First Light

First Light

The Chichester Festival Theatre programme of productions for the summer festival 2016 plopped onto my front door mat yesterday morning.  Within its pages, one finds a set of two page spreads about the plays and musicals that will form the summer festival and the stars appearing in each of them.

If you become a ‘Friend’ of the theatre, at a bit less than the cost of one ticket, there are some benefits. The reason I do this myself, is not, in all honesty, to be friendly in any way to this, my, really, truly, madly favourite (twin) theatre(s). No. It is because it is almost impossible to get my favourite seats in my favourite theatre, unless you have forked out the £35 smackers to be a ‘Friend’.

The icing on the ‘Friends’ cake, is not the discount, but it is very much, absolutely even, the brief priority booking period, lasting but a few days, that is the main benefit in my eyes. Even then you have to be quick off the mark. Flipping through the booklet before I even sat down comfortably, I realised that this was going to be expensive summer for me because I want to see pretty much every production this year. I opened it up to the first production in the Minerva…. The place that is the closest spot to heaven in my stupid, theatre buff heart. I must see that one. The next two in the main Festival Theatre…. Ooooo must see that, and that. Then I will be back in the Minerva for a new play ‘First Light’,  by Mark Hayhurst. That is a ‘must see’ for me. This is set in the First World War. The Battle of the Somme. I’m going to try to calm down now and stop gabbling at this point before I have a seizure.   

When joining my husband on work trips through France (we have a small antiques import/export business near Arundel), we have driven past this now peaceful place on countless occasions. We usually stop for coffee and a few moments of reflection.  The main noise is now, is just the squawking of ducks and geese.

We have also in out travels spent time in Poperinge in West Flanders, Belgium where the battles also raged on bloody, muddy fields.

Below is a photo of the execution post in the centre of the town where deserters would meet the firing squad. And following that my poetry about seeing that place.

 

 

The Post 

A post, plain iron,

Juts heavenward

From the stone cobbles

In supplication to a deity

Once more offering a son. 

The courtyard is elaborate in style;

Compared to the post. 

Behind the post

A monument;

An image depicting sandbags

Their purpose

To absorb deaths bullets. 

Rising six floors, a narrow round tower

Crowned, church like with an iron finial.

Shamed by the military operation

Performed at the base. 

Bright morning light heralds a new day

Seemingly oblivious

To the figure;

A young soldier

Takes his last breath

Then slumps

At the execution post. 

Shot at dawn.

 

Albert Bottfield 

Twenty eight years old

And found himself at war

Expected to be brave and bold

Midst all the mud and gore. 

Just a private in the army

Huddled fearful in a trench

Explosions driving good men barmy

Trembling held with jaws that clench. 

Terror mounts with each grenade

See good friends ripped apart

Each command must be obeyed

Horror, in his head and heart. 

Another blast, so near this time

Weakening as all valour fades

Endless conflict crouched in grime

Remembered jokes from lost comrades. 

On that early autumn day

As battle raged no end in sight

From his post he ran away

Confused and damaged out of fright. 

Remembering his oath of duty call

Returned from where he fled

A coward held by a prison wall

Shot at dawn, he fell and bled. 

Executed for cowardice. 18^th Oct. 1916 5.50 am

 

 

An Evening of Puccini

Jonas Kaufmann: An Evening of Puccini

Live from La Scala, Milan (In a cinema near you) As the poster states.

 

It must have been a few years now since my husband Steve and I first went to the cinema in Chichester twelve miles away, for one of the exciting new, ‘Live from the New York Met Opera House’. The poster tempted the small time bathtub aria singer with the wording, ‘Direct to a cinema near you’. I seem to recall that that first one was presented by Renée Fleming who spoke of the story, orchestra, famous conductor, cast, set designers and the costumes.  During the interval there was a tour backstage. We thought at the time that it would be an idea that spread as easily as a child blowing the seeds from a dandelion clock. 

What a wonderful concept that was either a clever, cunning or generous concept. This was a way that ordinary people, who had never been to any of the world’s fantastic opera houses, would be able to, not just see inside, but be part of the audience. Apart from experiencing the next best thing to an actual visit to a world class venue, but to smile quietly because the extra thrill was, that you did not have to be rich and famous to buy a ticket since the normal cinema price was only raised a little bit above the normal entrance cost. 

