March and Oxburgh

We had one day off during our week in Ely, and lo and behold, it rained. We had sweated away in the choir school during the first two days, but on Thursday it was another matter. Some of us took the train to Cambridge, some stayed at Ely to explore whatever there was to explore, to do some shopping, or just to relax and prepare for the next three days of singing. I had been to Cambridge several times, and although it is always a delight to be there, I would rather go during term time to be able to go to Evensong in one of the chapels. Besides, I reckoned that now I had a chance to see several interesting villages in the area, and I might never have that chance again. Cambridge would have to wait. So with a friend we set off for March. March isn't at all interesting although at one time it was famous for its railway junction. But just south of March is the St. Wendreda. The church is world famous for its magnificent double-hammer beam roof and together with 120 carved angels it is regarded as one of the best of its kind. John Betjeman described the church as "worth cycling 40 miles in a head wind to see".

At first we missed it and ended up in the town centre. So we turned back and it was just as well we did. The church is not particularly exciting, except for its roof which is truly magnificent. Apart from the carved angels at the end of the beams, the angels along the walls all have different musical instruments. It was quite a challenge to photograph them, so we both ended up lying on our backs in the middle of the floor, fortunately carpeted. Kneelers make wonderful head rests, I discovered.

The double hammer beam roof construction was built between 1470 and 1520. The beams are adorned with 118 angels, in addition to saints and apostles. There are angels' wings on the wall posts, wings on the hammers and wings on the tops of the tie-beams.  

A winged St. Caecilia?

Another odd feature is the tower which has a path through its base. There are different stories about this path. Simon Jenkins in his book "England's Thousand Best Churches", suggests that it is a processional path to avoid celebrants having to use the public road. In the church however there is an information panel claiming that the tower was built over a public footpath. Of course rights of way are sacrosanct in England. But why build a tower exactly there? So the archway at the base of the tower remains a mystery. I did not stop to take a picture of it, as the rain was coming down quite heavily.
Via country lanes we set off for Oxburgh Hall, in Oxborough, Norfolk. On our way we came across and stopped at a little church in a field near West Dereham, in contrast to East Dereham which is a market town, a hamlet if there ever was one. This is what the website says about the church.

St Andrews is a church with a growing congregation and has a Sunday service each week. It is a rural parish in a village of 360 people. The church is sited on a hill with views over the fens to Ely in the south.
St Andrews is a grade one listed round towered church. Considered by English Heritage to be one of the finest medieval churches in England. It has a nave and chancel largely unchanged since the perpendicular windows were fitted in the 15th century. Its round ironstone conglomerate tower is one of the stoutest in England and has a newly conserved Tudor brick octagonal top.
The chancel has some fine marble memorials and a magnificent statue of Sir Richard Soames carved by Singleton. The nave and chancel roof was replaced in 1902 after the old roof collapsed. The Porch has a fine brick gable and with the North Nave windows was restored in 2011
St Andrews has a light airy feel and is truly a place suitable for the glory of God

We walked round it and admired the very unusual tower. And peered through the windows. But contrary to the walls of Jericho, the church doors did not open. Walking around it did not help. I must admit we could have obtained a key, as there was a note on the door telling us where to find it. But we had other plans. We took some pictures but the one on their website is perhaps the best as the light on the gravestones is so beautiful.

When we were there it was dry, but only just, so my pictures are rather dull. What fascinated me were the peculiar slatted windows in the octagonal top of the round tower. And seeing a blocked up door at the back of the church, I wondered about its history. No answers so far.

Gravestones at the foot of the tower

The next stop was Oxburgh Hall, now a National Trust property. CastleUKnet provides the following information:

Originally it was a 13th century fortified manor house, founded by the de Weyland family. In 1482, King Edward IV, granted Sir Edmund Bedingfeld a license to crenellate and he founded a brick quadrangular fortress, encased by a wide moat. Flanking the north range, is a magnificent unaltered three storey gatehouse, which is also flanked on the front angles by high octagonal towers. The hall was damaged during the Civil War and its two storey ranges were extensively rearranged and given Victorian Gothic decoration, in the 18th and 19th century.

The Bedingfields were Catholics, which accounts for the priest hole which visitors can slide down into. I wasn't so brave, but my friend was. I didn't mind sliding in so much, but thought the crawling out might pose a problem!  How awful to be cooped up here for even weeks on end. The castle is interesting, but so are the beautiful formal gardens around it, the moat and the little stream. Amazing to see a man reading a newspaper in front of one of the remarkably big and light windows. The castle is still lived in and by the looks of it, it can be no hardship living there, apart from being peered at by lots of visitors during the opening hours. So only part of it is open to the public, but that part is well worth seeing.

