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As we approach my favourite compass of the year here in the UK it is time to blow the cobwebs from the trusty Fuji X10 and to see if I can dredge from the recesses of my memory just how to go about capturing images with it. The dreary UK winter – with its dull and barren light – offers little in the way of an incentive to get out and about looking for those conjunctions of form and colour that just cry out to be recorded for posterity. Some practice is clearly called for.

Herewith some trial shots of nature awakening from its winter slumbers:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Retuning home subsequent to my visit to the dentist a short while back I found myself having to dodge an unpleasant accumulation of traffic on the motorway (freeway), which I did by the simple expedient of taking a detour ‘cross country’. Before the Canadians amongst you get too excited about this I am referring here to making my way through the rural lanes and byways, rather than leaving the metal entirely and striking out into the sort of territory reserved for 4WD pickups!

Whilst on this pleasant ramble through rural Berkshire I happened upon a spot that I had not previous discovered – the Aldermaston Wharf on the Kennet and Avon canal. Naturally I had the Fuji x10 with me. Naturally I took a few snaps…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidFor the first time since since I joined the School not far short of a decade ago, the whole community gathered as one in the Founders’ Court just before 11:00am yesterday morning to participate in a simple but effective ceremony of remembrance.

It is – I suppose – little surprise that this particular Armistice Day should be accorded such significance though, of course, 2014 is the centenary of the commencement of the Great War rather than of its close. That it has acquired this importance may be determined from – amongst other like signifiers – the public response to ceramic artist Paul Cummins’ installation at the Tower of London. This extraordinarily moving presentation – entitled “Blood-Swept Lands and Seas of Red” – has clearly caught the public imagination far beyond the expectation of those who commissioned the work.

That we stand in silence and remember those who gave their lives is entirely apposite. Given even that the images of modern warfare are these days beamed into our homes like some obscene computer game, we still cannot begin to imagine the true nature of the ordeal experienced by those who find themselves in the combat zone. The utter horror of warfare – the mechanisation of destruction – the unimaginable cruelty of the carnage that men are persuaded to inflict upon one another – the impossibility of ever truly ‘coming back’ from war…

Those of us fortunate enough to have avoided any need to undergo such a baptism can only marvel at the fortitude, the courage, the sacrifice of those that have done so. There but for the grace of god – go each of us…

What should not be forgotten – especially at this time of remembrance – is the part played by those powers and potentates at whose behest and command our young men head for the battlefield. We would – of course – love to imagine that the wise heads and stout hearts of our leaders direct them to strain every sinew to ensure that any such conflict be avoided if at all possible. War should only ever be a last desperate act of self-defence. It is sadly all too clear that in many conflicts this is simply not the case.

I was moved to tears by an article in Saturday’s Independent newspaper that drew attention to the scarcely believable fact that – since 1945 – there has been but a single year (1968) in which no member of the UK armed forces was killed in action. This is a truly shocking statistic!

When we as a nation ask the ultimate sacrifice of our young men – the most precious gift that is life itself – do we not bear the immense responsibility of ensuring that we do so only when there is absolutely no alternative?

The Great War – as so many others – should never have happened. Europe’s rulers and political leaders – by their mendacity, their naivety, their ignorance, their incompetence… their fragile egotism… allowed the continent to slide into a cataclysmic conflict that wiped out a generation and changed the world utterly!

This also we must remember.

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Image from WikipediaNo sooner had I posted my previous epistle lamenting the cynical manipulation of statistics by those with political ambitions (whatever might be their particular persuasion) than the UK Chancellor of the Exchequer – George Osborne – obligingly provided a perfect illustration of this dark art.

The background is thus:

Just over a week ago Prime Minister Cameron embarrassed all concerned with an ill-judged, table-thumping tantrum when informed of a bill for £1.7 billion – for payment by December 3rd – that had been presented to the government by the European Union (EU). The fact that the figure was the product of the standard annual re-calculation of EU contributions based on GDP that applies to all EU member countries – in this case covering years back as far as 1995 – and that those involved had all known well in advance that it was coming up, apparently counted for little. Cameron chose to throw a hissy fit, claiming that the UK would not be paying what was owed – and certainly not by Dec 3rd!

