Leyden

Just heard that Mahler and Sigmund Freud met for the first and only time in Leyden (1910), the town of my Alma Mater, and went for a four-hour walk. I am sure there were more canals there at that time than there are now as many have since been filled in. Neverthelees they are thinking about restoring them again, as Leyden is no town for cars anyway and the canals would add greatly to the attraction of Leyden. Technically, as far as water management is concerned, it would also be much better. I bet at that time the canals in Leyden were much more smelly though.
Leyden is in the centre of attention this week before Christmas, as some big national charity event takes place here. 

48 Hours of Carolling

How mad can one be? I am over-carolled, I suppose, and it is all my own doing – or choice. It started on Friday night with our regular choir practice preparing for the Sunday Eucharist. As this Sunday is dedicated to Mary the mother of Jesus, a big quota of our hymns plus the anthem were Ave Maria's, for a protestant at heart difficult to stomach. But they were beautiful hymns, that is for sure. So was the sermon, delivered by an American priest, also an art historian, who based his sermon on a famous painting of the Annunciation by Van Eyck and had chosen the hymns accordingly. We, the choir, left the choir stalls to sit in the front pews of the church so that we could see the projected painting on the overhead screens as well as the congregation. It was quite interesting.

   On Saturday morning I drove to Middachten, near Arnhem, to sing with a choir at the very romantic "Kerstmarkt" in and around the castle. The castle has been owned by the same family for generations, and looks very cosy and lived in, although the baroness, who is in her eighties, has recently moved into one of the buildings flanking the courtyard, for practical reasons. During Christmas the castle is still used by her larger family. But the week before Christmas there is a very upmarket and stylish "Christmas Market". The castle is surrounded by a moat. The first bridge leads to the forecourt, a second bridge to the house. The ornamental gardens are walled in. In the castle, which is still furnished with beautiful antique furniture, each room is decorated differently with a Christmas tree and greenery from the estate. The colours and the style differ in each room. There are nativity scenes, tables festively laid out with marvellous displays of holly and berries in the middle, the crystal glasses polished, the expensive china plates guarded on both sides by engraved silver cutlery.

The castle itself has a splendid dome in the middle, with a staircase winding up from two sides. Inside, the dome is decorated with intricate plaster figurines and garlands. In the buildings on both sides of the courtyard, former coach houses and stables, there are stands with artistic displays of silverware, finely carved wooden Christmas decorations, woven woollen scarves, sheepskin gloves and slippers, beautiful hand bound books. In one of the courts mulled wine is served, and there are seats around an open fire. We came to sing carols. Fortunately this year it wasn't so cold, but nevertheless we had fortified ourselves with woollen scarves, thick soled boots and of course some glasses of steaming hot mulled wine. We sang three times, each time for some thirty minutes, which means 10-13 carols; the first time outside in the courtyard, the smoke of the open fire tickling our vocal cords. The other two sessions were in the castle, on top of the staircase, on the round gallery landing. We had the use of the back stairs, the stairs for the servants I guess, to go up to the first floor, closed to the public, where we were given the use of one of the huge, and ice cold bedrooms. From there we emerged unto the round gallery. People visiting the castle would listen at the bottom of the stairs. By the time we finished, the sun set as a bright orange ball. We were given a choice of food in the restaurant in the cellars, the former kitchens. The choice is limited, but it is fabulous food. Especially their game and mushroom pies – game from the estate – is famous. It was an exciting and very special afternoon. Most of us left loaded with goodies:  game and wild boar patés, jams made from fruit grown in the castle grounds, presents for friends and artistically decorated baubles painted from the inside. By the time we left it was getting dark and the castle could have been cut out of a book of fairy tales, with the illuminated Christmas trees flanking the entrance doors, and all the lights along the railings of the bridges and in various other Christmas trees. There were people with torches giving guided tours of the grounds and gardens.

   But we had no time to join a group, as we had to get on to our next venue, a ecumenical  carol service in Arnhem. The Lutheran Church is hidden away in the inner city of Arnhem, the main entrance in a narrow street. No parking facilities except in multi story car parks, which were extremely difficult to find. Once you missed one – and the directions were dreadful – you had to go round and round and make a huge detour to get to it again. So some of us went round in circles several times and completely missed the practice. The walls of the church – or the buildings hiding the church from view - would have fallen like the walls of Jericho if we had lived in Biblical times!

As you can see in this picture, when driving on the main road the church is hidden from view by some ugly modern buildings.

The church was unexpectedly big and very interesting. It was built at the end of the 19^th century, as a Lutheran church. It has very old oak pews, round ones for the choir, polished to a shine. the church was lit for the occasion by candles placed on Christmas wreaths hanging from the ceiling at regular intervals. And the acoustics were good which was a bonus as by now we all are the worse for wear and pretty tired. But we were given a warm welcome with buns and fruit, coffee and tea. So they fed us well. It was a full church and we only heard very enthusiastic comments afterwards. So it was well worth all the effort.

We did not leave till half past nine and the 150 kilometre drive through rain, sleet and wind on this dark night took almost two hours.

The next morning, Sunday morning, I sang in The Hague, as I mentioned. Immediately after the service I drove to Haarlem for an extra practice for the next two carol services, on Wednesday and Christmas Eve. It was planned to last from 1.30-3.30, but we did not finish till 5, a time at which I was supposed to be at a dinner somewhere else. But by now – except for two short nights in bed – I had been on my feet singing for 48 hours, so I regretfully cancelled the dinner invitation. Fortunately I was not the only guest, so I did not ruin the party.

    I hear carols in my dreams, I hum carols, I think in carols. Is it carolitis? Three more services to go. And what is worse, I may do it again next year.

   Last but not least here is a wonderful carol which I will not sing in any of the services this year. It is by Sweelinck, Hodie Christus Natus est, a carol full of joy.