Pictures taken on a sunny day in August 2005

There is a restaurant as well which had stopped serving lunch by the time we arrived so that we had to make do with scones and toasted teacakes. The chapel with the most beautiful altarpiece was also closed when we emerged from the house. No one told us it would close half an hour before the house did.

Oxborough village itself boasts a church which was partly destroyed and hasn't been restored. The tower and part of the nave just collapsed in 1948. But in the part that remains, among which the Bedingfield Chapel, there is an unusual terracotta altarpiece and choir screen, the likes of which I had never seen before. We did not explore it this time, but I had done so a few years earlier when I was in the area.

Bedingfield Chapel

The restaurant opposite the entrance to the Hall had gone out of business and was boarded up – not our lucky day for restaurants apparently - , so we made our way back to Ely to end a very rewarding day with a pub meal.

Ely

Singing in the choir stalls in any British Cathedral is a blessing, but some cathedrals are better than others and Ely is one of the better ones. I had been to Ely before, but not as a singer, as someone who belongs.  Why does anyone want to spend a holiday cooped up in a hot and badly ventilated choir school, practising all day, to sing Evensong six evenings in a row? This year our choir is bigger than other years, 29-30 singers in all, and we all love what we are doing and are here of our own free will. Ely is just a small town, and besides the cathedral and the docks down at the riverside, not to mention Cromwell's house, there isn't much to see. So the groupies and fans travelling with us are rather disappointed. They can't travel to Cambridge every day. We, the choristers, are quite happy and content. There would not be much time to explore our surroundings anyway, and it is not what we have come for. Although we come from different countries and different church choirs, we are supposed to be united in this and sing with one voice, no matter what we are or do in our "normal" lives. And that takes concentration and effort.

Ely cathedral can be seen from afar, as it is built on the highest point of a former island in the marshlands, now the fens, flatter than Holland it seems. To me the land is uninteresting, but the cathedral is not. It is a mixture of old, older, oldest and newer, as so many cathedrals. The Octagon over the crossing of Nave and the North and South Transepts is amazing, God looking down on us from above. The nave has a Victorian roof, but the North and South Transepts have hammer beam roofs dating back from the 15^th century, adorned with wooden angels painted in very bright and basic colours, red, gold, blue, green and yellow. Some of our group don't even notice them till the middle of the week as they are so high up. Many churches in Norfolk and in Cambridgeshire have "angel" roofs, but not all of them are coloured. Some because the colour has faded through the centuries (Necton?), others because they were never painted in the first place.

Several years ago, the angels in Ely were as colourless as in many other churches, but they have been restored to their former glory. I think I prefer the unpainted version.

We have an ambitious music list, but the first and the last Evensong we usually sing something we know quite well. The first evening because we have only studied for half a day and haven't fully blended yet as a choir. Besides it would be discouraging if the first Evensong would not go well. The last Evensong we want to go out with a bang so that we feel happy and long to do it again next year. We forget the imperfections and mistakes we have made during the week and just rejoice and sing joyfully. The last Evensong is a mixture of happiness and sadness. When it is over, we all part and go our separate ways again. For me it feels like a balloon out of which the air is escaping all of a sudden and I am left with this uninteresting limp and useless piece of plastic or rubber, whatever.  It is wonderful if we are invited back, which is often the case. At least we have achieved what we came for. But our dream of being cathedral choristers, is over.

Here is our music list for the week:

Monday 1 August:

Office Hymn 208

Preces: Heathcote Statham

Psalms 6, 7, 8

Canticles: Walmisley in D minor

Anthem: The Lord hath been mindful – S.S. Wesley (from Ascribe unto the Lord)

Tuesday 2 August:

Office Hymn 209

Preces: Michael Walsh

Psalms 12, 13, 14 (omitting vv 5-8)

Canticles: Sumsion in A

Anthem: Geistliches Lied – Johannes Brahms

Wednesday 3 August:

Office Hymn210

Preces: Michael Walsh

Psalm 18

Canticles: St. Andrew’s Service – Peter Aston

Anthem: Hail gladdening light – Charles Wood

Thursday 4 August:

