FRIDAY 20TH MARCH

People go through two basic stages of life - young trying to be older and older trying to be young. (Daniel Neal)

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HOW I BECAME INVOLVED WITH A MERRY WIDOW - and how I acquired a title.

A few years ago Jean and I had a holiday at Evian on Lake Geneva. We were staying in a big Centre which attracted a lot of young people of different nationalities. One day I was approached by a German woman who explained in broken English that she and her friends had been listening to me playing the piano. Apparently they were musicians and they wondered if I would like to play with them. Of course I readily agreed and we fixed a time for our get-together.

The three of them would be in their 50s, she played violin and the two men cello and clarinet. Language was quite a problem, but we got on well together, and the music which was the grand hotel type sounded fine. I discovered that her late husband had been a professional violinist, and every year they had holidayed at Evian, along with the other musicians.

Frau Hamza (I can’t recall her Christian name) was a “touchy feely” person and a bit eccentric. She kept saying “thank you, sir” and “excuse me, sir” to me and of course I told her that she was to call me John. So, for the rest of the week I was “Sir John”!!!

One morning she and I were practicing together, making up a programme which the group would perform on the final evening of the holiday. When we had finished, she said to me “Kom to my house,” - she meant her room - “I vant to give you cuddle.” Wow!!! That WAS a shock! I don’t think I said anything for a moment, and then the penny dropped. She had used the French word “cadeau”, she had a gift for me! It was a CD by her late husband’s group The Georg Hamza Ensemble (2 violins, cello, bass, clarinet, piano and drums), and included 3 of his own compositions.

So I didn’t get a cuddle, but at least I was “Sir John” for a few days!



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The “Total TV Guide” magazine publishes letters from viewers, and the following, which appeared in the 14-20 March issue, was the Prize Letter of the week -

“Being a dog, I don’t watch much TV. However, I loved Five’s Mr and Mrs Wolf. I’m a basenji, a breed dating back to 3,000 BC, and I really respect my wolf ancestors. I also admire Shaun and Helen for their courage in getting up close and personal with those wonderful beasts. I’m not able to bark, but I was able to howl along with them. I hope we get an update soon.”

The sender was Kindu Kodi (plain Cody to the rest of the pack), Macduff, Aberdeenshire, and the Editor had added “Cody’s owner Lesley Farrell has asked for the £50 prize to go to BARK, a charity that re-homes dogs.”

Yes, Lesley is our youngest daughter and this photo of Cody I took last year.



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I’ve been remembering again my childhood in the tenement, and thinking how fortunate we were.

The houses were in good condition and kept in order, and all the neighbours got on well together. Behind the building there was the back court, then the wash houses, and behind them a big washing green. Bordering that area were the 12 garden plots.

Some time ago I wrote 2 haiku about living in the tenement -

childhood memory -
waking to the sounds and smells
of gaslit breakfasts

imagining ghosts -
we run past the coats hanging
in the unlit hall

I also wrote 2 haiku about being in church. It’s quite astonishing to recall that, from our seats in a side gallery, Rita and I couldn’t see the minister! Can you imagine children sitting for an hour and a quarter staring at the people in the opposite gallery? It was the custom in our church for the choir to sing an Introit at the start of the service, and when I was very small I couldn’t see where the music was coming from, and decided it was the angels singing!!!

a weekly routine -
in church the sermon begins
Dad gives me a sweet

the sermon ended -
a low whisper from Dad
“we won’t be long now”

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The rest of this week’s EIGHTY PLUS has quite an international flavour - a painting, a poem and a piece of music. I like them all very much, particularly the little poem.

This silk painting “Tinh Yeu”, by the contemporary Vietnamese artist Phan Quoc Hung, refers to the story of two young lovers who had to flee because their families wouldn’t allow them to see each other. Since their lives were being threatened, a kindly magician came to the rescue by turning them into two beautiful swans. So they were saved, living as swans during daytime and as humans during nighttime.