And for some very different Christmas music which I have liked from the first time I heard it as a teenager, a part from Corelli's Concerto per la Notte di Natale.

Carols, and more carols

Again a weekend filled with music. On Saturday I sang a carol concert in the Old Catholic Church in Haarlem. We had quite a number of new carols on our repertoire, which was a joy and a challenge. And we sang The Lamb, by Taverner, which still beats me. It is wonderful, and when I am singing it at home, alone, it is fine. But once in the choir, I feel no longer sure of the notes.

This is how it should be sung!

We are a mixed choir, but I do not think that is what makes the difference. They just are more sure of the notes in this piece!

On Sunday the church choir in The Hague sang the service of Lessons and Carols. Our choir was much bigger than usual for the occasion, and the church much fuller. Our choirmaster, Christina Edelen, wrote a lovely lullaby for this service, which the congregation greatly appreciated. What I enjoyed most of all was In Dulci Jubilo by Buxtehude. The instrumental parts were played by two violins and a cello, by professionals who enjoyed doing this. And so did I although I understand that German music, Bach, Buxtehude, Walter, is not everybody's cup of tea. I was raised on those composers, and they wrote great organ pieces as well. But many English choristers, or choir members in our Anglican church choir, were raised in a different tradition and do not like the mathematical music of these German composers. Whereas In Dulci Jubilo is such joyful music, as is its text. But perhaps German is not a language most English people speak and understand. And their musical tradition developed independently from the Continental tradition. Which is odd, considering Händel is the most British composer there is. And other German composers lived and worked in England. Nevertheless, their church music has followed a different path.

In Dulci Jubilo, the version sung by our choir

A rare recording of the organ version of In Dulci Jubilo. Usually one hears this music played on large German Baroque organs. This is something different, played on a small Italian organ

This is a very happy time of year. As a child I loved December, Christmas, the music, the celebrations. The church services, the singing, the book beautifully bound which I would be given at the Christmas celebration of the Sunday school, the tangerine with its pungent smell and the beaker of delicious, piping hot chocolate. Decorating the house, the candlelight, the smell of baking  bread and cookies. My father throwing the dough onto the kitchen table and beating it so that the yeast would do its work properly. The anticipation of the services, the festive atmosphere. In Holland presents were always given on December 5^th, so Christmas was just a religious feast, and a time for family get togethers and celebrations. I still love the music, the anticipation , the singing. But now there is this veil drawn over it. It is not a good time of year if one is living alone. Why decorate, bake, make an effort if one is just on one's own? Gradually Christmas has become bleaker. Losing first a husband, and now a father, there is no one to make Christmas special for or with. As a child I dreamt of  having this big family of my own, with lots of children making music together. Life has turned out differently, and this is felt most around Christmas, when everybody seems to turn his or her back on the world and just concentrates on the close family circle. There are always holidays to escape from Christmas, friends perhaps, even friends one is very sure of and who will always welcome me. Or one could invite other single female friends which I once did. But it is not the same, although we had a very good time with far too much food and a lot of laughter and gossip. I could make myself useful in one of the many places where people far less fortunate than I am, are given shelter at Christmas. I know I am selfish that I am not volunteering for any of that. Anyway, December will come and go. And come January 2^nd, life will return to normal. There might be frost, we might have snow, we might skate or just hide away from a miserable, typically wet and cold Dutch winter, but people will come out of their Christmas cocoons and look at the world again. It is just a matter of holding one's breath, diving under and emerging again in January. 

Tradition and excellence

I have been reading a book by Susan Hill, The Shadows in the Street, in fact a detective. But what was interesting to me is that the Dean of a large cathedral is one of the main characters. This Dean wants to do away with the beautiful traditional music in favour of modern wishy-washy songs, in order to attract more people. In the meantime the organist threatens to resign as the role of the choir is reduced to a mere nothing. So a kind of war is going on. Interesting, because that is something which we also see in our church in The Hague. I thought that Cathedrals wouldn't have such problems, cherishing traditional services and traditional music. Although, on second thoughts, I think Joanna Trollope in The Choir also mentioned this conflict and it was an important issue in that book.  I quote from Susan Hill who makes one of her female characters say:

 "... (the Dean) is evangelical-charismatic – what my mother would have called Low Church and I call happy-clappy. I daresay it has its place – but that place is not St. Michaels or any other of our great cathedrals which have a tradition of excellence in liturgy and music. That's what cathedrals are about - excellence. The best. It shouldn't mean being out of date or out of touch - times change, so do people. But change is not the same thing as wanton destruction...."

Apparently it is a universal problem, not just a problem in our corner of the world, where we now have to sing at least one gospel song in every service. Perfect for youth gatherings, but really not for worship in a church service. Is it an attempt to save what can be saved, to attract more people? But in our chaplaincy it doesn't seem to work that way, quite the opposite. People leave because there is no difference any more with any of the other evangelical churches. They came for the wonderful liturgy and the beauty of the services and the music. Destroy that and one destroys the church in the process.

I can't find the passage, but at one point someone, and I think it is even the Dean but it doesn't really matter, looks up in the cathedral at the beautifully carved wooden angels, brightly painted. That can't refer to any other cathedral but Ely, where in the north and south transepts the wooden roof is decorated with such angels. 

And on top of that one of the female characters, a doctor, is reading a book which was given to me by my Canadian friends, Gilead, by Marilyn Robinson, a very interesting and unusual novel, which has won the Pulitzer Prize. It is a novel full of spiritual force, a rarity amongst modern novels. I can't but admire and like Susan Hill.

Advent Sunday

A happy day, which filled me with joy! The first Sunday of Advent, the promise of Christ, the light of the World, all expressed through music.