Free day

Friday 5 August (Eve of Transfiguration in Lady Chapel):

Office Hymn 323

Preces: Smith 5 part

Psalms: 99 & 110

Canticles: Purcell in G minor

Anthem: Justorum animae – Gabriel Jackson

Saturday 6 August (Transfiguration):

Office hymn 323

Preces: Rose

Psalm 72

Canticles: William S. Lloyd Webber in E minor

Anthem: Christ whose glory fills the sky – Harold Darke

Hymn: NEH 178

Sunday 7  August (Eucharist):

Darke in F

Motet: Salvator Mundi – Thomas Tallis

Hymns: NEH 393, Sing Praise 259, Common Praise 170, NEH 286

Sunday 7 August (Choral Evensong):

Office Hymn 202

Preces: Rose

Psalm 86

Canticles: Noble in B minor

Anthem: Cantique de Jean Racine – Gabriel Fauré

Hymn: NEH 431

I love most of the music, but the chanted psalms are my favourite. Although chanting seems so easy, it isn't at all. The psalms can't be sung well without really taking in the words, the meaning. They are sung alternatively by the decani and the cantores. Also the words of the Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittis, respectively the songs of praise of Maria, and of Simeon when Jesus was presented in the Temple, move me every time. They are wonderful, whatever music they are set to, and fill me with joy. It doesn't matter at all if there are people attending the service or not, it is our own hymn to God, I think, giving ourselves in God's hands for safekeeping during the night at the end of the day.

The high altar from the choir stalls

I took many pictures inside the cathedral, but it is better to visit the splendid website of Ely Cathedral, which, besides a lot of useful information, also offers virtual tours of the exterior and interior of this awe inspiring building..

Two services formed an extra challenge this time. The first one was the service on Friday in the Lady Chapel, as we could not hear each other at all, and the anthem, Justorum Animae by Gabriel Jackson, was not easy either, but very effective in the chapel, where it must have sounded ethereal due to the acoustics. But it was all very different from singing in the choir stalls.

And the Sunday Eucharist in the nave is always a challenge. The choir usually feels rather exposed, and although by that time we know the ropes of processing and the rituals at Evensong, the Eucharist and processing on Sunday is different in each cathedral. So I at least, feel rather tense and it is a relief when all goes well and we do not do make any faux pas. But this tension often affects our singing, which it did indeed. Again, we can't hear each other very well, which is a disadvantage.

My B&B was in a small village just outside Ely, in Witchford. A former farmhouse again, the pigsties or stables had been converted into en suite bedrooms and were separate from the house where breakfast was served in the oldest part of it. The wooden beams in the dining room were impressive, and it was a nice and spacious room, contrary to my bedroom. Although everything was right, a good bed, clean floors, piping hot water and a very powerful shower, there was only one straight backed chair in what was supposed to be a double room. When I saw the size of the rooms, I took a double room because I wanted a bit of space, but it did not really serve my purpose. For an 8-day stay the room was very cramped, with pegs on the wall instead of a wardrobe – hangers kept sliding off - , and a wee chest with just two usable drawers. The farm was quite hidden from the road and reached by a potholed, private lane, which was a bit tricky at night. As was avoiding the many rabbits. Fellow singers in town complained of street noise in their accommodation. I woke up early because of respectively - although not necessarily in that order - a goose honking under my window, a pheasant making the most terrible noise, and pelting rain. I got up  - at 4.30 in the morning – and was rewarded by seeing the most perfect double rainbow I have ever seen, very brightly coloured. Lacking a wide angle lens, I could not photograph the complete rainbow, unfortunately. It is amazing that at home the noise of nearby traffic on the motorway and of planes beginning their landing right over my house, do not really disturb me any longer. But in that absolutely quiet B&B, in the middle of fields, feathered creatures could, as well as a braying donkey.

And then of course there is the day off in the middle of the week, which is worthy of a separate post.

Two weeks in Albion

As soon as I see the proverbial white cliffs slowly disappear, homesickness for England sets in. This is not getting any better when I reach the mainland, the industrial wasteland which lies at the other side of the Channel, the docks at Dunkerque. Nothing here reminds anyone of the heroic acts of the second World War. We cross railway tracks on which I have never seen a train, go round roundabouts which seem to lead nowhere, see barriers and containers in an utterly flat landscape.  The route to the Netherlands is not much better. Especially in France there are no landmarks to be seen from the motorway. Between Antwerp and Breda we now drive along a never ending grey concrete wall, hiding the fast train from car drivers, as well as any interesting church spires, wooded areas or anything which gives one an idea where one is. It is like driving through a nightmare, in which I seem to make no progress and expect to drive on forever without reaching my destination.

