New Year’s Eve 2013

New Year’s Eve, an evening, night and early morning I guess, with many memories and ever changing traditions within a general pattern which has remained the same throughout my life: fireworks, the burning of Christmas trees which evolved into the burning of anything youngsters could lay their hands on from car tyres, wooden pallets, to whatever... Especially some inner cities are notorious for the vandalism on that particular night. So are some rural villages which normally offer little excitement for young people. Traditional throughout my life have been the “oliebollen” and “appelflappen”, covered in white powdery sugar. The oliebollen, deep fried currant buns, round balls, sponges of grease, always made me sick. Once during my student days combined with a glass of champagne they made me horribly sick. Isn’t alcohol supposed to neutralise fat? If so, it doesn’t happen without a fight, or rather a fierce battle within one’s body.

As a child there was church, a gloomy protestant service when all the deceased of the past year were named and we were reminded of our sins. And of the vulnerability of our lives. Isaiah 40- 6-8 was read:

...All mankind is grass, they last no longer than a flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon them:

The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the Word of our God endures for evermore.

(New English Bible) At least the end of the quotation offered hope, but the withering and dying depressed me most of all. Meanwhile the aroma of oliebollen and deep fried food wafted from clothes and hats and the hair of the repentant churchgoers. Did they really repent, or were they thinking of the coming feast, the abundance of deep fried currant buns? They were on every table, replacing the usual meals.

Later in life, I would celebrate with friends, and even later with my husband and his family. No church. The church I then belonged to kept to the liturgical year and did not see New Year’s Eve as a feast in the church calendar.

Then there came the time that I had to do without a husband. But there were parents and later just my father. He would stay at my house, or I would go and  stay with him. And now, things have changed again. But throughout all those years there were the deep fried delicacies, covered in snowy white sugar, something nice to look at, but never the cause of my expanding waistline.

As a child, New Year’s Day was the day for visiting relatives and perhaps friends, to wish them a happy New Year. Uncles and aunts would all gather at my grandmother’s house and large plates of oliebollen would be on the table. The same happened at the house of my other grandparents. It wouldn’t do to start the New Year hungry. Some people made literally bucketfuls of the “delicacy”.

Again, many years later, two or three of my neighbours would get together and bake oliebollen for everybody in our street, by the bucket. Around five in the afternoon we would flock to the open garage door and test the result of their efforts, washing the still warm oliebollen down with mulled wine, brewed by the women. That tradition lasted for years and years, till the children who grew up here, had their own families and would invite their parents to their homes and do the honours. That was the end of the street gatherings, except after midnight when in one of the houses there still is a far more civilized buffet of smoked salmon and cheese and biscuits, washed down with champagne.

So traditions have come and gone, everything changes, except for the oliebollen. And what also remains, are the fireworks, including the pyromania. And eye injuries, even resulting in permanent blindness.

This year an American friend is staying with me . Her impression of our New Year’s Eve celebrations – sent to friends back in Minnesota – are worth reading. They made me look at our customs with other eyes. (I edited it slightly in places) 

The Dutch really know how to do a New Years bash!  The big item in the celebration is fireworks. They can be legally blown off for about 24 hours. They are illegally blown off for about 3 days prior.  It goes on to be such a performance that they have to seal up the neighbourhood mailboxes ( where you can mail your letters) so that the kids don’t put firecrackers in them to blow them up!

So for the past days there have been firecrackers and rockets going off intermittently day and night, increasing in intensity until last night.
Last night we were invited to a party at the home of friends from my friend’s  church. There were about 20 people there. It started about 9 pm. Buffet style salads, dips, fish, cheese, wine, soda, juice. About 10:30 there was wine & cheese. Then at midnight there was champagne. They had mild fireworks for the kids ( two grade schoolers and several older boys, students) -- just firecrackers, sparklers, poppers, and some that you throw at the ground to make them pop. The sounds coming from other areas were incredible-- it sounded like artillery from all directions, coming from private fireworks and displays done in nearby towns. Later there was ice cream, sweets, cookie- type things. 

The group was mostly aged between 50-75 with sons of the host family and a woman with two children. All spoke English, Dutch, and other. Most had some British connection. (The church is English speaking Anglican, primarily people from the international community at The Hague and surrounding area.)  We got home about 2am.
Traditional foods sold at this time: oliebollen and appelflappen

Oliebollen are balls of sweet dough with raisins, currents which are deep fried--a bit like large donut holes.

Appelflappen are like a bismark but with an apple filling. 

They sell them everywhere ( grocery stores, stands in the street, at a stand outside the Garden Centre) but only at this time of the year. 