In The Hague we sang our monthly Evensong, which was not really an Advent Sunday service, although we walked in singing "Lo He comes with clouds descending", such a beautiful hymn. The Canticles were mainly chanted, which can be of a serene beauty, if sung well. Otherwise it can be monotonous.

Immediately after the service I drove to Haarlem, where I joined the choir for the Advent Carol Service. And that is where I really felt happy and privileged. I was too late for the practice. It was mad anyway, singing Choral Evensong at 5 pm in The Hague and then dashing out to sing the Carol Service which began at 7.30 in Haarlem. But we made it. When the service began, the church was dark and we sang the Mattins Responsery, standing at the back of the church with our candles lit.

Here is a recording of the Advent Mattins Responsery, sung by the choir of St. Pauls Cathedral, London.

We proceeded to the front singing "Come Thou Redeemer of the Earth". Once there the candles of the people in the congregation were lit as well. It was moving and very symbolic, seeing the church become lighter with each lit candle. We sang another carol or anthem before extinguishing the candles again and switching on the light, which ended all feelings of mystery and awe. I like the candles when I am sitting in the congregation. But juggling with a lit candle in one hand, a folder with music in the other, walking in while singing, trying not to trip over my robe negotiating a small step up to my chair, and not setting fire to the robes and hair of the person walking in front of me, is quite an art. One has to know the music by heart, for I find it virtually impossible to read by the light of one dripping and flickering candle, which blinds me as well. The soprano in front of me had a long pigtail. It is still intact, I am glad to add.

The liturgy for the Advent Carol Service is wonderful, the texts from the Old and New Testament, the well-known words of the promise of the Lord, alternated by anthems, carols and hymns. I loved the singing, felt immeasurably happy. Looking at the congregation I wondered how long this will still go on. The church wasn't half full, and most people were elderly. What if they become really old? Will anyone still be interested in this traditional service? I was sorry when the service was over, although the last hymn was wonderful. And of course this is only the beginning of many carol concerts still to come.

One of the most beautiful and well-known Advent hymns we sang is perhaps, "O Come, o Come Emmanuel." Here it is sung by the choir of Clare College, Cambridge

Talking about being happy:

This autumn we have been so lucky. Last weekend I was in Limburg with family. All of Holland was shrouded in thick fog. In Limburg we had three marvellous days of sunshine, the autumn colours still blazing, the temperature so high that we could walk for several hours in just a thick sweater. Everybody seemed to be out, but nevertheless it was quiet. Limburg is the only hilly part of the Netherlands, hardly Dutch I think, embraced by Belgium and Germany, almost too tightly in places. This province is like an appendix, an extra which does not seem to belong although of course it does. The trees were still beautiful, the sun slanting through them. Being able to enjoy that with siblings, walking, talking, sharing delicious food, was another source of happiness. Plus the practical help I was so generously given in my search for another car. Now that my parents have both died, it is important as siblings to keep in contact.

In the grounds of the golf course, late in the afternoon

On a walk from Munstergeleen

11-11-11, Poppy Day

Today, many couples will get married. I wonder why. Is it perhaps because men are genetically incapable of remembering wedding anniversaries? If this date does not help them, nothing will work. I understand that some will even say "Yes, I will", exactly at 11.11 hours.

I suppose those getting married have not really thought about the significance of this date, Remembrance Day. Oegstgeest too has a number of war graves next to the oldest church here, the "Groene Kerk" (Green Church), or Willibrord Church. That last name is not generally used, as the big Roman Catholic Church which was built much later, is also called Willibrord Kerk (Church). At one time the "Groene Kerk" was covered in ivy, thence the name. The Groene Kerk is built on a protruding sand dune. At one time the river Rhine met the sea at Katwijk and the little church was built on the banks of the river. The river is now a canal, and the main branch of the Rhine joins the North See at Rotterdam.  Willibrord landed at Katwijk and walked along the Rhine to Oegstgeest where he built a church on the exact spot where the Groene Kerk is now. There has been a church ever since, this one probably dating back to the 14^th century. I was married in this church, and my husband is buried in the churchyard here.

For the Dutch Remembrance Day is May 4^th, when in fact we think more about the men who lost their lives during World War II than the many lives that were lost during World War I. Perhaps England was harder hit during World War I than World War II, and that may explain the date chosen, in fact Armistice Day. In Oegstgeest we have a committee – of volunteers - which is responsible for the graves in this churchyard and which organizes the Remembrance service each year. It is a valiant attempt. The mayor attends with other representatives of the local council. There is a choir, an organist and a speaker. Once we had British chaplains who would perform the rites. But since a few years we have to do without them, why, I do not know. The speaker today was a well-known professor of history at Leyden University. Being a professor is no guarantee for an interesting address. All of a sudden I realised why I skipped lectures way back when I was a student, and why that did not really matter. The professor tried to do his best, explaining the differences between categories of graves, in churchyards, in cemeteries and on special war cemeteries. And why war graves will stay untouched and cared for forever – if forever exists – and why "normal"  graves are dug up after so many years, mainly because of lack of space. We were given statistics: how many men were killed during those two wars, how many war cemeteries there are, where we can find the largest one and the oldest one and what nationalities are buried there.  Very interesting, but not for a remembrance ceremony. I sometimes feel that we suffer from a total lack of tradition and protocol. Beautiful words have been written for such an occasion as this, and nevertheless we try to find our own.

Patrick Hopper, pianist, choir master and composer had the following famous poem put to music especially for this choir. It was sung today, as well as two other well-known and appropriate anthems:

In Flanders fields 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

                        (lieutenant-kolonel John McCrae, 1872-1918)

The former mayor of Oegstgeest played the organ, as always very poorly, but he insists on doing it. When the names of the dead were read out he repeated the same hymn over and over, making the same mistake over and over, every time hesitantly trying to find the correct note but not succeeding. It was very amateurish, but also touching in a way. Whatever, at least we keep this tradition alive, although with ever decreasing numbers, and honour the lives of those who gave theirs for our freedom.