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The following was written by the Chinese poet Li Bai (701-762)

You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

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Finally, the music clip - “Korobiniki” by Alexander Zigankow is played by the Russian domra player Natalia Anchutina, with the German pianist Lothar Freund.



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Before finishing I must report that during the week ending Sunday 15th March my Wise Men Say blog had a record 139 hits!!!

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FRIDAY 13TH MARCH

The trick is to grow up without growing old (Frank Lloyd Wright)

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MY FIRST JOB

After demob from the RAF I had no idea what I wanted to do, but a director of a local iron foundry lived nearby, and it was through him that I got a clerical job in their general office.

There were two iron foundries in the town at that time. Both were very busy, their products being sent all over the world. My job was to assist in calculating bonuses, and in preparing and paying out wages.

I worked with two older men. One of them was always very smartly dressed, looking just like a salesman in a gents’ outfitters. Then I found out that he had a Saturday afternoon job in a big Glasgow store. The other one had a glass eye, and he would cause new office girls to have hysterics, by taking his eye out and laying it on the desk.

There were two directors. The one I knew was very pleasant and easy to get on with. The other was a bit of a terror and his main purpose seemed to be to try to catch any one smoking. Most of the men obeyed the no smoking rule, but the elderly cashier certainly didn’t. His desk was in a corner of the room surrounded by a partition about 7 or 8 feet in height, and for much of the day smoke could be seen floating above. The opening of the door of the directors’ room could be clearly heard from the general office, and a smoker had about 10 seconds in which to conceal any evidence. This was usually successful, but on one occasion the cashier failed to stub out his cigarette properly, and his waste paper bucket went on fire!!!


This director had a particular dislike of the switchboard which was located in another corner of our room. Sometimes, if the operator was away from her desk, there would be a lot of buzzing from the machine. If he was passing he would rush to it, and manipulate every switch he could find. When the buzzing stopped, he would walk away satisfied.

There was a third director who had retired, but he still got his pay packet every week. Since I passed his home every day, I was given the task of delivering his envelope each Friday. (Yes, salaries were weekly, and even he was paid in cash.) One Monday morning I was called into the Secretary’s room and was told that this director had just phoned to complain that he didn’t get his money on Friday. Consternation!!! I put my hand into my jacket pocket and produced the envelope. I had forgotten to deliver it!!! I apologised profusely, and that was the end of the matter.

While I was there, the company built baths for the workers, and this was considered a very progressive move. There was an opening ceremony (no, the directors weren’t the first people to use the facilities), and a special tea was held in a nearby hall, during which I played background music on the piano.

I worked in that office for two years. During that time, I reluctantly decided that a full-time job in music was not feasible. However, I had become quite interested in the work a friend of mine was doing in a community centre, and so I made a move. But more of that another time.

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FROM MY PHOTO ALBUM





My mother and father were both employed by the local Co-operative Society in grocery shops. Her first job was in the office, but in 1914, when so many of the male staff joined the army, she was transferred to one of the shops. They married in 1924 and she became a full-time housewife.

My father was put in charge of a shop, and later became the manager of the branch that was responsible for supplying the other local Co-op groceries with their produce.

I must mention here that during World War II his job was not an easy one. All the hundreds and hundreds of food coupons that were collected had to be sorted, documented and sent to head office. There was no time to do this during working hours, and the job had to be done at home with the help of my mother. There was no pay for her and no overtime for him.

Of course anyone working in a food shop during the war had the advantage of being on the spot when scarce commodities came in. And throughout his working life my father would often receive gifts from reps who were anxious to get good orders from him.

My father died aged 89 in 1982, and my mother in 1987 aged 90.

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"The Helping Hand" by the French artist Emile Renouf (1845-1894). Perhaps a bit "twee", but I like the expressions on the faces.



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Two weeks ago I said that I preferred short poems. However, the poem I have today has 12 stanzas. Please take time to read it. It’s great!!!

MARY’S GHOST by Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

‘Twas in the middle of the night,
To sleep young William tried;
When Mary’s ghost came stealing in,
And stood at his bedside.