The reasons for this unseemly display are – of course – entirely to do with the pressure that Cameron is under both from the anti-Europe UK Independence Party (currently busily engaged chipping away at tory support) and from the Eurosceptics within his own party.

On Friday Osborne met with European finance ministers to try to brow-beat them into making a deal. Such was indeed achieved – in that the EU ministers were persuaded to let the UK pay in two installments rather than one and – crucially as it turned out – with the initial tranche delayed until next year. This only marginally impressive concession gave Osborne the opening he had been looking for. Since the UK stands to get a rebate from the EU next year in any case, Osborne – by dint of a little devious ‘creative’ accounting – was able to claim that the amount to be paid had actually been halved! It has not – of course. He has simply subtracted from the total the rebate that we will be receiving anyway.

Osborne was immediately called out on this chicanery – not only by the opposition parties (as well as their own coalition partners!) in the UK, but also by the assembled EU finance ministers – leaving him looking decidedly foolish.

Now – it is no secret that I dislike Osborne intensely. He displays all of the very worst traits of the modern career politico and must surely bear a considerable measure of the the blame for the ongoing decline in trust of the political classes in the UK and the resulting disengagement from the political process.

I heard Osborne being interviewed on the BBC. As is usual with him:

  1. he simply refused to answer directly any question that was put to him by the interviewer, choosing instead to make tangential pre-prepared pronouncements instead. Apart from anything else this is downright insulting both to the interviewer and to the listening public.
  2. he wasted no opportunity – as ever – to place the blame for all of the country’s woes on policies that the previous administration enacted more than half a decade ago, regardless of the relevance to the topic at hand. Osborne appears to believe that the making of political arguments is akin to advertising soap powder or suchlike –  and that the simple and endless repetition of crude mantras will result in the gullible consumer eventually accepting the message as gospel.
  3. he constantly talks down to others in a condescending and patrician manner – the implication being that we are all insignificant nothings who should be jolly grateful to have such and intelligent and noble figure to whom we can look up.

The worst thing from my perspective is that Osborne is an old boy of the School. The notion that he might have picked up any of his Machiavellian trickery from his schooling does not bear thinking about.

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Image from Wikimedia Commons This week’s depressing mid-term poll results from the US of A – as a result of which the Republicans have been (distressingly) able to declare possession of a mandate that all the evidence suggests the American people had no real wish to hand to them – reminds me that it is but a matter of months before we in the UK will also be subjected to an interminable period of electioneering by our own oleaginous political pretenders.

We face the prospect yet again of having to pick the bones out of the endless reams of misinformation, half truths and evasions that are the stock in trade of the office-seeking hustler. Each of the political parties has – of course – its own agenda and its own target demographic – and can inevitably be expected to distort the same basic facts in an effort to make its case. As the saying goes there are – “lies, damned lies and even bigger damned lies“… or something to that effect.

The rise both of the nationalist parties in Scotland and Wales and of the newer groupings of the extreme right (the extreme left being no-where to be seen these days!) has predictably thrown all into a state of panic and confusion. The battleground will – as ever – comprise the usual fertile conflation of the economy and the size of the State – the two being inextricably bound together, particular in times of austerity.

All of those even slightly to the right of centre will once again bang the drum for further swinging cutbacks to the welfare state – and their half (or even less) truths will as usual play upon the basest emotions of the masses… anger over benefit cheats, scroungers and feckless wastrels – and fears about the over-running of this fair land by hoards of illegal asylum seekers, eager to sup deep at the well of our state largesse.

In search of some balance I found this most useful article on the BBC’s website:

The truth about welfare spending: Facts or propaganda?

…by Brian Milligan, the BBC ‘s personal finance correspondent.

The Treasury is apparently sending to all 24 million UK taxpayers a document purporting to show the breakdown of the government’s tax spend – with particular emphasis on the welfare spend. The gist of Mr Milligan’s article is that the easy-to-digest pie charts that are clearly intended to strike a chord with disgruntled tax payers are in fact highly misleading. As ever with statistics it all depends on how the counting is done and on which criteria are used to categorise the outcome. By tweaking the methodology it is possible to demonstrate that the areas of welfare spending that might be the subject of cutbacks could comprise anything from 14% to 56% of public spending. Naturally the figures chosen – highly selectively – by those from each political camp will ‘prove’ exactly what those concerned most desire.