When I saw the few veterans who are still able to attend this ceremony, I could not help but think of these classic words of remembrance

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.

The veterans stood in front of the simple white crosses, not straight as they used to when they were young and able, but bent and somewhat unsteady on their feet. They saluted the dead, who remain forever heroes, forever young. No aura of heroism for the veterans, just respect. The Last Post, flowers on the graves, a wreath, and we left.

Exactly 12 years ago I attended this ceremony with my husband. He no longer had the use of his legs and insisted on driving his scooter into the church. Very scary, as his scooter was far too wide for this and he had great difficulty turning or backing out again. After the ceremony, he took me on a tour of the churchyard and told the caretaker in which of the still available and empty graves he wanted to be buried and reserved his future home.  Not even two months later, he took possession of it. No poppies for him. But he did his part after the war by joining the RAF as an interpreter at the trials of war criminals in Germany, translating from one foreign language into another, from German into English and vice versa. It seems a coincidence that the other day, when I was clearing out my room, I found a box with his RAF insignia, many documents and a newspaper clipping in which the work of the Dutch interpreters was praised as very valuable. His name was mentioned among those of three others.

Since his death I have taken over the task of attending the remembrance ceremony.

A Book Launch

Yesterday I went to a book launch. The book is about how to keep fit after – let us say – 50 plus. Now lots of books have been written about the subject, about healthy living and healthy eating habits. Exercise, fresh food, fruit, vegetables, we all know about this.  The author, unknown, must have realised that he needed something special to get this book noticed. So, clever devil, he contacted an ex top sportsman, a celebrity, now a physiotherapist, and asked him to be his co-author. So far so good. There are pictures in the book of the two of them cycling together, in the same sports outfit. Well, cycling... posing on their sports bikes, looking slim, healthy and active. As if this was not enough, it was decided to present the book to the best known ex-footballer in Holland, and perhaps even in Europe. Thus they were sure attention would be drawn to this book.

         The launch was indeed quite a happening, in the Olympic Stadium in Amsterdam, with many elderly ex-top sportsmen present, as well as some younger gold winning medallists. It was fun to see them, even if they had to be pointed out to me as sports is not my field of interest. The place was crowded, we had drinks – fruit juice pressed in situ – coffee and tea, and a lunch with healthy wraps and sandwiches. Each of us was given a free copy of the book. It is a glossy and sturdy book, the lay-out very well done, with a big photo of the well-known co-author on the cover. On the back the same co-author with the actual author, the picture with the bikes. It was very difficult to take any pictures during the presentation of the book, as the press was blocking our view. There were so many reporters, sports columnists of newspapers both local and national, and even a representative of a TV station, that it seemed we were at the Edison award or something similar and dealing with film stars. We were of course dealing with VIPs and sharing a room with celebrities.

         When I watched the TV programme in the evening, only the two famous ex-sportsmen were interviewed, the co-author and the footballer. The real author was totally ignored, not mentioned, not shown. So the book will sell. That made me think of Art. When a painting is beautiful, it only has value if it was painted by a famous artist, even if the experts at first could not decide if it was the real thing, which means actually done by the famous painter, or a fake. Even if this fake is just as intriguing and beautiful. But it is worth nothing if the artist is a nonentity. This has always been puzzling to me. Beauty is beauty, no matter who created that  piece of art or that painting. If any of us would paint a Campbell soup tin or something similar, it would just go unnoticed as we are not called Andy Warhol. Perhaps a poor example, but you may get my point. So this book will draw attention and be appreciated and bought because of the fame of the co-author, presented as the real author who has cleverly downgraded himself to being  a ghost writer. And the co-author has authority, as he is both a sportsman and a physiotherapist. The real author has no claim to such expertise.

         The book brings us nothing we did not know already. The only difference is that its approach is personal. The author talks about how he took his 80 year old father on a sightseeing trip to Rome and how his father's legs no longer could support him after an hour or so in the Vatican Museum. How his father changed his lifestyle once home, changed his eating habits, enrolled for fitness classes twice a week and lost a lot of weight. So on the next trip to Paris he could easily negotiate the steps -  270 steps in all – to the Sacré Coeur without suffering a cardiac arrest. It is a workbook as well, with blank and ruled pages to note one's personal progress, ambitions, weight, etc.

         Now eating habits and exercise – in moderation - , I agree with all that. But why would one spend one's retirement years wasting two hours a week in a sports school? Not to mention the time needed to get there and back, to shower and change. Why sweat away on machines when it may be so nice just to go for a walk? It is suggested that our health is in our own hands, and if we do not work out we lose it. So we can only blame ourselves for ill health, sickness, even cancer. It reminds me of some faith healers. They claim that if only we have faith and pray, we won't get sick and will be healed. And if we are not healed, that is lack of faith. Statements which I think are very controversial. We all die, even people who embrace life and do anything to keep alive.  Fitness seems to be the new religion in a very secular world. Why go to fitness classes if one's blood pressure is fine, when there are no traces of diabetes and no cholesterol problems? And what if people rather spend their spare time going to see an exhibition? Play a musical instrument?  Sing in a choir? The latter a very good work-out for lungs and heart.

         The irony too was that the father who was the pivotal point of the book, was present, and had regained the weight he had lost. He was not filmed, I must add. And that the co-author had had a brain infarct, and the ex footballer a bypass. Which proves to me that top sport is unhealthy – or at least not necessarily healthy - and that a healthy lifestyle is not about an expensive season ticket to a sports school. I hope I am right. Time will tell.