 The traditions continue today with a leisurely day ( that started about 10am! ) watching the Vienna Philharmonic live concert and then a skiing competition (the well-known one in Garmisch Partenkirchen in Germany). . ...

Apparently for her the fireworks were the most impressive and unusual part of our New Year’s Eve traditions. I must admit that at the party there were no oliebollen nor appelflappen, due to the international character of the partygoers as well as the nationalities of our host and hostess.

H A P P Y   N E W  Y E A R !!!

 .

Lessons and Carols 2.

So many services of Lessons and Carols. Last Saturday we sang in the Lutheran Church in Arnhem, an inner city church where quite a lot is done for the homeless, for refugees and for drug addicts. It is a big church and it was freezing cold inside, at least in the room where we had to robe, and in the corridors. The church wasn’t too bad, and they tried to warm us with hot coffee, nice rolls and fruit. The church is unusual with choir stalls in a semicircle against the back of the church. However, because there was a rather ugly stable in the process of construction, waiting for the ox and ass, Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus, the stalls were obscured and couldn’t be used, so we sat rather exposed on chairs in front of the congregation. There is a new organ, placed in the nave in front of the old organ which is still up on the gallery, lurking in the dark shadows. It looked a bit odd to me. Is it too expensive to remove the old organ? 

Arnhem, The new organ. You can just get a glimpse of the old one up on the gallery

Rheden last night was totally different. We sang in the old village church, warm and friendly. Our choir was only small, but we and the congregation really enjoyed the singing and the service. When I drove to Rheden, the moon rose above the horizon, a big, full moon, orange, as if there was a light shining inside, or a fire burning. At first I thought it was a hot air balloon as it was so large! It looked rather magical, especially over the river IJssel. After the service, later in the evening, the moon was higher in the sky and therefore smaller and no longer coloured orange, but exactly over the attractive church tower which was bathing in warm flood light. 

Above: the village church of Rheden, exterior and interior, and the nice organ front.

CAROL SERVICE, RHEDEN, 18^TH DECEMBER 2013, 8 P.M.

*          Once in Royal David's City             

            verse 1 solo, verse 2, 3, 4, 6 (descant)                                                

Bidding Prayer 

*          Adam lay ybounden – Howard Skempton (choir, CfCV 2)

*          Ding dong merrily        GCB 28 

First Lesson

*          Remember, O thou man – Thomas Ravenscroft (choir, AfC 170)

*          God rest you merry, gentlemen            GCB 29 + descant

            1 all, 2 choir, 3 men, 4 ladies, 5 all 

Second Lesson

*          Creator of the Stars of Night – Malcolm Archer (choir, AfC56) 

Third Lesson

*          O little town of Bethlehem       GCB 92 + descant Hopper 10 

Fourth lesson

*          There is no rose – Howard Skempton (choir, CfCV 192) 

Fifth Lesson

*          NEH 10 – Long ago, prophets knew             

*          Small wonder the star – Paul Edwards (choir) 

Sixth Lesson

*          See amid the winter’s snow     CfCV 150

            3 choir, 4 men, 5 ladies

*          My Lord has come – Will Todd (choir, CfCV 105) 

Seventh Lesson

*          The First Nowell          GCB 126 + descant, vs 1, 2, 3, 5, 6

*          In the bleak mid-winter – Harold Darke (choir) 

Eighth Lesson

*          We three kings                  

*          New Year Carol – John Rutter (CfCV 108) 

Ninth Lesson

*          O come all ye faithful              GCB 88 + descant Hopper 11

            vs 1, 2, 6 + descant, 7 + descant 

Prayers

Blessing 

*          Hark the Herald Angels sing    GCB 39 + Ledger descant

Butterfly

Lessons and Carols. A church overflowing with people, flowers and burning candles. A dark light. The choir robed and singing. All of a sudden there is this butterfly, dancing, pirouetting, distracting the clergy. It swings through the choir, the warmest and brightest part of the church, restless. All of a sudden it lands on my music which I am singing from. Snow in Winter.. covering the words. It spreads its beautiful wings. A peacock, I now see. Perfectly still it sits there through part of our anthem completely covering my music. Fortunately I know it quite well. But I can hardly sing. It seems such a miracle. Is it a sign from above or has it just been disturbed in its hibernation by the temperature in the church and the music? After some minutes it takes off, continuing its circular dance. It doesn’t land anywhere else, and I am sad to see it go. 