I have myself printed out a copy of the article to keep to hand throughout the campaign, as a prophylactic against the seductive siren voices of our would-be masters.

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I made reference in a recent post to my (apparently) annual search for new and unfamiliar musics. I thought the gentle reader might like to be updated as to the outcome…

Well – I am actually going to reveal same regardless – so if you have no interest simply skip the rest of the post!

Having – as reported in that previous post – been unexpectedly captivated by Sarah McLachlan’s utterly bizarre rendition of “Unchained Melody” (which I find I now love unreservedly) it occurred to me that my search should probably be centred in the Pacific North-West. It further struck me that should I be able to find what I was looking for (something suitably haunting and ethereal, reasonably contemporary and probably incorporating the female voice) as close as possible to Vancouver Island, this might bode well for future fandom and potential gig-going.

In the event I spent a fair amount of time searching feverishly for just such on the InterWebNet but could not find exactly what I was looking for.

When I did finally find something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention in the desired manner it was from considerably closer to home. As they have already become quite a big deal over here you might already know of them – but in case you don’t please allow me to introduce… ‘London Grammar.

Wikipedia says of them:

London Grammar is a British electronic pop trio formed by Hannah Reid, Dan Rothman and Dominic ‘Dot’ Major. Their début EP ‘Metal & Dust’ was released in February 2013 by Metal & Dust Recordings Ltd. Their debut album ‘If You Wait’ was released on 9 September 2013 and set platinum certification by the British Phonographic Industry (BPI) association.

Both vocalist Hannah Reid and guitarist Dan Rothman are originally from London and met in a residence hall at the University of Nottingham during their first year in 2009. Rothman saw a picture of Reid on Facebook with a guitar and sent her a message to see if she wanted to “collaborate”. They were joined by Northampton native Dominic ‘Dot’ Major (keyboard, djembe, drums) a year later, after he began playing music together with Rothman.”

This is all well and good of course – but what you really want is to know what they sound like. Herewith some samples:

Hey Now: Hey Now – Sample

Strong: Strong – Sample

Flickers: Flickers – Sample

So – let me know what you think…

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“The perfect weather of Indian Summer lengthened and lingered, warm sunny days were followed by brisk nights with Halloween a presentiment in the air.”

Wallace Stegner, Remembering Laughter

The unseasonably warm weather continues – with the BBC declaring that:

“This year’s Halloween is the warmest on record in the UK, with temperatures reaching as high as 23.5C, breaking the previous record of 20C.”

Nature – however – continues with its plans for the impending winter. Photos – as ever – courtesy of the Fuji x10.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThat great national favourite amongst English hymns – Sir Cecil Spring Rice and Gustav Holst’s “I Vow to Thee my Country” – is apparently no less popular at funerals than it is at weddings, having been intoned during the solemnities for no lesser luminaries than Winston Churchill, Princess Diana and – no surprise – Margaret Thatcher.

The hymn itself is – however – the subject of considerable controversy.

These attacks emanate from more than one quarter. There are those to the left of the political spectrum who are perturbed by the jingoistic overtones of the piece – the thinking being perhaps that such patriotic sentiments are but a short step from something considerably more akin to imperialism.

This nationalistic tenor also seems particularly offensive to some members of the Anglican congregation who perhaps deem it impious to make such vows to earthly powers rather than to god. Some amongst this ecumenical number further point to the fact that the ‘hymn’ actually makes no reference to god at all. In 2004 the Anglican Bishop of Hulme called for the canticle to be banned as being heretical – a view that I find – frankly – itself more hysterical!

In an article in the Church Times in 2013 the Reverend Gordon Giles – Anglican vicar of St Mary Magdalene’s Church in Enfield in the UK – suggested that Spring Rice’s poem should be re-written to make it more acceptable. His doctrinally ‘correct’ version replaces – for example – the original’s opening couplet:

I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love

…with this – er – improved variant:

I vow to thee, my country, the service of my love,
in full and free devotion, all lesser claims above

Oh dear!