         The sun is out today and I think a work-out preparing my garden for winter will do me more good than sweating away inside on a machine, self inflicted torture which I would have to pay for as well.

Sport schools should have sponsored this book. In a time of recession, it might do them some good.

Flemish Painters and Evensong; a day in Amsterdam

As the weather forecast was for rain and clouds, I decided to go to Amsterdam, making use of one of my days of free train travel, and my Museum pass. In the "Hermitage" along the river Amstel there is a beautiful exhibition of paintings by Peter Paul Rubens, Anthonie van Dyck en Jacob Jordaens, famous Flemish painters. All the paintings are on loan from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. Some are well-known, even to me who has never been to Russia – there should always be something left to wish for – as I have seen them in art programmes, as reproductions, in books, on cards. But seeing the actual paintings is another thing, not only because the size is often so different from what I had expected. Rubens painted women which are not very popular nowadays, as they definitely do not resemble Twiggy. They are voluptuous women, but beautiful, tactile in a way. And they seem very much alive. The Hermitage is an excellent location for such an exhibition, as the main exhibition hall is very high and perfect for displaying big paintings. The website gives a lot of information about the Hermitage in Amsterdam, beautifully located and with a fascinating history (all in English and Dutch). Originally it was built in the 17^th century, in 1683 to be precise, as a home for old women. Much later, in the early 19^th century, men were admitted as well. It was more or less in use till the turn of the century, but then too outdated. Plans to change it into a museum took shape around the beginning of the 21^st century. The building as such is worth a visit. Inside not much reminds us of the former home, except for the church hall which has a very beautiful pipe organ, and the boardroom with a splendid view of the River Amstel and an intersecting canal. A pity I totally forgot to bring my camera, for contrary to the weather forecast, it had become a glorious day, warm and sunny, an excellent day to see the glory of Amsterdam.

The museum houses a restaurant as well. Prior to viewing the paintings, I had a coffee and apple pie while it was still relatively quiet. Much later, with a dry throat and sore feet but very happy, my head full of colour and information, I ordered a coffee and a toasted sandwich in the same pleasant restaurant. I waited twenty minutes and nothing came. Although it was pretty busy by now, later arrivals were already enjoying their food, even full meals. A toasted sandwich can't be that complicated, can it?  So I asked what had happened. Apparently the waiter who had come back twice to ask what exactly I had ordered, had forgotten all about the order as soon as he turned his back on me. Another waitress promised to give me priority treatment. I do not know what that means, for I had to wait another 10 minutes for my coffee to arrive, and not till I had finished that did my toasted sandwich arrive. Which was cold and soggy. Apparently they had prepared it, but forgotten to toast it. So I send it back. They promised to make me another one, but I told them not to bother, because by now I had sat there for 40 minutes, just for a coffee, and outside the sun was shining. I got my money back! The exhibition was definitely far better than the service in the restaurant!

Walking along the River Amstel was bliss. I sat on one of the public benches for a while before finding a very nice sidewalk cafe along the river, with a fantastic view of the river and a canal, and facing south as well. Here –although it was crowded - I got my coffee and a toasted sandwich quite quickly.

I meandered a bit, along the many canals in what is definitely the oldest and most attractive part of Amsterdam. There are many churches here, an Anglican one, and the big "Zuiderkerk", the South Church. It was built by the famous architect Hendrick de Keyser (1561-1621) between 1603 and 1611 as a protestant church. The very remarkable tower is the home of the oldest church bell in Amsterdam – dating back to 1511 – which can still be heard regularly. In fact, they were ringing the bells when I walked along the canals. Since 1929 the church has not been used for services. It is now owned by the city of Amsterdam and is multifunctional.

Apart from the Oude Kerk (the Old Church), there are four big churches, the Westerkerk, Oosterkerk, Zuiderkerk and Noorderkerk. Only the Westerkerk and the Noorderkerk are still in use as Protestant churches.

The Oude Kerk is very remarkable. Rembrandt married Saskia van Uylenburg in this church, and buried her here as well. Sweelinck, who played the famous organ, is also buried here. The church was originally built as a Roman Catholic Church, and consecrated to St. Nicolas. But after the New Church on the Dam was built, its name was changed into Old Church. Nothing inside reminds us of the Catholic past of this church. It is empty and sober. I have been to organ recitals here, and among organists this church is very well known. I have also sung Evensong in this church several times. It is a beautiful church, although stark, but strong, with thick brick pillars.

Organ Oude Kerk Amsterdam July 2009

Some of the canals are very quiet, serene almost. There are so many buildings of historic interest. The University of Amsterdam is here as well, there are former warehouses, with ornate and intricate gables and gable stones. I wish I had not forgotten my camera. The round bridges are reflected in the canals. Unfortunately the nearer one gets to the station, the more spoilt the area becomes. Here is the red light district, with the "windows", the nightclubs, the very cheap hotels and the coffee shops. Even around the Oude Kerk, so beautiful, there are red windows and behind them, in full view, women exposing themselves.

In the connecting alleys we find the Salvation Army for the poor and homeless, the Christian organisations working with drug addicts, and other organisations caring for all those in need in this big city. It is a pity that the most interesting part of Amsterdam is so spoilt by the sex industry and by the hordes of tourists who are attracted to this part. But also "normal" people live here, and I suppose that on a Sunday mornings it will be lovely to walk here, in the absence of workers, traffic, and tourists.

As I had 45 minutes to spare, I did some necessary shopping in a well-known store before going to the St. Nicolas Church, the big Roman Catholic Church opposite the station. Here Choral Evensong is sung every Saturday afternoon at 5 o'clock, and amazingly the church is always pretty full, on a Saturday, in what has become a very seedy part of Amsterdam. Inside I entered another world. The church is very big, with a central dome, and the noise of the busy traffic outside can't be heard here. The choirs of this church are well-trained, and the acoustics of the church are fantastic. It seemed to me the music was soaring up.