I have been in England these past two weeks, unfortunately with sporadic access to internet and hardly ever a cell phone signal strong enough to do much at all. So no blogging. The main aim was to sing Evensong for a week in Ely Cathedral. But before doing that I visited some friends in Norfolk. So here is an account of the various stages of my holiday.

NORFOLK

My B&B in Norfolk, hidden in a very quiet village, is wonderful. I have my own little bungalow, with everything one could need or wish for, and more. Norfolk is unspoilt by tourism, at least away from the coastal villages and towns. I love its rolling landscape with the winding country lanes, very narrow in places, dipping down unexpectedly into hollows, going through spinney's and old woodland, emerging again on top of a hill with wide views of the countryside. You could easily get lost among those country lanes. There are many small villages, road signs pointing in all directions, but they seem to be hidden by the hedges bordering the roads. Those hedges harbour a lot of wildlife: badgers, porcupines, small mammals, voles; birds nest there. It is a paradise for butterflies as well. Higher up there are birds of prey, owls, many songbirds, tits, finches, gold finches, greenfinches, bullfinches, all the ones hardly found any more in the urban area in Holland where I live.It is the end of July and harvest time. The corn is ripe, although of poor quality because of the drought. The yellow a happy contrast with the bright red poppies lacing the fields. Many fields are being ploughed, showing a wonderful crumbly texture of rose coloured soil, a treasure trove for birds.

In the evening light, the stones of a church on a hill change into pure gold. The sunsets are fascinating, and I feel I am driving through fairyland. The roads wind around churches which seem to be built in the middle of nowhere. They used to be open during the daytime, but unfortunately many are now closed because of theft. But contrary to the Netherlands where the churches are almost always closed, at least here there is a notice on most doors telling interested visitors where they can obtain a key to the church. Some of the smaller churches are very interesting and in many cases their history goes back towards the 14^th century. Especially in Norfolk, I find the churches fascinating. Some have round spires, many are built of flint, and some have the most wonderful roofs, hammer beam roofs, the ends decorated with wooden angels. The Norfolk Churches site is fantastic. It also lists all the round tower churches in Norfolk separately. The church in Swaffham has a most interesting history, and a splendid double hammer beam roof with angels. One of our former curates, a friend, is now the rector of Langham and seven other parish churches. He lives in the most gorgeous flint stone rectory, his study looking out towards the church next door, the most wonderful view I can imagine.

The number of big estates in Norfolk is amazing. I only notice them because of the long and often crumbling brick walls along the road, the boundaries of the properties, vast stretches of land; and the grand entrance gates, ornate cast iron ones, most decorative, supported by strong brick pillars, heroic lions on top, showing the moss covered coat of arms of their owners. The boarded up gatehouses, guarding the roads with blinded eyes, are witness to their decline. But I also see that walls are being repaired and rebuilt in places. The houses, if still intact, are hidden deep within the estates not visible from the road, tucked away somewhere, where we, a different species almost, can’t see them.

The land is surprising, rather empty of people, every village with its own big church, sometimes built of flint and pebbles. There is an abundance of flowers, often in pots flanking the front doors of the houses, and in hanging baskets, brimming over with colour. Fluffy, contented chickens cross the roads, chuckling, pecking around them trying to find some delicacy. I try not to hit the pheasants and the partridges with their chicks, already grown to almost their parents’ size. There seems to be a slower pace of life, but it may be an illusion. Cars all of a sudden seem to loom behind me, impatient to pass me on roads where that is well nigh impossible. Farmhouses have been tastily changed into luxury homes, barns into cottages rented out to tourists, outbuildings converted into B&B's, just as the annexe I stay in, a former stable in the grounds of a farmhouse. The grounds are still extensive, and my hostess has converted the fields into different garden rooms, with seats and garden furniture hidden in secluded places. There is a big wild flower meadow, there are chickens, there is a kitchen garden, an old water well, in short, it is a place full of surprises and hidden gems, a place with secret gardens. I love it immediately, even if it is difficult to find it in the dusk, when I come back from my friends' place in a village a 20-minute drive away. It is a inspiring drive along the lanes, the land so quiet and peaceful. I only see pheasants, rabbits, birds. The sky turning orange and bright red when the sun sets. It seems to me this is how life should be lived, peacefully drifting into the evening, the darkness of the night.