O William dear! O William dear!
My rest eternal ceases;
Alas! My everlasting peace
Is broken into pieces.

I thought the last of all my cares
Would end with my last minute;
But tho’ I went to my long home,
I didn’t stay long in it.

The body-snatchers they have come,
And made a snatch at me;
It’s very hard them kind of men
Won’t let a body be!

You thought that I was buried deep,
Quite decent like and chary,
But from her grave in Mary-bone,
They’ve come and boned your Mary.

The arm that used to take your arm
Is took to Dr. Vyse;
And both my legs are gone to walk
The hospital at Guy’s.

I vowed that you should have my hand,
But fate gives us denial;
You’ll find it there, at Dr. Bell’s,
In spirits and a phial.

As for me feet, the little feet
You used to call so pretty,
There’s one, I know, in Bedford Row,
The t’other’s in the City.

I can’t tell where my head is gone,
But Dr. Carpue can;
As for my trunk, it’s all packed up
To go by Pickford’s van.

I wish you’d go to Mr. P.
And save me such a ride;
I don’t half like the outside place,
They’ve took for my inside.

The cock it crows - I must be gone!
My William we must part!
But I’ll be yours in death, altho’
Sir Astley has my heart.

Don’t go to weep upon my grave,
And think that there I be;
They haven’t left an atom there
Of my anatomie.

[The reference to Pickford’s van seemed to me an anachronism, till I discovered that they were in business as carriers from the end of the 17th century onwards]

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Here’s something from the 1960s - the Seekers singing “The Carnival is Over” at what was supposed to be their farewell concert in 1968. In fact they reformed in 1993 and worked on and off till 2004 when they really did retire. Judith Durham is now singing as a solo artist (and I still fancy her!)



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FRIDAY 6TH MARCH

Getting older is no problem. You just have to live long enough. (Groucho Marx)

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IN MY YOUNG DAYS I didn’t know anyone who had a phone in their house, and so, if you needed to contact someone, you had to pay them a visit. The result was that there was a great deal of coming and going between friends and relations.

When Jean and I married, the house we moved into had a phone which was on a “party line,” meaning that it was shared with another subscriber. Phone numbers all began with three letters (the first three letters of the relevant telephone exchange) followed by the number. An example for someone living in Kirkintilloch would be KIR 1278.

Of course when phones were first introduced, you had to tell the operator what number you wanted, and she would put you through.

In 1923 the GPO thought it necessary to supply subscribers with instructions on how to use this new gadget, and here they are -

TO PASS AND RECEIVE A TELEPHONE CALL

Before passing a call to the exchange the subscriber should wait until he hears the telephonist’s “Number, please?” and then, speaking clearly and distinctly, with the lips almost touching the mouthpiece, he should state the number required - first the name of the exchange, then the number required.

Greater care is necessary in speaking by telephone than is required in ordinary speech. “Three” should be pronounced as “thr-r-ee” with slight rolling “r”, “five” as “fife” emphasising the consonants “f”.

On taking off the receiver, the subscriber should not say “Hullo” or “Who’s there?” but should announce his name. A householder would say “Mr Thomas Brown speaking”, the maidservant would say ”Mr Brown’s house”, Mr Brown at his office would say “Brown and Co., Mr Thomas Brown speaking”, and his clerk would say “Brown and Co.”

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“Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion,
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water everywhere
And all the boards did shrink,
Water, water everywhere
Nor any drop to drink”

These words of course are from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” by Samuel Coleridge, a poem I first came across in school. I found it quite thrilling then, (especially the part where the dead sailors all rise up and guide the ship safely home) and I always enjoy reading it again.

I recently came across this drawing which describes the above stanzas. The artist was Gustav Dore (1832-1883) a prolific literary illustrator. A great deal of his work can be seen on the internet, and there are 38 pictures illustrating the poem at http://dore.artpassions.net/



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On my EIGHTY PLUS blog posted on October 3rd, I showed a photograph of the Brize Rhythm group, the RAF sextet in which I was the pianist. The trumpet player was Spencer Dunmore who later became a writer of novels based in the world of flying. He emigrated to Canada in 1954.