This is the sung part of the liturgy:

Introit: Give us the wings of faith – Ernest Bullock (1890-1979)

Preces and Responses : Herbert Sumsion (1899-9195)

An office hymn, the Sarum Plainchant was sung, Lucis Creator Optime

Psalm 3 and Psalm 4 were chanted, each with a different chant.

The Canticles (Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis) were by Sidney Watson (1903-19910, Service in E

Anthem: Justorum Animae,  Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)

Although the music chosen was relatively modern, it was all very beautiful music. The diction of the choir and the dynamics are so good, that for me this Evensong was a restoring experience.

One of my friends sings in this choir and it was nice to be able to travel together back to Leyden. She had to travel on to Delft, but we had plenty of time to talk about music and travel! Her grandmother lives near Vancouver. I think she is 103 by now, and a few years ago my friend took her granny on a road trip through the Rockies. So we compared notes about our different itineraries.

Sunday October 30th

A musical Sunday. First Choral Matins in The Hague, a service I love but which we now have only three or four times a year. At last we sang the full Te Deum again. The Jubilate was replaced by a Jubilate out of the sixteenth Century anthem book. So in fact we sang two anthems which was great. Of course, celebrating All Saints Day, we also sang the hymn "For all the Saints,..". A few new voices have joined the choir, probably just for Christmas, but they are professional musicians, so we, and especially the men, benefit from that. It was an enjoyable service.

Unfortunately I could not be sociable at all after the service, as I had just time to hurry home and make a sandwich and some coffee, before rushing off to Haarlem for Choral Evensong. It was strange to sit in the congregation instead of joining the choir, whose singers I know so well. There were just three sopranos and three altos, but eight male voices. One of the sopranos had just landed at Schiphol at 6 o'clock this morning, after a two week holiday in Australia. She seemed quite normal and sang as she always does. I bet I wouldn't have been able to keep my eyes open, let alone sing the correct notes.

This was what the choir sang:

Introit:        S. Nicholson, God be in my Head

Prec. Resp.:  Tomkins

Canticles:    Orlando Gibbons

Anthem:      J. Amner, O God, my King

It is a pity that the congregation was very small, and mainly consisted of elderly people – myself included, I must add! -  Is this a dying church? I hope not.

 A recording of the Nunc Dimittis from the short evening service by Orlando Gibbons.

The mist had thickened and changed into a soft drizzle when I drove back home. I had planned to go to another service this evening in the village church of Wassenaar where one of J.S.Bach's cantatas would be sung, but skipping another meal to do that did not really attract me. Also, it was dark and wet by that time. Today we changed from summer time to winter time, which was very nice this morning but makes the evenings dark and the afternoons very short.

Just watched a documentary on TV, an amazing one by David Attenborough, about the Frozen World, the Arctic and Antarctica. It is an absolutely wonderful film, even if I had only seen the ice crystals they showed, greatly enlarged, all different, all perfect jewels, some extremely delicate. It was said each ice crystal differs from any other ice crystal, each and everyone is unique. They are never the same, but always symmetrical, one of the mysteries and beauties of nature. It is one of the episodes of the series The Living Planet, the BBC documentary. If you have missed it, it is worth trying to find the DVD's. On You Tube you find several episodes of the Frozen World.

Thunder Bay, Canadian Thanksgiving

I have been back for almost a week now, and haven't even written about Thanksgiving in Thunder Bay. Not about the beautiful drive, a drive of some 700 kilometres of which 600 went through the Canadian Shield, through rocks, lakes, bogs , creeks and wooded areas. Pines, larches, golden aspen, red shrubs, it was all there and I loved it. 700 kilometres don't seem all that long when the landscape one travels through is fascinating and so attractive, when there is so little traffic and the pace seems leisurely. There are few towns, just two which are worth mentioning: Dryden and Kenora, the latter with a dock for water planes. 

The others are more hamlets than towns, although the terminology here is just town. There are a few places where one can stop and have coffee and something to eat. After all, that is what the Greyhound Bus does as well which is taking the same route to Thunder Bay. The road is winding, the land hilly, so not at all boring. If I did it every week, it probably would be. But having commuted by car on one of the busiest roads in Holland for thirty years, from Leyden to Amsterdam, I think this landscape would never ever bore me. Snow would be difficult, but wonderful. The soft green of new leaves on the trees in spring, the yellow and red hues in autumn, the bright sun on the water of the many lakes and creeks in summer, I think I would always enjoy seeing those things. We were lucky, as nature was at its best, with the trees in autumn colours. On the way back we were less lucky as we drove through fog for about an hour before we could see anything at all. And once in Winnipeg, we had a heavy shower.

Apart from enjoying the hospitality of family of friends, sharing in their Thanksgiving meals – for indeed we had two Thanksgiving meals at two different addresses – I was also driven around and shown the most beautiful spots around Thunder Bay. The Kakabeka Falls, and Mount McRae for instance, which I even climbed although not exactly in record time. But the reward was the most wonderful view of the lake, Thunder Bay and the surrounding hills, a patchwork of blues, reds, yellows and greens. 

Kakabeka Falls

Then Lake Lenore and Pigeon Creek and Falls, along the border of the USA. Pigeon Creek is the actual border there. We also stood on the banks of Whitefish Lake, a rather big lake and very choppy. Canada is vast and varied, and I have only had a foretaste of it. I haven't seen the East nor any of the big cities, except for Winnipeg. But Montreal, Toronto, Ottawa, they are still on my wish list and I suppose they represent a totally different aspect of Canada. Vancouver as well, but I only landed there and did not explore the city, which seems beautifully situated on the oceanfront. But this time I had no wish to see big cities, traffic or malls. I wanted to see the country, the mountains, lakes, hills and waterfalls, the prairies, the old churches and the grain elevators. All that I have seen and enjoyed very much indeed, thanks to friends who know a lot about the history of Canada and know some parts of this vast country very well indeed. That is one of the beauties of travelling with friends, among other things. The best part is of course the friendship.