Although a lot of farming is still going on, here too life changes. But there are no ugly new estates. Old buildings are not demolished but renovated and put to another use. In the evening a friend hands me the special housing supplement of the weekend paper. It is full of the most elegant and enviable properties, old farmhouses tastefully converted, barns, Georgian mansions, all with a lot of land. The prices are staggering. How can there be so many rich people in a country in which taxes are as high as in Holland? Orchards, ornamental gardens, barns and outhouses, they all come in a package with a big house.

One of the places I visit with my friend is Pensthorpe Nature Reserve, a wonderful place where the Jordan family, the cereal makers, have turned former gravel pits into a bird sanctuary and where they promote ecologically sound farming methods. That includes planting hedges and giving 10% of each arable field to nature by surrounding it with wild flowers and shrubs. As the weather is rather cold, wet and windy, we opt for a guided tour with a "train", towed by a Landrover, and without any springs whatsoever. It goes around the periphery of the reserve, and we see many interesting things, especially as our guide talks non-stop and is a rich source of information. Besides he has an eagle eye and points out birds, nests and plants to us we would never have noticed otherwise. A few years ago I walked around the bird sanctuary, but it is too much effort for my friend now, so we enjoy lunch in the restaurant which serves lovely fresh and healthy food, and then go back, my friend for her afternoon rest, I to visit Holt, a very interesting and lively town. It is busier than usual, this being holiday time and not exactly the right weather for a day on the beach. Most houses here are of flint. I wonder how cold they will be in winter. It is an upper class town, with art galleries, antique shops, nice cafe's and restaurants and a very classy department store which offers a wide selection of desirable things. I love their kitchen department, with gimmicks and colourful spoons and ladles and sharp quality knives. Their food department is as good as Harrods', although smaller. The church is surrounded by an attractive, wooded churchyard. The interior is not remarkable, merely pleasant, the coloured glass in the windows Victorian.

My last Sunday in Norfolk my friend and I attend a service in a tiny country church in a hamlet north of East Dereham. We have to remove the cobwebs before we can sit in our designated pews. The sun slants through the windows. An organist tries to get as much sound as possible out of a keyboard placed in front of a small disused organ, the pipes slightly leaning towards each other. After the service and the obligatory weak cups of instant coffee granules at the back of the church, we drive to Great Massingham, a lovely village with three big ponds in the wide common, and, contrary to the Norfolk Churches Website, a lovely pub, the Dabbling Duck, where we have our Sunday lunch in rooms lined with books, before we part our ways and I set off for Ely, to begin my week of singing.

A Day and a bit in Paris

Paris vaut bien une Messe.

That's what the protestant king Henry IV said when he married his Roman Catholic wife. And who could disagree seeing Paris? Henry became a Catholic, being born a Catholic, raised as a Huguenot, but changing to Catholicism not just once.

I took the fast train from Schiphol to Paris which got me there in 3 hours! It takes even more time to go from Leyden to Maastricht by train. But of course the train to Paris is more expensive, except if one can take advantage of special offers, which I did.

Mid July one hopes for some sun and summer. However, in northern Europe the summer of 2011 was in June. This also applies to Paris. I took a midday train, and although the weather was relatively mild and dry in Amsterdam, in Belgium the sky became more and more overcast and after Brussels it started raining. In Northern France the fields were soaked, almost inundated, with large puddles reflecting the dark clouds. Just as well we were speeding on, next to the motorway, at such a speed that the cars who do 130 kms an hour here, seemed to be on a very leisurely drive. The rain crawled horizontally across the window panes, in tiny beads. I kept wondering why it did not speed across. Unfortunately I never took science, just studied arts. Had it been the other way round, I might have been able to explain the phenomenon which fascinated me.

Anyway, it was still wet once I arrived in Paris and as the train was far too long to give carriage number 17 shelter under the roof of the station, I got wet.