What these strangely earth-bound zealots seem to have missed is that what Spring Rice originally wrote was a poem! To insist upon a literal interpretation is to completely misunderstand the purpose and meaning of art. Ambiguity is essential – the pursuant intention being that each of us should discover our own meaning in the work.

This truism is made manifest by the variety of views that are to be found on the InterWebNet. The first stanza of the hymn may be read as a peon to militaristic imperialism, but just as readily as a lament for the fallen of the Great War. Those with an axe to grind might detect in the second verse either proof positive that ‘another country‘ – ‘most great to them that know‘ refers to the kingdom of god, or conversely evidence that the poem is nothing more than a puff of secular doggerel – in decidedly dubious taste.

I would like to proffer another interpretation…

Unlike that other great patriotic chorale – “Jerusalem” – “I Vow to Thee my Country” actually makes no explicit reference to England or to Britain at all. If the ‘other country’ of the second stanza can be taken as a metaphor for heaven, then why should the ‘country’ of the first verse be interpreted literally? It could – of course – refer to any country, but taking it further – it might not refer to a country at all. The metaphor could stand for a race – a community – a faith – an ideology…

What this first verse surely alludes to is the notion of tying one’s colours to the mast – to making the ultimate sacrifice for something – anything – that one believes in.

The second verse then adds to this – with a glance back over its shoulder to regard again the lessons of history – a terrible warning of the costs of misguided beliefs – be they patriotic, spiritual or ideological. Spring Rice must have been acutely aware when he re-wrote his original verse in 1918 of the paradoxical nature of the war that was shortly to end – caught between the fervour of patriotic support for his country and the knowledge that the powers of Europe had sleep-walked senselessly into an unforgivable and avoidable calamity that had resulted in the tragic and pointless loss of a generation of young men.

In this centennial year of the start of the Great War it is perhaps no surprise that I was overcome by emotion the other day in St Paul’s Cathedral, when attempting to sing this most moving of compositions. This is – after all – what good art does.

And if you should doubt that Spring Rice’s verse and Holst’s powerful melody – accidental partners though they may be – do in fact represent the highest forms of their respective crafts, then you need only look at the suggestions that others have made to ‘correct’ what they see as the hymn’s shortcomings.

If you have no understanding of the power of poetry this might not be a bad place to start.

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe School’s annual outing to St Paul’s Cathedral to celebrate its foundation took place late last week. I was – as ever – an eager participant in this expedition.

My pleasure at being able to re-visit what has become such a significant symbol in my own personal mythology (a grateful prayer of thanks was once again offered on the spot directly under the centre of the dome) is always augmented by the slightly perverse delight that I take from the absurdity of transporting the entire population of two schools (our sister school joins us for the day) across the breadth of London in a fleet of coaches for a fifty minute ceremony. The logistics are a nightmare and the journey takes at least three times as long as the service itself.

Apparently in days of yore the pupils were simply instructed to make their own way to the cathedral – being given no more than a time to be outside the west door and a strict admonition not to be late. I find it rather sad that such a practical course is – in these health and safety obsessed times – no longer viable.

The form that the service itself takes barely varies from year to year. Having in my pre-pubescent existence played the part of the boy chorister, I do still enjoy the chance to belt out some of the hymns with which I fell in love and which were largely responsible for my later and lasting involvement with music.

One such much-loved chorale is the setting of Sir Cecil Spring Rice’s 1908 poem – “I Vow to Thee my Country” – to the music of Gustav Holst – specifically to an extract from his “Jupiter” movement from “The Planets” suite. This stirring hymn makes frequent appearance at our Founder’s Day ceremonies largely because Holst was for an extended period employed as the Musical Director at our sister school.