         I also haven't mentioned yet the Kubelek Exhibition in the WAG in Winnipeg. He was a very well-known artist, and for me it was interesting that he grew up on a homestead. He also made illustrations  - in a rather naive style - about life as a child on the prairies. As I had travelled through the prairies, it meant far more to me then it would otherwise have done. This was his most cheerful work. In other works he tries to imitate Jeroen Bosch and Breughel. He suffered from mental illness and that shows in his disturbing works, especially the works he painted before his conversion to Roman Catholicism after a spell in a mental hospital in England.

         I did not mention either the two Evensongs I went to in Winnipeg, one in St. John's College Chapel of the University of Manitoba by All the King's Men, one in a regular Anglican Church, St. George's. They were both wonderful services, but the one at St. George's was quite an ordeal for me as the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis were by Sumsion (in G), music which I love and know by heart so I would have loved to join in. I also knew the Responses by Ayleward. Both are very good choirs, and the church choir has some excellent voices which seem to be well disciplined. A pity they sang up in the organ loft, at the back of the church, so they were heard but not seen. The Service in St. John's Chapel was very special, but I left the liturgy in Winnipeg and so can't give details about the music.

Fall in Winnipeg

In a way it is good to be back in Holland, for jetlag or not, I immediately joined the choir for Evensong in The Hague the Sunday after my arrival in Holland, and I loved it. All those services form a stark contrast with the one we went to in Revelstoke, musically speaking.  But their will to make their community a success and to keep going in spite of their small number, was very moving and perhaps more spiritually inspiring as well, in spite of a lack of aesthetics.

Day 19-21, Thursday Sept. 29th - Saturday Oct. 1st

Medicine Hat-Saskatoon-Canora-Winnipeg

These three days we travel through the prairies of Saskatchewan and Manitoba towards Winnipeg, starting from Medicine Hat which is still in Alberta.

From Medicine Hat we take route 1, the Trans Canada. The road goes through the badlands and grassland prairies. Everything is yellow. In the distance we see coulees, cutting deep into the land. There are many abandoned homesteads and farms, rusted old farm machines are left behind and witnesses of a former hard working life. Next to the homesteads small sheds which were once used for grain storage, now falling apart. Near Swift Current we leave the road and take a gravel road to see more of the land. The road is very dry and clouds of dust trail behind any vehicles which drive on these roads. Soon our car is also coated with dust. We are told that there has not been a drop of rain for over two months, so everything is bone dry. We do not see any "normal" cars, just four wheel drives and jeeps. Here no cattle, but we do see a group of eight or ten antelopes.

We get stuck where big machines are depositing dirt on the road to level it. It hasn't been equalised yet, and the road is covered in deep rutted layers of sand which seem impossible to drive through. Alas, we have no choice but to go on – with nervous trepidation! We are low on the ground and very likely to get stuck here. The only consolation is that there are big trucks which might help us out if we are grounded. On the worst stretch a jeep comes from the other direction and we have to pass it for we can't possibly stop here! Anyway, my friend who is driving makes it, and we are all very relieved.

We continue on route 1 and later route 4. We see more antelopes, but too far away to photograph them.

I never thought there would be so many dirt and gravel roads in Canada. Neither did I know that there was such a variety of prairie land. After leaving the badlands, we drive through lands with golden grain. Some of the fields have already been harvested and ploughed, on others the grain is still standing. As it has been too dry all summer, the grain is a bit low and not very full.

There are many small towns here, more like villages, all built along a railway line near a grain elevator. The grain elevators were built at equal distances from each other so that it would take no longer than a day for any farmer to take his grain to the elevator and return home – with horse and wagon. I thought all grain elevators would be painted oxblood red, but most of them are white or grey. Often the paint is peeling, and most of them are no longer in use. The grain has been bought by large corporations, who have built modern grain elevators, which may be far more efficient, but do not look half as attractive. The small towns around the elevators are also dying, the obligatory hotel near each railway station boarded up, eyes looking blindly across the tracks. I have never seen so many trains in my life as on this trip, but they are all freight trains now and they no longer carry passengers. There are a few exceptions. One is the West-East connection, and another a passenger train to Churchill. The freight trains are amazing in length, sometimes even up to two kilometres.

Then there are the parkland prairies with many creeks, lakes and bogs. We see huge flocks of Canada geese on the fields and the lakes, taking wing unexpectedly, swirling around and pirouetting like an oversized corps de ballet, honking all the time. They feed in water-logged soil and shallow water. Many of the lakes here are in fact swamps, where the water can't escape because of the rocky subsoil. We see lakes with white rims, salt lakes. As the water doesn't flow out but simply evaporates, the lakes contain more and more salt. This is mined and  sold as potash. We see not only Canada geese with their distinctive colours and pattern, but also many snow geese. They will soon be migrating south. The snow geese breed on the arctic tundra's. They are a bit smaller than Canada geese, with shorter necks. I also spot a coyote, rather a big one it seems.

Before we reach Saskatoon, we have a picnic at Saskatchewan Landing, a historic spot in a surrealistic landscape.
Saskatoon is a busy but very pleasant city, and a University town. There are parks along the river banks and people cycle and jog there. Apart from the regular bridges, hikers, joggers and cyclists can also cross the river via special footbridges, even one along the railway tracks. It is weird to walk next to a moving train, so close that one could actually touch it! The city is surprisingly green, something I had not expected at all after crossing through such dry and yellow land, almost devoid of trees.