Some interesting views from my hotel window

My hotel was simple but clean and adequate. I had chosen a different area from where I normally go, in the Rue des Abesses, boasting a original Art Deco Metro station. It is on the "Butte" of Montmartre, at the base, some streets up of Place Pigalle but a stiff climb to the top, to the Sacré-Coeur. It is a nice area, with hardly any traffic, certainly no through traffic, lots of local shops, boutiques and cafes, and clearly residential. All the sidewalk cafes had heaters and were canopied, so it was a joy to sit outside under the awnings enjoying a light meal and watching people. The slim French girls all wore very tight and fashionable blue jeans, with legs which were too long and so had folds and wrinkles around the ankles. I felt rather provincial. Office workers with neat suits, briefcases and laptops strode by on their way home. Young women were pushing prams. A middle aged man passed by with three shirts nonchalantly across his left arm. They were all striped, each in a different colour: red, blue and grey. Sometime later he came back with some folded shirts neatly packed in plastic, clearly from the dry cleaners. Why did I presume he had no wife?

After the meal the temperature became milder and the rain stopped, although there still was a light drizzle from time to time. I decided to walk up to the top. Apparently there is a funiculaire to the top just at the other side of the Metro station, but I never looked there and so never noticed it! I had only seen the Sacré-Coeur once or twice, not coming from this side. It is amazing what a nice place to live this area is. It is airy, there are little parks and trees, and spacious courts which I sometimes got a glimpse of as a gate might be open. Because the streets are narrow, there is hardly any traffic. Once on the top, the Place du Tertre was absolutely packed with tourists. I had not expected the Sacré-Coeur to be open, but it seems to be open 24 hours a day. Inside it was a blessing to sit quietly in the mysterious evening light and be refreshed by the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity , the tourists being shepherded around the nave by very vigilant wardens who told off everyone who as much as dared to whisper. Later I walked around the "butte", exploring the different streets, and the attractive looking museums which were of course closed. It must have been a lovely place to live and work for the artists who used to gather here. The air would have been a lot fresher than in the crowded streets of Paris down below.

The living artists trying to draw portraits of tourists were still at work late in the evening, and some did amazingly good jobs. The surprise of the evening was the most gorgeous sunset, painting the cupolas of the Sacré-Coeur a rosy gold, and illuminating the city as the red sun was reflected in the glass skyscrapers of Montparnasse and setting the golden Dôme des Invalides on fire. I had left my camera at the hotel as it was such unpromising weather, but bitterly regretted that! Hundreds of others weren't such fools and can now relive that spectacular sunset at home.

The following day after breakfast in a side walk cafe – the hotel has no reception apart from a very simple table, neither a lounge nor a restaurant – I walked up to the Sacré-Coeur again. The tourists hadn't arrived yet, most of the shops were still closed except for the baker's and the cafe's where the locals had their breakfast, and the atmosphere was totally different. I wanted to see the ancient former abbey church next to the Sacré-Coeur, the St. Pierre de Montmartre. It barely escaped being destroyed, as the abbey is no longer there. The interior is simple and seems rather empty, which is its beauty, the beauty of the architecture and the lines. It is Roman in places, and slightly Gothic in other parts as the windows are a bit pointed. A local woman came in to say her prayers. It was a good place and I am glad I saw it.

Walking on water. A modern window in the historic former Abbey church.

Notice the feet and the toes!

The Sacré-Coeur looked totally different in the unromantic daylight. No rose coloured sunset, no rain either, just sober morning light. This time I walked down the steps in front of the church, avoiding the souvenir sellers, mostly black people who spread out their trinkets on blankets, furtively looking around. In the middle of the stairs, halfway up or down, facing the Sacré-Coeur, a man was playing an electronic harp. He did quite well. I took a metro on one of the boulevards further down. Tourists were streaming in by now, and souvenir shops were raising their blinds and putting their wares outside.

It took me three metros to get to the Bastille, due to works on one of the stations.

My plan was to go for a walk through the Marais, an area which I did not know so well. Meandering through it was very pleasurable, discovering places, and alleys which were not in the guidebooks and seeing amazing churches as well. It was relatively devoid of tourists, except for the Place des Vosges which attracts many people. What struck me were the beautiful dimensions of the buildings, not just on the Place des Vosges, and the high and big windows which must have made the houses very light and airy. That was also obvious in the Musee the Carnavalet, once the house of Madame de Sévigné. It is a very large museum, and in fact I was happy that some wings were closed as it took me a very long time to walk through the whole museum, which also includes the Hôtel le Peletier next door. Apart from the history of Paris, there are beautiful period rooms and ballrooms, gilded and full of mirrors. I regretted not having packed my ball gown. All of us visitors looked decidedly out of place in those amazing surroundings: Ornate fireplaces, beautiful furniture, music rooms, very comfortable looking chaise longues and chairs, coffered and gilded ceilings, delicately decorated walls, there was no end to it. And yes, the windows were high and wide. It must have been wonderful to live here, with the various courtyards. Unfortunately they were also closed because of cleaning work being done to the outside walls, but from the windows we could see the formal outlay, the hedges neatly trimmed and pruned, planted in amazing curls and swirls. It was raining, so being stuck in a museum in Paris was no hardship.