Apart from his many novels which include “Final Approach”, “Collision”, “Bomb Run“ and “Tower of Strength,” and also a short story collection “Squadron,” I see that Spencer has collaborated with other writers in producing a number of non-fiction books, dealing with military history.

I find it difficult to believe that sixty years have passed since we were playing at dances and concerts. I wonder if he remembers the day he took me to his London home (I think in Muswell Hill) where I saw television for the first time!!!

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The Mitchell and Kenyon film company was a pioneer of commercial movies in the UK.
This is a short clip of Jamaica Street, Glasgow in 1901. What astonishes me is how busy the street was, the number of horses and the speed of the traffic. (Just a thought - my father and mother would be aged 7 and 4 then. His parents would be in their 30s, my mother’s in their 20s.)



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I like poems that are short, and I found two this week. They’re both excellent. Here’s the first one -

I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TODAY by Richard Le Gallienne (1866-1947)

I meant to do my work today -
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.

And the wind went sighing over the land
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand -
So what could I do but laugh and go?

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The music I’ve chosen this week is the Finale of Haydn’s Cello Concerto in C, played by the young Korean musician Han Na Chang with the Berlin Philharmonic Sinfonietta. (There seems to be some doubt how her first name is spelled - sometimes it appears as it is here, sometimes with a hyphen and sometimes as one word.) Her manner on stage is very unusual. She seems to be sharing a joke with the lead violins.



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I'm finishing this week's blog with the other poem -

HAPPY THE MAN by John Dryden (1631-1700)

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call the day his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today,
Be fair or foul or rain or shine
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine,
Nor Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

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FRIDAY 27TH FEBRUARY

A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams. (John Barrymore)

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Jean and I married on 12th June 1954 and this was our first house - a 3 apartment in Kirkintilloch.



MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE ORGAN began with the 2-manual pipe organ which I heard every Sunday in church. When I was in my late teens, I took lessons from the organist, and I spent a great many hours practising there.

After demob from the RAF, I resumed lessons this time on a 3-manual, and my sister Rita, who was also a pianist and violinist, began organ tuition too.

Later we both became pupils of Wilfred Emery, organist of Glasgow Cathedral, and of course we had a first-class instrument on which to play.

By this time we were both church organists and were quite well known locally for special praise services and church concerts. We also performed regularly doing piano duets.

Over the years Rita had organ posts at three different churches, one of which closed down. I had posts at six churches, three of which closed down. (I should add that I entertained regularly at six retirement homes, of which three closed down.) Does this tell you something?

While I was taking organ lessons, I was always on the look-out for a church post with a better instrument, the ideal one being a 3-manual with full pedal board. And both Rita and I frequently applied for advertised vacancies. Our local newspaper always reported on those jobs and often mentioned who had applied for the posts. I used to pull Rita’s leg by telling her that the paper had referred to her as “Miss Rita Jaap, the well-known organ applicant.”

I once applied for a vacancy in a Possilpark church, and was asked to attend for an audition. On arriving, I was shown into the vestry where about half-a-dozen others were seated clutching their music. There was complete silence in the room, and as we waited our turn, the soft groaning of the organ could be heard - oh, not Handel's Largo again!!! I played two of my exam pieces, and the job was mine.

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In 1971 we moved to this 7 apartment in Lenzie where our 3 daughters were delighted to have their own rooms.



In the 1950s I became organist in a Lenzie church where I was surprised to find that the congregation all possessed Anthem Books and would stand and join with the choir in singing them at the morning services. In those days Lenzie was considered a rather “posh” place. Many folk still remembered the time when the big houses employed domestic staff. (That church used to hold a special afternoon service on Sundays for domestics.) One incident I’ll always remember - I hadn’t been playing there all that long, when a country-squire-type of gentleman came up to the organ at the close of the service. He introduced himself and asked if I smoked cigarettes. I was still a smoker then, and, when I nodded, he produced a cigarette case, took out a handful of cigarettes, laid them on the organ bench and walked off!!!