We stay overnight at the home of friends and enjoy their food and most of all their company.

footbridge next tp the railway line

The next morning, on Friday, we take leave of our hosts after a leisurely breakfast and visit the street where my friends lived when they were newly married, the university where the husband was a lecturer and several other spots which hold special memories for my friends.

We do not hit highway 5 till midday, a very interesting route which goes through an area with many Ukrainian villages. The highway follows the railway line, so we see many grain elevators which are still standing along this route, as well as many Ukrainian churches, Orthodox and Roman Catholic, in villages, but also along the highway or in the fields. I lose count of the numerous lakes and bogs, hundreds of noisy flocks of Canada geese and snow geese on the water and in flight, copses with dwarfed shrubs and trees, autumn colours, vistas, dilapidated homesteads, abandoned and falling apart, boarded up hotels near the railway lines.

Humboldt, a German settlement, is a relatively large town, with a central square, a bandstand, gas stations and shops.

The next town, Muenster, is very interesting. Here we visit a white wooden church, a cathedral in miniature, originally the abbey church, St. Peter's Cathedral, founded in 1903, constructed in 1910, with decorations in the choir and along the walls by Berthold Imhoff.

Those Germans originally came from Minnesota. What is remarkable in this church for me is not so much the painted decorations, but the windows. Recently the windows have been decorated with stained glass. This because too much sun flooded through the clear windows which was damaging to the paintings on the walls.

The windows were given by members of families who have lived and worked here, and still do. They depict their lifestyle, there hobbies and other things. There is a window with the hands of a woman holding a hymnal at the bottom. Above this the farm where she worked, and several other items which were important in her life.

Each window is different, although done in the same style. There is a folder in church explaining the background and meaning of each window. It is humbling to see that so much effort and money has been spent on this church at a time that towns here are slowly dying. It shows confidence and trust in the continuation and the importance of this church and perhaps the church in general. This town isn't dead at all, as on the other side of the highway there is the Benedictine Abbey, st. Peters Abbey , with a college attached to it. It has a beautiful, very modern chapel and is surrounded by wooded park land.

Here is another link for St. Peter's Cathedral.

We leave Muenster and go to Rama. Here too the hotel near the former railway station is boarded up, and there is no café or any place to buy drinks or food. But amazingly there are three churches, which I mentioned before, the most remarkable one St. Anthony's Roman Catholic Church with the Maria Grotto. Then there is the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church of St. Peter and St Paul, and St. Michaels just across the railway line, an Ukrainian Orthodox church.

We book into the Gateway Motel in Canora, the only choice there is! It is an Ukrainian town, and although the website suggests there is a lot here for tourists, at this time of night all we can do is go to the Main street and have a Chinese meal in one of the two Chinese restaurants, the only places which are open.

Taken from the official website of Canora

The next morning (Saturday October 1^st), we have breakfast in an adjacent family restaurant in a small shopping mall, together with the locals who are eating a very hearty breakfast. I try French toast, something I always want to eat at least once when I am in North America. And it isn't disappointing!

Our first stop is the tiny hamlet – a former town – of Mikado. We wonder why there should be a stop sign in  the middle of a half dead town where we are the only moving car. Except for a small child pedalling feverishly on a tricycle, there is no traffic whatsoever. The white clapboard church with its sharply pointed spire, looks well preserved. We wonder if it is still in use and where people who attend would come from. Certainly not just from this villages with the few scattered houses.

Verigin

A more interesting town is Verigin, the first settlement of the Doukhobors before they left for British Columbia. It is a museum now, and although closed, we can peer through windows, and see the various buildings, The main building has a prayer hall on the ground floor, and living quarters on the top floor. There is a statue of Tolstoy in the grounds, who inspired the Doukhobors and visited them. One grain elevator is still there.

Verigin

In the fields around this museum we hear the honking of many noisy geese.

We follow the road to Kamsack which has several grain elevators and go on to Duck Mountain Provincial Park. The autumn colours are gorgeous.

Duck Mountain Provincial Park

Golden yellow aspen, dark pines, small lakes with dead wood and many beaver dams, it is all there. We even see a beaver actively swimming from one side of the lake to the other side.

We stop at Madge Lake somewhere in the middle of the park, where a lonely snow goose is grazing along the banks of the lake, lined with orange coloured reeds. This area used to be a haunt for trappers.

snow goose

When we leave the park we are still in Ukrainian territory and see many of their churches. Along the road near Roblin in Zelena we come across St. Michaels Ukrainian Catholic Church, on a hill, painted dark red, and walk around it and the cemetery.

In Roblin we find an Austrian restaurant in the former station. We feast on homemade goulash soup and a coffee with "apfelstrudel". A young couple owns the restaurant. The wife is the cook. She comes from Salzburg and has lived here since 1998, and has run this restaurant for the past 8 years. In winter it is closed. I suppose not many people will voluntarily visit Roblin in winter. Her husband, who is helping out today as it is weekend, works in the oil business. We are entertained with Austrian and German "schlagers" and on the wall behind us the Austrian flag is pinned. The freight train passing by is so close, we could touch it!

We continue on route 5 till Gilbert Plains, where we leave the road and turn into gravel roads to be nearer the escarpment of the Riding Mountains. Here we see another empty house, which looks quite modern. There is still a TV aerial on the roof. At Keld, in the middle of nowhere, we see another church, St. Nicholas Ukrainian Catholic Church (from 1903).

We join highway 5 again just South of Dauphin, and take highway 19 towards Neepawa, where we enjoy a meal at the house of family of my companions on this journey, before setting off for Winnipeg in the dark, for my friends' home where all three of us will enjoy a period of rest before setting off to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in Thunder Bay on the banks of Lake Superior.