Assen and the Dead Sea Scrolls

In between all the singing, concerts and Advent services I took the train to Assen in Drenthe to see an exhibition of and about the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was a cold morning, with a freezing fog, which gradually dissolved into a slight haze, the sun trying hard to break through. At first the fields and rooftops of the houses we passed, were covered with a fine layer of hoar frost, which gave everything a wintery but also festive appearance. At this time of year the sun throws long and elongated shadows across the land, like caricatures. This morning the shadows of poplars and willows lining the many ditches and separate fields were not black or dark as usual, but white silhouettes painted on the green fields which had already been warmed by the sun.  It looked very peaceful and Christmassy.

Nowadays there is a direct train connection to Assen, which took me there in just under 2.5 hours. The train traverses the Flevopolder which is littered with rows and rows of modern windmills, today standing motionless, their three wings waiting in vain for a slight breeze. There was no wind whatsoever all day long, so the only thing those mills achieved was ruining the view and spoiling the landscape. With their extended arms they looked like a corps de ballet, frozen in the same position waiting for the music to begin.

In another part of the Flevopolder, a large piece of land reclaimed from the former Zuiderzee, it was clear that the man-made nature reserve, the Oostvaardersplassen,  is vastly overpopulated. Trying to warm themselves in the early morning sun were large herds of horses and deer, and not just one or two herds, but quite a lot in a very bare landscape. It could have been Russia or the prairies we were passing through, except for the temperature. Why we ever introduced them there, I don’t understand. It was meant to be a bird sanctuary. And now those animals are protected and there are just far too many. The land can’t feed them all, and they have killed off the trees looking for food. It looked as if a battle had taken place, like the woods near our house when I was a child. During the war all the trees had been used for fuel, and the former woods were a total wilderness. But fortunately they were replanted and they aren’t vandalised by herds of animals which surely never lived at this former bottom of the sea.

The former chapel of the nuns which is now part of the Museum 

In Assen it was cold, just above zero, but the bright sunshine made the centre look very attractive. The Museum is housed in a former nunnery, which since long has had various functions. The interior is worth a visit. This was the first time that I used the entrance of the newly built and very modern extension, partly hidden underground with an amazing garden on top forming steep hills. The main expositions are now in this modern extension. This time a few pages or scraps of the Dead Sea Scrolls were on view. I admire the way the (art) historians and other experts had managed to make this a very interesting exhibition. There was a lot of information about the history of the Middle East and of Palestine and Qumran where the scrolls were found in the 20^th century, everything so intricately linked to the history of the Jewish people. Nowadays exhibitions can be extremely interesting with the use of modern techniques: video’s on the main walls, re-enactments of battles, a clear timeline and information about all the peoples and rulers who had lived in and/or conquered that corner of the world. It was too much to take in in one visit, so for once I made an exception to my own imposed rule and bought the catalogue. The texts on the scraps of parchment, papyrus and leather were translated into Dutch and English. It is amazing to me that scholars have been able to decipher those remnants of scrolls, and pieced them together.

The three religions which all recognise Abraham as their forefather, were also represented: the Jewish faith, the Islam and Christianity. Texts which are similar in the Holy books of those three religions were quoted and juxtaposed. And there were interviews – on video – with modern believers of each of those three religions, all of them women representing three different stages in life. They explained what their faith meant to them in their daily lives.

There was another room where the techniques of writing were explained, of making vellum and parchment and papyrus, and even of making a copper scroll! Amazing that some of the texts on the pieces of scroll were still so clear that it seemed they were written only yesterday. Other letters had almost completely faded, apparently depending mainly on the type of ink used.

 The beautifully decorated entrance hall of the old part of the museum

 

A hall in the museum which was once used by the governors of Drenthe

Assen’s town centre was buzzing as people were shopping for December 5^th, St. Nicolas, the traditional day in Holland for giving presents. But after the sun set colouring the sky a deep red, it quickly grew dark and cold, so time to take the train back home.

Talking about meetings. Here too, and not only when travelling abroad, I had an interesting meeting. Two women whom I thought were about my age were sitting in the same compartment. During their conversation it became clear that they had both been students at Leiden University, the woman opposite having read the same subject as I had! She was also a member of one of the choirs of my organist friend and former organ teacher, wrote children’s stories which she said might be too naive for this day and age and modern children, and she hated golf! There was a rapport, although she thought I was at least 10 years younger than she was. Which wasn’t the case. Sometimes it is nice to be flattered. Time passes quickly when meeting interesting people. And so we were back at our destination before realising it. A day well-spent, topped up by “The Painted Veil”, for once a very interesting film on the TV. 