Since that time, we have caught many of these huge treats for ordinary folk, who would never in a million years be able to afford to go to an actual live performance. One has to think that the first one was just an experiment to answer a number of questions from the board of directors. 

Was this a way to make a lot more money to be sunk into future productions?

Would it encourage more people to see if they could learn to like opera?

Would it allow ordinary working people to enjoy opera without the huge cost that is normally attached?

Would cinemas around the world be brave enough to try it? 

Many more questions must have been asked back then before the first bold step was taken. The first time we went, the very first time, the cinema was packed for that one live performance. Now, a new idea has fallen successfully into its natural place, the encore has arrived. Recently the little art house cinemas have joined in the game finding equal success when showing the big productions on two or three dates and various times slots to suit everybody. 

Our most recent tickets were bought to see Jonas Kaufmann in An Evening of Puccini from La Scala, Milan. I have no idea how many hundred euro’s one would have to fork out to go there. Flights, hotels, transport and of course posh clothes, there would be no turning up in jeans and a shirt there. 

We just had to drive eight miles to the Connaught Theatre in Worthing. There was a delightful and informative interview with Jonas before the filmed live concert started. Then alternately there was an orchestral piece from the simply massive amount of musicians or an aria from Jonas. 

I think that opera came to full bloom with the wonderful Maria Callas, Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, our own Bryn Terfel and so many other greats, but, I feel that with Jonas Kaufmann we have a new hybrid, a new form, a new breed. This man is something more special even that those former opera greats. Even whilst performing music, one aria at a time, plucked out of the middle of an opera, he can plunge himself into the heart and soul of that character in that opera with such skill that it takes your breath away. He is as great an actor as he is a singer, and heart meltingly handsome. I hesitated before saying that because it sounds a little wet, but its true he is very presentable indeed, every bit the leading man he is playing.  The ultimate in operatic performance.

Culture vulture

 Monet and Shackleton

After just a couple of hours work in the morning that placed us well to take the rest of the day as a jolly, we had an excellent day in London yesterday. We parked in the nearest NCP to the Royal Academy in Piccadilly. It was a simple walk around the block to the entrance where we soon discovered my big mistake of the day.  I had seen a post somewhere on the internet for;   The Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse.  At the RA and also on at the same time was Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition that was on at the Royal Geographical Society. I had checked opening times and such but the error was that I was absolutely sure in my own mind that the Royal Geographical Society was on the left hand side of the courtyard on entering to go to the RA. No it was not. THAT was the Royal Geological Society. I went all around the courtyard a couple of times because I could not believe that I had mis-remembered so badly. Thankfully Steve is a very easy going man and did not get cross about it but instead just laughed at me which was bad enough. Where the other exhibition was on, was a couple of miles away and in London traffic that is far enough.

Since we were at the RA we thought it best to change the order of events and go in there first. This did however involve a long queue where we stood for getting on for two hours. 

We had both been to Monet's home in Giverney where many of the works displayed, were painted, so we were certainly up for this exhibition. I was glad when we finally got inside after standing in a long queue for nearly two hours. I was frozen...Didn't have a coat, just a gillet.

Once into the exhibition it was very crowded but still well worth braving the chilly queue for.  

 We crammed in the Royal Geographical Society's Photographic exhibition of Shackleton and Hurley's Antarctic exploits around 1914-.1917. We both found this display very moving indeed, the photographs were superb and the photos had caught the risky to downright dangerous situation with such feeling, and artistry, even though the working condition’s  were so difficult.  How remarkable that they almost missed a whole war, being so completely out of touch. There is an old film of the Endurance in its death throws that had me transfixed with my hands over my mouth watching a ship being so cruelly crushed by nature. It’s hard to believe that they all got home at all, every last one of them with few of them suffering varying degrees of frostbite.

Famine to Flood

Famine to Flood 

Funny how it life goes isn’t it? We don’t go out as often as a lot of people do but maybe we will go to a movie once a month or so, and usually more evenings out during the summer months. This week though, is more than a bit giddy and we have outings booked five days out of seven and no idea how it happened that way. Sometimes it seems that there is not a movie or show that we fancy for months. Yet last Sunday night we went out to see comedian and west end star Brian Conley, performing less than ten miles from our home at the Pavillion in Worthing with the tour start of his new show ‘Alive and Dangerous’ and yes, we nearly split our sides laughing.