There was a time when church cantatas were popular, and I used to prepare and direct performances of things like Stainer’s “Crucifixion.” Sometimes we would combine with another church choir, and on one occasion I conducted and my colleague played the accompaniment.

I find that, when you are young, you aren’t afraid to tackle projects that you would be reluctant to face later on. In my early years as organist, I gave a recital in Lenzie when my programme included a complete Mendelssohn organ sonata, a Bach fugue, a Mozart minuet and one or two lighter items.

The highlights of my career were undoubtedly the three occasions when I deputised for the organist at Glasgow Cathedral, and was thrilled to perform on a wonderful instrument with a first class choir.

Some time before retiring from church organ playing, I helped form a choral and orchestral society which lasted two or three years. Our aim was to try to perform the kind of music not normally heard locally. I was the conductor, and among the musicians were our daughters, Margaret on viola and Fiona on clarinet. I can’t remember how many concerts we gave, but I won’t forget the hours practising Monteverdi‘s “Beatus Vir”. Unfortunately we didn’t manage to give it a public performance.

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In 1983 we moved to our present home in Auchinloch. The second photo shows the lovely view we have from the back garden. There was a proposal to build 93 houses in that field, but local feelings were very much opposed to it and the project has been withdrawn (permanently, we hope.)





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My music clip this week of course must feature an organ. Ton Koopman is a brilliant Dutch organist, harpsichord player and conductor. Here he plays Bach’s Fugue in G minor on the 18th Century instrument in St.Marien Cathedral, Freiberg.



The following is yet another little piece from our friend Anon.

I dreamed death came the other night
And heaven’s gate swung wide,
An angel with a halo bright
Then ushered me inside.

And there to my astonishment
Were folks I’d judged and labelled
As “quite unfit” of “little worth”
And “spiritually disabled.”

Indignant words rose to my lips
But never were set free,
For every face showed stunned surprise,
No one expected me!!!

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FRIDAY 20TH FEBRUARY

Tonight the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes,
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose.
(E. Pauline Johnson)



This magnificent sunset was photographed recently by our eldest daughter Margaret from an upstairs room in her Gloucestershire home.

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MY MEMORY MAY BE AT FAULT, but it seems to me that each year at primary school History lessons began with 55 BC, and so we didn’t ever manage to progress much into the 1800s. And I’m puzzled that I don’t remember getting History at secondary school. Perhaps some of my school friends can jog my memory?

I suppose for most people History at school consisted of a long list of dates which had to be memorised. I’ve just finished reading a most interesting book “Gems of Old Scotland” by Maisie Steven (Argyll Publishing) which made me realise again that history is very much more than just dates.

Apparently in 1790 a Scottish MP Sir John Sinclair sent a questionnaire to every parish minister, with the aim of compiling statistics which would reflect the lives and customs of Scots. This was a huge undertaking, since each minister (938 of them) was faced with something like 160 questions, many requiring lengthy answers. The whole project took a good number of years to complete, and the result became known as the Statistical Account of the 18th Century.

In “Gems of Old Scotland” the writer dips in to the reports and relates many “scenes and stories” which paint a fascinating picture of what it was like to live in those times.

Some of the stories really surprised me. I learned that often schoolmasters were poorly paid and had great difficulty making ends meet. A schoolmaster in the Lothians “is also the precentor, gravedigger, beadle, session clerk, and yet his whole income does not exceed £8 sterling.” (That amount of course is per annum!) “This, with the paltry accommodation, holds out little encouragement to a teacher of any merit. Indeed, no man who possesses strength to lift a mattock or to wield a flail would accept of such a disgraceful pittance.”

Among the different customs, some were peculiar to a particular area. In Bo’ness the beadle was obviously an very important man in the conduct of funerals. He “perambulates the streets with a bell, and intimates the death of an individual in the following language:- All brethren and sisters, I let ye to wit, there is a brother (or sister) departed at the pleasure of the Almighty.” So he continued, naming the deceased and announcing the time of the funeral. And I learned that he “also walks before the corpse to the churchyard, ringing his bell.”