On this walk I also come across a remarkable church, L’église Saint-Paul –Saint-Louis, which is very big. It was given by Louis XIII to the Jesuits and frequented by famous people and royalty living in the Marais, at that time a very fashionable area. During the Revolution the domed church fell into decline, but it is still standing. There is a big pipe organ, and recitals are regularly given, unfortunately not on the day that I am in Paris. Between 1688 and 1698 Marc-Antoine Charpentier was organist of this church. Among other famous musicians who played the organ in this church are Jean-Philippe Rameau, Louis Marchand and Michel-Richard Delalande . It is peculiar that none of the two guide books to Paris mentions this church, but I must admit they are simple pocket guides, just good enough for a flying visit to Paris. My fat and heavy guidebook which I left at home, does mention the church and its history.

I also walk through St. Paul village, a new residential area with apartments and little artist shops underneath. They were built in former gardens, next to a remnant of the old city wall. They look attractive, but there is no history here, so I do not stay very long. Another building which is far more interesting is just round the corner, the Hôtel de Sens, one of the few remaining medieval buildings in Paris, now a library, once an old palace.

The Marais has always been the Jewish Quarter and still is. As everywhere else in Europe the Jewish community was decimated after the war. I am shocked to come across a very small and unobtrusive plaque on the wall of a school.

Roughly translated:

In memory of the little children

 of this nursery school

 who were deported from 1942-1944

because they were born as Jews.

Innocent victims

of the barbarian Nazi's,

 with the active support

of the Vichy government.

They were exterminated

in the death camps.

  

In its starkness and simplicity this strikes me as if I am being hit by a sledge hammer.

Sadly I miss the Memorial for the unknown Jewish Martyr, a memorial to all the Jews murdered during the Holocaust. Again, my pocket guide does not refer to this monument. Another reason to go back to the Marais one day, because it is just one of a list of things which I can't do in the short period I can spend here. After the Carnavalet there is no time nor energy left for the Picasso Museum or the Museum of Jewish Art and History. And next time I would like to see an opera in the modern Bastille. In summer there are no concerts, opera's or ballet performances between mid-July and the beginning of September. Too bad!

The nearer I get to the Hôtel de Ville, the busier the streets are. The main boulevard leading to the Hôtel the Ville is busy anyway, as there are so many shops, cafes and restaurants. Every now and then I try one, for a drink, a bite and to give my feet the necessary respite. The trouble is that I have no hotel to go back to to take a midday rest, except at the end of the afternoon to collect my small case which I have left there. But there is no lobby to put my feet up. There is an end to my stamina, and I can't face queuing up at the Hôtel de Ville to see the impressionist paintings from the Musee d' Orsay which are on view here as Orsay is closed to the public during a renovation. I'll wait till they have been relocated in the Orsay.

City beach along the Seine. Plage sur Seine, Paris Plage.

I do walk to the river Seine, where I have a look at the summer beaches which have been cleverly made along the lower banks. They are intended as a city beach, but are completely deserted. The hut next to it which sells ice cream does no business today. We have had showers on and off, and when I am looking over the parapet it rains again. Time to go back to the hotel. I like the location, lively but nevertheless very quiet with no noise at night, except for the collection of garbage at 6 am. But there are no trucks, honking cars or fast scooters. My room has big French doors which I can leave open at night. The disadvantage is that although near a metro, one can't go anywhere without changing lines. But there are buskers, also on the trains, which makes the journeys rather pleasant. One man who sings French chansons in a good voice even has speakers and a microphone with him. Quite a heavy load to carry around, I think.

I collect my bag at the hotel, have a last drink in one of the cafe's while I enjoy the bustle and homeliness of this street, and leave to catch my train, which brings me in 2,5 to Rotterdam, where I change for Leyden. 45 minutes later I arrive at Leyden station and my short adventure is over. But I hope there will be a next time soon.

Well-known organ music by Charpentier. I couold not find a recording which I really liked, but the music is festive. A joyful piece to end with.