Our next outing up, is a drive to London to the Royal Geographic Society for their Antarctic Legacy of Ernest Shackleton and Frank Hurley, now known I think as The Endurance Exhibition and then straight after that, stepping directly next door to the Royal Academy for the  ‘Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse.  The on to visit friends on the way home. Such excitement in one day!

Then, on Wednesday evening a movie that we had missed when it was newly released, The Danish Girl, we’ll be going to that with my daughter Jacqueline, who is also on catch up for that. This one is at our local Windmill Cinema in beautiful downtown Littlehampton. Well anyway, at the beauty spot where the River Arun flows into the English Channel.

The following night’s delight is one of those, ‘direct from the opera house to local cinema’ performance by our favourite operatic tenor Jonas Kaufmann in an Evening of Puccini and for that we will troop in to the Connaught theatre cinema, where my mum used to work as an usherette when I was a child. Of yes, I was a child once! The week will be rounded off by a dinner with friends for a birthday celebration. We will need three weeks rest to get over all the excitement.

Stunningly for me and my easy going husband, this February week has gone not from Flood to Famine but quite the opposite; From Famine to full blown Flood.

Variety is indeed the spice of life.

Rest Day?

The weekend for us is not a lazy time as it is for many who take a few hour hours extra sleep and think that it will benefit them in some way. Instead Saturday and Sunday are often days when we have a little more time to enjoy our sport. I find it interesting and quite telling that within our circle of friends, who also enjoy keeping themselves as fit as they can, that a good number of them serve as fire or police officers, as well as quite a few for work in the medical profession as nurses, doctors or paramedics. They need to be fit and strong for their lifestyle that involves helping people who have not taken care of their own health. Why do so many other people not see the benefit of a little training as an aid to their general health. Its a most enormous mystery to me, totally baffling. We are surely all responsible for ourselves, our safety and our own health. The other day I saw a sign that read 'There is no elevator to success you have to take the stairs'. Well that goes for your health and fitness too surely; you have to make the effort or pay the price.
The following are about my training for my sport of triathlon. Sometimes it is not easy but I do it anyway for the long term aim but other days it is simple fun or sheer joy. 

Not Thinking in Water

 

Moving well within my comfort zone

Strokes fitting my normal breathing pace

All muscles relaxed yet still in tone

Falling through thoughts unknown

Like floating off into deepest space. 

Swimming seems so natural and calm

Warm up pace, steady, slow, not in a race

A physical offering like a quiet psalm

Dreams of Hawaii and a swaying palm

Leave concentration and with peace replace.  

From all work and duty a mind is thrown

Moving so calmly in a state of grace

Out of muscle memory ease has grown

Seeds so long ago were casually sown

Of starting struggles there is no trace. 

Over time these movements became balm

Practice worked out what faults to efface

Water slips over a mouth and thinks no harm

Silken movement the body doth becalm

Pleasures repetition; sense of touch embrace. 

Breathing’s normal rhythm unthinking known

Hands skilfully hold the water to displace

In peace, with nought for which to atone

Just a swimmer swimming slowly all alone

No wrong to right or satisfaction chase .

 

Turning, Turning

Turning legs in circles riding a bicycle

Layers of clothes yet feel like an icicle

Stationary though with the TV on

Bed vacated and all sleep gone

Six o’clock on a winter morn

In December that’s still short of dawn

Better than road riding in the dark

Jack Frost has big teeth like a shark

Oh please God will you make it warmer

Can spring be around the very next corner?

 

Running for Reward 

Every weekend in the morning on our day of rest

We get up quickly and don a light running vest

We drive a few miles to the usual place to meet

Sun glasses on our face and trainers on our feet

Two start earlier than the other friend

Tortoise and hare we play until the end

We all stretch our bodies chatting one to another

Soothing out muscles to help us recover

Virtuously exercised and scenery well noted

We then take turns to see which tea shop is voted

Which of the pleasures is greater we ask for a lark

The coffee house visit or the run in the park?

