that I was very keen on the Pre-Raphaelite Painters. Among the Impressionists my favourite must be Renoir (1841-1919). This is his painting of a fellow Impressionist Berthe Morisot and her daughter Julie.



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In my EIGHTY PLUS on 26th September, I included the words of a comic song about amateur choirs. Since then I’ve found another one which I’d completely forgotten though I heard it being recited a good few years ago. I have the feeling it may have been done by either Pam Ayres or Joyce Grenfell.

It’s tough to be an alto when you’re singing in the choir,
The sopranos get the twiddly bits that people all admire.
The basses boom like loud trombones, the tenors shout with glee,
But the alto part is on two notes or, if you’re lucky, three.

And when we sing an anthem and we lift our hearts in praises
The men get all the juicy bits and telling little phrases.
Of course the trebles sing in tune, they always come off best,
The altos only get three notes and twenty-two bars rest.

We practise very hard each week from hymn book and the psalter,
But when the conductor looks at us our voices start to falter.
Too high! Too low! Too fast! Too slow - you held that note too long!
It doesn’t matter what we do, it’s certain to be wrong.

Oh, shed a tear for altos, they’re the martyrs and they know
In the ranks of choral singers they’re considered very low.
They are so very humble that a lot of folk forget them.
How they’d like to be sopranos but their vocal chords won’t let them.

And when the final trumpet sounds and we are wafted higher,
Sopranos, basses, tenors - they’ll be in the heavenly choir.
While they sing alleluias to celestial flats and sharps,
The altos will be occupied with polishing the harps.


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THE PERSON I‘D MOST LIKE TO MEET -
- is Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk.




Born in 1926, he has gained a world-wide reputation as a poet/author/teacher and, probably most important of all, as a peace activist.
During the Vietnam war, he founded a relief organisation and set up schools and health clinics.
Exiled from Vietnam by both his own country and the Americans for his pacifist activities, he now lives in the monastery he founded in the Dordogne region in the South of France.

I came across one of his books some years ago, and since then have read quite a number of them.
One of his poems “Call me by my True Names” made a strong impression on me when I first read it some years ago, and I was delighted to find that someone had made a little video of it.



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