The first Sunday of Advent

The first Sunday of Advent, always a Sunday full of joy and expectation. I lit the first candle on my Advent wreath, bought at the Christmas Fair yesterday in our church. A Fair full of interesting things, crafts of a very high standard, homemade cakes and everything with cranberry: cranberry chutneys, cranberry jelly, cranberry granola etc. All beautifully packed in cute glass jars, very festive indeed. I couldn’t stay long for I had the privilege to be invited to sing at a very special service in The Hague of the Order of St. Lazarus. Which was a joy and a unique experience indeed. An investiture service, which was most interesting.

The Advent Procession with Lessons and Carols was inspiring and meaningful, as every year. I am a guest singer in that particular choir, so always a bit nervous as I do not attend the rehearsals on a regular basis.  But it is great to be included in this worship, even although I do not like processing into a dark church with a lit candle. There is the possibility of setting someone’s hair on fire or a choir robe, mundane thoughts during an Advent Carol Service. Once that part it over, I can give all of my attention to the music and the meaning of it all, the promise of the Christ child, a mystery.

Year after year we sing the same Introit, the Matin Responsory by Palestrina. And every time it moves me again. Standing at the back of the darkened church, hearing the cantor sing

 I look from afar and lo, I see the power of God coming, and a cloud covering the whole earth. Go ye out to meet Him and say

and the choir answering:

Tell us, art Thou he that should come to reign over Thy people Israel, ...

sends shivers down my spine. It has a beauty which is in such contrast with what we see around us at this time of year, materialism. As if Christmas is just a time for luxury, for presents, expensive and exotic food and party clothes. No, Christmas, the birth of this child, is a mystery, and it inspires us with hope. It gives meaning to our existence, and radiance.  That is particularly comforting at this dark time of year, when the nights are a lot longer than the hours of daylight. And so we light candles, to lighten not only our houses, but also to warm our hearts.

The Vesper Responsory almost at the end of the service never fails to move me either, both with its beautiful chant and its words:

Cantor:        Judah and Jerusalem, fear not, nor be dismayed

Choir:          Tomorrow go ye forth, and the Lord, He will be with you

Cantor:        Stand still and ye will see the salvation of the Lord

Here is our contribution to the service:

-Matin Responsory , followed by Come Thou Redeemer...

- Advent wreath prayer  

- O come, o come Emmanuel

- Advent Prose

- Remember, O Thou Man

Hymn NEH 15

- How lovely are the messengers  (Mendelssohn)

Hymn NEH 12

- There is no rose (Near)

Hymn NEH 7

- The Angel Gabriel

- Ave Maria - Archer

Hymn NEH 10

- Lo! He comes

- Creator of the stars of Night  

- Vesper Responsory

Hymn NEH 30 – O Come all ye faithful

Remembrance Day

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday.

Although yesterday in church we remembered the many men who died in the first and second World War, today it is really Remembrance Day, November 11^th.

In the small churchyard in our village there are just 17 war graves, of both Canadians, British soldiers and a Dutchman, a pilot, who had joined the RAF. Most of them were killed when their aircraft was shot down near the spot where they now lie buried. Although in the Netherlands we remember the dead on May 4^th, I am very glad that we also have a special ceremony in this 14^th century church and the surrounding churchyard near the graves of those young men. For young they were. For me it is always a very moving ceremony. The church organ is invariably played by the former mayor of this village, an amateur, whose performance touches me. A professional organist and choir master whom I know quite well, has written a special choral piece for the choir in this village to be sung on this occasion. They are getting better at it. The last post, flowers on the graves, and a salute by the veterans, fewer of those every year. It is emotional to see those veterans, who once were war heroes themselves and young. But they survived, unlike the young men buried here. They have grown old, and are leaning on canes, supported by friends or a family member, or sitting in a wheelchair or on a scooter. We do not recognize those heroes from times past. There is no glory for them. They have escaped the fate of those unfortunate pilots and fighters, but they have grown old, and age has indeed wearied them.

We put white flowers on the graves, and in the silence think of those and of all the others, of their sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice.