 

 

 

 

End of the dark days

 When Steve and I left the house at 6.15am this week for our thrice weekly early morning swim sessions, there was just the tiniest hint of pre-dawn light edging into the sky to the east. 'So what', you might be thinking. Well, it made me smile, and the reason for that is, that a find the long dark nights and the short days of mid winter very trying. Much as I do try not to wish my life away, considering that time starts to pass very quickly as one grows older anyway, but I find the winter hard and miserable and never ending. This is why I love our winter holiday in St Moritz where the tourist office claim that they have well over three hundred days of sunshine per year, as opposed to the storm after storm, after storm that we have suffered in the UK. Imogen, being the last named storm at this stage and that made her, (Little Madam) number nine.

I wrote this light hearted piece sitting by a sunny window looking out toward the mountains in the Engadin Valley in Switzerland.

The Shortest Day 

The shortest day

I have to say

Pleases me

Because you see

Dark is still here

But it is with sheer

Delight to me to know

Short days will slowly go

One by one they’ll fade

To long winter, put paid

The long journey of the sun

Is now over and done

The solar ticket is paid

Return not to be delayed

For very much longer

My heart already stronger

My spirit lifted high

My relief heard in a sigh

Wicked winter half way gone

Spring will soon be upon

Us all with flowers bright

But more importantly,

With LIGHT!

 

Recent travels

Recently I have gone along with my husband Steve on some work trips again. I used to nearly always go with him both to help out and for company on long trips. That came to a halt during the last few years of Steve's mum's slow downward spiral when I stayed home to be her prime carer until her death in December 2014. There was a lot to take care of after her death due to the fact that she had kept every birthday and Christmas card, every invoice from every store she ever telephone shopped at since the flood. Going through a departed persons belongings is not something that can be done quickly. It has to be done carefully just in case there is something important in amongst all the papers that have been tied in bundles, carefully wrapped, placed in an outer bag and tied again. Most of it does get burned as its sorted. Bank statements going back to wartime and all sorts of useless documents. Letters sent and received. EVERY letter ever received. Some charming loving letters from wartime and a few sweet letters from her nephew Michael when he was at boarding school, writing to ask his aunt and uncle to send him some sweeties. Every photo ever taken. You would not believe how tightly and cleverly all these items can be hidden away.
Even though I am the daughter-in-law, it is still an emotional job and after plodding away at it for a month or so, I had to slow it down to a measured amount a week so that I could return to some sort of life of my own. It is now fourteen months since Caroline Mary Belt died at the age of 94. I have nowhere near completed sorting out her papers that were so tightly stored away. Now, I just take a handful out every few weeks and hope to eventually get to the end.
Even though we were not always on the most friendly terms, I was for sure the one she would call when she felt unwell or when something private needed doing. I may not have been her number one loved one, but I know for sure that I was her most trusted and dependable choice of person. Still after all this time I find myself close to tears writing about all this. One can only do ones best and plod on day after day through whatever life throws at you.

So now and again I can now drop everything and join Steve on a work trip because I do not have to make any complicated arrangements to leave home any more. I am more or less free again, to be my own person and a wife/companion once more.

Last week our work travels took us from our business premises and off through the channel tunnel in one of our work vehicles. Karlsruhe in Germany and on to Markdorf close to the border with Switzerland for deliveries. It was Fasching in Germany so that was quite fun to see all the people dressed up in a variety of costumes for the traditional pre-lent fling and I would say more than a little over indulgence.

From Markdorf we drove back into the Black Forrest for our second overnight stop near Hinterzarten.

Thick snow fell during that afternoon and into the night to leave a foot of snow. Thankfully the road for cleared for us to start our journey the next day. The one place we had to pick up goods was a scrap metal yard in the flea market of Saint Ouen in Paris, very close to where the recent terrorist shoot out was that was the main news item a few weeks before. The last delivery due to an unexpected change of plan had us driving back toward and a little beyond Bordeux before we were finally able to head along the long road home.

 

To make the journey pass quickly we take several audio books with us and that is a help and a half with the endless motorway miles. My husband and I are best friends as well as husband and wife and love to be together and so the work trips are improved with the company of one to another, sharing a coffee, a meal or an overnight stop. We both love to travel together and are both Cartophiles which is a name we use to describe people who, like us, love maps.

Yes, it is nice to get home again and sleep in our own bed, but we both enjoy travelling even when it involves work.