I liked the cure for convulsions which was practised in one part of Shetland. “Convulsions were once very common in this parish, especially during the time of divine service; but are now quite extinct. The cure is attributed to a rough fellow of a Kirk Officer, who tossed a woman in that state, with whom he was often plagued, into a ditch full of water. She was never known to have it afterward, and others dreaded the like treatment.”

Recently I’ve been troubled with backache, and so I was interested in how the complaint was treated in Comrie. The account refers to a “rock on the summit of the hill formed of itself a chair for the saint, which still remains. Those who complain of rheumatism in the back must ascend this hill, then lie down on their back, and be pulled by the legs to the bottom of the hill. This operation is still performed, and reckoned very efficacious.”

Of course I chose to quote those passages because they amused me, but the book gives a very fair summary of what is contained in the document. 18th Century Scotland was certainly a land of contrasts.

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“Gather Ye Rosebuds” by John William Waterhouse (1849-1917)



Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And the same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
(Robert Herrick)

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20th FEB. 2006 - 20TH FEB 2009

It’s exactly 3 years since I created my WISE MEN SAY blog.

When I began I was uncertain in how it would progress, and on that first day I posted no fewer than 30 quotations! Since then, a routine has developed and my aim has been to publish a quote daily. There have been 1065 posts and since last December the number of hits has averaged 70 per week. The majority of visitors to the site are from the UK and the USA, but there's a surprising number of people all over the world who access the blog.

http://wise-men-say.blogspot.com

Here’s a quote for all those who are 80plus :-

Every man desires to live long, but no man wishes to be old. (Jonathan Swift)

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GOLDEN OLDIES

I was surprised to find out that the term Golden Oldies usually refers to the music of the 1950s and 1960s. Well, it just goes to show how out of touch I am, for my Golden Oldies are all in the 30s and 40s. And I’ve just realised how important nostalgia is for me - in particular, nostalgia for the popular music and light entertainment of my youth.

This is a 1930 clip of Jack Hylton and his Orchestra playing “Little White Lies.” In those days the sousaphone provided the bass line in the rhythm section, and in this record it certainly gives an added lift to the beat.



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To conclude - a poem for all 80plus folk:-

A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.

A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.

The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze.

The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.

Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know
Is what tells each one where to go. (Anon)

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FRIDAY 13TH FEBRUARY

The greatest problem of old age is the fear that it may go on too long.
(A.J.P.Taylor)

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Last week-end ITV showed another episode of that awful detective series that I call “Midsomer Madness.” Normally I avoid it like the plague, but, summoning up all my courage, I forced myself to watch it, and the reason was that an old neighbour of ours was in the cast of that particular episode.

In 1971 we moved to a Victorian terraced house in Lenzie, and found that Thelma Barlow who played Mavis Riley in Coronation Street was living next door with her husband and their two boys. Jean and I hadn’t seen that soap, but naturally we had to have a look at it, and it wasn’t long before we were regular viewers.

We didn’t really get to know her husband at all, but both she and her mother were very pleasant. On one occasion, when Jean locked herself out, Thelma came to help with a large number of assorted keys. In the end she got a friend to climb in through an upstairs window and open the door from inside.

Her work at the Granada studios in Manchester usually took her away from Monday to Friday. I was surprised to learn that she appeared in Coronation Street from 1971 till 1997.

I must mention that Jean still follows the soap faithfully, whereas I have fallen by the wayside. I lost interest when characters like Percy Sugden, Reg Holdsworth, Fred Elliot, Alf Roberts, Derek Wilton and Mavis Riley were written out.