Spring Rice’s poem – written whilst he was serving at the British embassy in Stockholm and originally entitled “Urbs Dei” (“City of God”) – was at first quite unlike the version that we know today. In 1912 Spring Rice was appointed Ambassador to the United States of America and in that role played an instrumental part in persuading the US to abandon its neutrality in the Great War. Shortly before returning to the UK in January 1918, Spring Rice re-wrote and renamed the poem, significantly altering the first verse to reflect the huge losses suffered by British soldiers during the intervening years. What had been the first verse morphed to become a second verse that is now widely disregarded.

In 1921 Holst was commissioned to set the poem to music. He was, at the time, extremely busy and was relieved to discover that – with only minor modification – the grand theme from “Jupiter” fitted the lyric well enough. Upon such small ‘accidents’ great moments of genius do often seem to hang.

Finding myself in harmony with a two thousand voice impromptu choir for  “I Vow to Thee my Country” in the sublime setting of St Paul’s Cathedral last week proved such an unexpectedly emotional experience that I found myself struggling to give voice at all to the second verse. I was sufficiently moved that I find I must needs say more on the subject…

…but that can wait for a second post…

 

 

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Bake on

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThose souls who reside in the United Kingdom and who still consume the products of the organisations both private and public that engage – for better or worse – in the televisual arts, will have been unable to avoid over the last year or so the nationwide enthusiasm for the category of comestible cookery that utilises prolonged dry heat by convection rather than by radiation… known more commonly as baking!

I refer – of course – to the ‘Great British Bake Off’.

The Kickass Canada Girl is a fan. I don’t mind it being on in the background. The recent ructions on the show – which need not detain us here – have done little to impinge on its overall veneer of gentle British whimsy which has proved for many a welcome corrective to the endless diet of so-called ‘reality’ shows.

Naturally, our broadcasting and other media corporations – never known to go easy on an expiring equine – have parachuted aboard the passing bandwagon and all things bakery related have now been hailed as the best thing since – er – sliced bread!

Thus is was that I found myself on a recent Saturday morning listening to one of those Radio 4 (a sort of talk radio, for north American readers) programmes that is a miscellanea of items comprising in the main interviews with interestingly ‘normal’ people (sometimes in extraordinary circumstances but just as frequently not so) only to discover that this particular episode had a ‘baking’ theme.

One interviewee in particular caught my ear. Louise Johncox – a journalist who writes for publications such as The Times, The Sunday Times, The Daily Telegraph and The Guardian – comes from a long line of bakers and confectioners. Her father ran a tea shop for more than forty years in the Home Counties and she grew up surrounded by the smells and tastes of fresh-baked bread, cakes and patisserie.

The object of Mrs Johncox’s appearance on the radio was to promote a book that she has recently had published. The Baker’s Daughter is a charming cross between a memoir and a recipe book. Mrs Johncox speaks well and passionately on the subject and has a clear love of all things related to the baker’s art.

Given my ambivalence on the subject you might be surprised that I am expending precious words on it. Well – as you might have guessed by now – there is a hook. Mrs Johncox’s father’s tea shop – Peter’s, Weybridge Ltd – was located in the small Surrey town in which I grew up.

Peter Johncox and his wife Frankie moved to Weybridge in the spring of 1960 – in the same year as did my parents! I was six at the time and I remember this delightful emporium existing virtually unchanged throughout my adolescent years. Peter’s was famous amongst other things for its Welsh Rarebit which I swear – no doubt erroneously – that I can still remember. The recipe for this treat is – fortunately – included in the book. The tea shop stayed open until after the turn of the millennium, by which point Peter Johncox had become too old and infirm to continue its management.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWhat really took me by surprise – as I listened to Mrs Johncox’s reminiscences on the radio – was just how teary I found myself all of a sudden. My mother never drove a car and thus could for many years be seen trundling her shopping bag on wheels the mile or so from our house down to the centre of town to do the shopping. Once all had been crossed from her list she would repair to Peter’s for a much need cup of tea and – mayhap – a sweet treat – as a means of recharging the batteries for the fully laden return trip up the hill!

My mother died in 2010 – a mere two years before Peter Johncox. Peter’s – as with so many other such familiars – is long gone, and I rarely now find myself with a reason to visit Weybridge.

The book is a delight – both as a culinary treat and as a reminiscence of times past. I thoroughly recommend it.

 

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