It is also an emotional day for a private reason. My husband joined the RAF after the war, to work as an interpreter in Germany at the war tribunals. He interpreted from German into English and the other way round. Clever for one who had not been able to finish his highschool during the last two years of the war. Like many others in his position, he was given his diploma anyway. As he had listened in secret to the BBC during those war years, his English was quite good. And he must have had an ear for languages. Instead of having to go to Indonesia as a soldier, he served three years with the RAF in Germany. I found his RAF uniform and other paraphernalia in a wooden chest in the attic after his death, with lots of pictures of him in his uniform, a dashing figure driving an open jeep and riding a horse. He made many friends during his years of service, Irish, and British, whom he kept in contact with through the rest of his life. He would always, without exception, go to the Remembrance ceremony in this village. If I did not have to go to work, I would join him. The last time we went together, he was already very sick and drove his scooter into the church, which has a rather narrow passageway. He could no longer walk, nor drive a car as he had lost the use of his legs. Undaunted he just pushed on. I was very embarrassed when he couldn’t turn round in the church after the ceremony, and tried to manoeuvre this scooter backwards which was a disaster. Anyway, we got out. Before we went home he decided that he would chose the plot where he wanted to be laid to rest. There were a few empty plots available, and he sent me to find the caretaker so that he could make enquiries and if possible reserve a spot. An unusual request, as it could only be reserved after buying the rights to that plot. But my husband promised that he would pay on the first day of the new year, if he would still be among the living at that time, which he was determined to be. Tax wise it was more profitable to pay in the new year. The caretaker was a bit taken aback, but agreed and said he would reserve that plot for my husband. Around Christmas the caretaker phoned me and asked if the deal was still on, which I confirmed. But he did not have to wait till the new year. My husband died exactly on the last day of that same year. When I phoned the caretaker to tell him we needed that plot, he was upset and asked if my husband had deliberately died that day. A strange question, which shocked me. I paid in the new year!

Since that time I always go to this ceremony, to represent my husband who is no longer with us, and because my life too was saved by the Allies, the British and the Canadians. We - and I - owe them our freedom.

Today, Poppy Day, I stopped at this other grave, my husband’s. No poppies here, just brown and wet autumn leaves covering the grave and the name of his son who joined his father just two years later. My husband resting not far from those RAF members, no war hero but in a way strongly connected with the RAF which he had served as well as he could. And I was proud of him, of his fighting spirit, and sad because of all those things we could no longer share: the beauty of the changing seasons, the pleasures of exploring new countries, of travelling together. But thankful he had lived his life to the full, unlike those men we remembered today.

November 2nd, All Souls' Day

The day to remember the dead, those who have gone before us.

Today they remembered Prince Friso, the Dutch prince who died this summer after an accident 1,5 years earlier which left him in a coma. His funeral in August was a very quiet, private affair. But on this day the historic church in Delft where he also got married was packed with his friends, business friends and family. The beginning and the end of his married life in the same church, in the town where he went to university and where he lived for a few years. A perfect circle, although it feels that his death was terribly untimely, leaving a young family behind.

This evening I attended a special Requiem concert, in the church where my late husband and I were married. Although his remembrance service didn't take place in this church, he was buried in the small churchyard surrounding this 14^th century church, a church founded by Willibrord who landed in Katwijk, a fishing village on the North Sea coast, and walked along what used to be a branch of the river Rhine to our village where a church was built. That branch is now a canal. It is a historic spot, a place where generations have worshipped, had their new-born baptised, asked for a blessing on their marriage and buried their dead. (Interestingly this church which officially is called the Willibrord Church, is known as the Green Church due to the fact that at one time it was totally covered by ivy which has since been removed.)

This afternoon I removed the dead and soggy autumn leaves from my late husband's grave, a grave shared by his oldest son, so that their names were clearly visible again. It started raining, rain which only lasted as long as it took me to finish the job. In Italy relatives picnic on the graves of their dead on this particular day, but the weather here usually isn't appropriate for al fresco dining.

 Peter Sculthorpe, Requiem for Cello

The Requiem concert this evening was special. And very modern.

A Requiem for cello by Peter Sculthorpe was the framework, filled in by various pieces of requiem music, both old and modern. The cello parts were extremely difficult, and often very moving, but I did not know the piece and I think it takes time to appreciate Sculthorpe's  music, and to familiarise oneself with his compositions.

 Howells Requiem 2

The choir sang parts of Herbert Howells Requiem, as well as Versa est in luctum by Alonso Lobo, a 16^th century composer, followed by a very modern Miserere by Rudi Tas (*1957-), this last composition together with the cello.

Rudi Tas

The men sang a Gregorian lament, Libera me Domine, standing in a circle.

In spite of all this beautiful and clever music, I felt the strong urge to listen to some more traditional Requiem Masses, preferring Fauré and Dvorak. It is brave that this small choir dares to tackle this difficult and modern repertoire. But personally I found it hard to get into the mood of the evening, as I had to concentrate so much to understand the modern compositions.

It rained when I left the church. Symbolic for our tears, the tears we shed for the departed? If beloved relatives died years ago, is it really for them that we cry, or is it the awareness of our own mortality, of the near futility of our lives, the unimportance of our daily worries and struggles? We will be forgotten and who will remember us? But then there is the ethereal Lux Aeterna, the eternal light, which passes all understanding.

 Alonso Lobo, Versa est in Luctum