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This is a very striking piece of colour “Blossomy of Sichuan” by the Chinese painter Liu Zhengxing



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I REMEMBER that our parents insisted that we should always speak proper English, and we were corrected if we used a Scottish word. Broad Scots was the natural language of our grandparents of course, and I was recalling recently that the men in my father’s family, with one exception, were known by their Scottish names -
Robert (my father) was Rabbie, though outside the family he was known as Bob, George was Geordie (pronounced Joerdie), Walter was Wattie (pronounced Wah’ie) and the exception was John (pronounced Joan).

I REMEMBER there were a few strange expressions in those days. When someone was repeating what they had said to someone else, they would prefix their quote with “sigh”. The vowel here was very short indeed. As a wee boy this puzzled me a lot till I realised that the speaker was saying “Says I”, where we would say “I said” or “I told them”.

Another strange word was “ifwurspairt”. This turned out to be “If we’re spared” meaning - if God spares us, and was usually used when talking about some plans for the future. My father might say “If we’re spared, then next summer we’re going to have a vegetable plot there.” I’m sure people didn’t really bring God into it - what they were meaning was “all being well” or “if things work out”.

I REMEMBER when I was very small being shocked when Grandpa Jaap recited to me -
“Albums are red, albums are blue, but in Africa where I have been all bums are black.”

I REMEMBER it was quite common to have to have a framed Bible text on the living room wall. Often they were embroidered in different colours with perhaps fancy lettering or decorated with a flower or two. In our house we had one with the words “I am the Lord. I change not.” I’ve seen some with a lot of lettering, such as the Lord’s Prayer, and others just a few words like “Home, Sweet Home.”

Things like that are now antiques of course, and are much sought after by collectors. Here’s quite a simple example



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AFTER I RETIRED from my full-time job, I did quite a bit of entertaining at old people’s retirement homes, playing piano or organ. As you would expect, my programmes were made up of all the old favourite tunes, usually concluding with a sing-a-long medley. Very often I brought an accordionist along with me, and sometimes a soprano.

My visits took place in the morning or afternoon, most of them on a weekly basis, and the residents and I got to know each other pretty well. At one home I overheard an old lady in her nineties telling a neighbour that I had been in her class at school!!!

I must mention that in another home one of the ladies used to get up and leave the room as soon as I sat down at the piano. Perhaps she was a music lover!!!

My experience at those retirement homes inspired me to compose some haiku, and here are a few of them -

in the Old Folk’s Home
silence in the lounge - only
the TV awake

outside the dining
room in the Old People’s Home -
a row of zimmers

her old arthritic
fingers on the yellow keys
“The Old Rugged Cross”

in the old folk’s lounge
an early dusk - no one moves
to switch on the lights

seasons come and go -
in the Old People’s Care Home
it’s always autumn

in the Old Folk’s Home
the lady who never speaks
joins in “Danny Boy”

In the eventide
home, all day she’s knitting socks
that no one can wear

Yes, that very old woman worked away continually with her needles. She knitted me a pair of socks which of course I had to wear at my next appearance at the home. The wool was very coarse, one sock was bigger than the other, and she hadn‘t noticed that, when one ball of wool had finished, the next one wasn‘t quite the same shade.

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I’ve chosen two music clips this week, each featuring an outstanding artiste whose life was tragically cut short.

First, Jacqueline du Pre (1945-1987) playing Mendelssohn’s Song without Words in D, accompanied by her mother Iris.




Finally Kathleen Ferrier (1912-1953) singing “Down by the Sally Gardens”.




Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet.
She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree,
But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree.
In a field down by the river, my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

W.B.Yeats (1865-1939)
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FRIDAY 6TH FEBRUARY

CONGRATULATIONS, MICHAEL



Michael Hardwick who is the father-in-law of our eldest daughter Margaret is seen here receiving his MBE from the Queen in November 2008. A retired headmaster, he has worked with the Bristol Children’s Help Society in a voluntary capacity for 40 years, with 25 of those years as chairman. The purpose of the Society is to provide holidays for underprivileged children in the Bristol area.

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GRACE BEFORE MEALS

In my young day it was certainly the general practice in church-going families to say grace before meals, and as children we were taught a simple one -

God bless our food and make us good,
For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

When we got older, we had to say -

Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God for everything. Amen.

The grown-ups’ grace was something like this -

Heavenly Father,
Accept our thanks for these Thy mercies,
Bless them to our good,
And pardon our sins, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Jean and I continued the custom with our own children, but, as time went on and they grew older, the practice gradually died out. I believe that this has happened in most homes where a couple of generations ago saying grace was considered essential.

And of course as soon as we could talk we were taught our bedtime prayer -

This night as I lie down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
Take me to Heaven for Jesus’ sake, Amen.

When we were a bit older, we had to add a sentence, naming the other members of the family and asking God to bless them.

As a child I was troubled by nightmares, I can clearly remembering adding “God, please don’t let me dream” and repeating it a good many times.

I heard a story of a regular church goer who decided to skip church one Sunday morning to go bear-hunting in the hills. For a while there was no sign of any quarry, but later on, as he was approaching some trees, he was shocked when a big bear suddenly appeared right in front of him. Such was his fright that he dropped his gun and stood rooted to the spot. As the bear charged him, the man fell on his knees and prayed, “O God, I’m really sorry I skipped church this morning. Please forgive me, and grant me just one wish - please make that bear be a Christian bear!” The bear immediately stopped, went down on its knees and said, “Dear God, for what I’m about to receive, may I be truly thankful.“

This painting “Family Saying Grace” is by Antonius Claeissins 1536-1613 of Bruges.



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MUSIC WHILE YOU WORK

People of my age will remember the twice-daily half-hour broadcasts of non-stop music. Last week I discovered some fascinating facts about the programme and I thought you’d be interested.

There were 16781 broadcasts in all. The series ran from 1940 to 1967 with occasional revivals in the 80s and 90s, although I don’t remember them. Many different bands and orchestras took part in those live broadcasts, and, as the title suggests, the purpose was to keep factory workers happy.

The BBC issued instructions to band leaders, advising them what music was suitable and what was unsuitable. What do you think of this?

“From the point of view of the general listener, we are asking for a bad piece of programme building. There must be as little variation of tempo as possible, the ideal being to maintain the same beat throughout the whole programme. Artistic value must NOT be considered. The aim is to produce something which is monotonous and repetitive.” Music with “predominant rhythm, in sufficient melody or other unsuitable characteristics” was banned, along with numbers that are “too lethargic and unsuited to any speeding up of tempo.” “Deep in the Heart of Texas” was also out, because it was thought that workers would be inclined to beat their hammers and tools in time with the clap-clap-clap-clap parts of the tune. Fortunately band leaders didn’t pay too much attention to those rules.

There was a sad incident connected to “Music While You Work.” Apparently towards the end of one broadcast, the pianist collapsed and fell to the floor where he lay till the programme finished. It was discovered that the poor fellow was dead - he had had a heart attack.

This is a clip of the signature tune “Calling All Workers” which was composed by Eric Coates. The orchestra is the Slovak Radio Orchestra under their English conductor Adrian Leaper. Eric Coates wrote many popular pieces including the Knightsbridge March (“In Town Tonight”), By a Sleepy Lagoon and the Dambusters March.


You can learn more about radio programmes of the distant past at -
http://www.whirligig-tv.co.uk

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I’m finishing this week with Robert Burns. These are two of his love songs that were unknown to me, but I rather liked them.
OH, LEEZE ME ON MY WEE THING

Oh, leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie blithesome wee thing;
Sae lang's I ha'e my wee thing,
I'll think my lot divine.

Though warld’s care we share o’t,
And may see meikle mair o’t,
Wi’ her I’ll blithely bear it,
And ne’er a word repine.

[leeze-me = a phrase of happy endearment, e.g. I’m happy in thee, I’m proud of thee, blessings on thee]


WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS

When I think on the happy days
I spent wi’ you, my dearie;
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie?

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary;
It wasna sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi’ my dearie.

[eerie = lonely. wae = sorrowful. glinted = flashed past]

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