Elburg

Elburg, like so many Dutch towns around what used to be the Zuiderzee, once belonged to the Hanseatic League and was a seafaring town. Fishing and trading with far off countries made Elburg prosperous. It is a small, fortified town, doubly protected by walls and a dike, as well as water. It forms a square, with canons on the bulwarks. The dike is now a lovely footpath, bordered by mature trees. Fountains have been placed in the original moats, and white water-lilies float on the surface. The town will be pleasing to Americans, as the street plan forms a grit and one can't lose one's way. The only exception is the church, which is built at a slight angle. I have not checked yet, but suppose it has to do with the fact that churches were built in an exact east-west direction. And the church is not in the middle of town, but in a corner, next to the town wall. Apparently the town was later built next to the church, which was in a field.

The small town used to be open to the Zuiderzee, and the Vispoort – Fishgate – is still intact. The harbour beyond it houses several antique wooden sailing ships with leeboards, so characteristic for sailing ships in shallow waters, but there are no longer any fishing boats there. Pleasure yachts love to moor here. Elburg is at a disadvantage when we talk about access to the sea. After the Zuiderzee was closed off from the sea by a dam, the "Afsluitdijk", part of the IJsselmeer was also pumped dry and made into new land. This means that the harbour of Elburg opens only to a wide canal which was left between the new land and the "old" land. Enkhuizen, Hoorn and Marken for example, still have open access to the IJsselmeer and look out across the lake.

Although the map of the town might be familiar to people in the USA, the houses are not. They are very small, and the streets are so narrow, they are more like alleys. Cars can only negotiate a few streets and the inhabitants have to leave their cars in designated parking spaces just inside the walls. Visitors have to leave their cars outside the fortification. Large car-parks have been built for this purpose and they are free. Quite a blessing.

Elburg has a few interesting museums. The aim of my visit was to see a special exhibition in the local historic museum, paintings and drawings of organs and church interiors throughout history. The paintings fascinate me, but the building just as much. Because the museum is housed in a former convent, a building much bigger than the majority of the houses. Part of the complex is museum, but other parts are made into apartments and are residential. The inner court of the nunnery is now a pleasant garden, open to the public. There is a wedding reception going on as I walk through the garden. The tourist office is also housed in the former convent, and I buy a brochure with a "walk" through the small town.

The first stop is the former synagogue, Sjoel Elburg, now a museum of Jewish life before the second world war. The interior of the synagogue has been given to Aalten, where there are just enough Jews nowadays to have religious services . After the war, hardly any Jews returned to Elburg. There is a video presentation in which a rabbi explains the rituals and their meaning, as well as the use and symbolism of several garments and accessories. It is very well done. In the former synagogue there are a number of showcases, each with pictures and the history of 12 formerly well-known Jewish families in Elburg. They used to be bakers and butchers and were totally accepted in the community. It seems most Jews in Elburg were transported in 1943 to Sobibor and died in the gas chambers. It is stated without further comment, which makes it more impressive than graphic descriptions of their fate. They were people just like us. Their fate could so easily have been ours. They went away, expecting to be back soon, leaving valuables in the care of trusted neighbours. Some of those possessions are now on display in the museum.There is a Jewish cemetery on one of the bulwarks, which is not indicated on the printed leaflet with the walk. But I find it anyway. It is sadly locked now and probably no longer in use.

The walk goes on, through narrow streets and houses which are built with their back against the city wall, and thus called "Muurhuizen", Wall Houses. Many inhabitants have lifted pavement stones in front of their houses and planted hollyhocks and climbers and decorated their windowsills with potted plants. It looks very festive and homely. 

The St. Nicholas church is surprisingly surrounded by a big open space, and next to it there is a row of former almshouses, with their white walls and black painted lower bricks similar in appearance to the almshouses and Beguinages which can be found in many towns in Belgium. In the morning the church is unfortunately locked. A great pity, because apparently the organist who will give a recital tomorrow is practising and I can hear the music  outside but would love to listen to it in the church. When I come back a few hours later, the church is open, probably because preparations for a wedding are going on. The organist has gone. It is a beautiful church with a very unusual choir screen, the like of which I have never seen before. 

Choir screen and collection bags on long poles

  

On some of the walls, the ceiling and the  pillars paintings have surfaced when restoration was in progress. There might be quite a lot more under the white plaster, but whether they can be salvaged is another matter. There is also an unusual oak set of canopied pews, with a gallery on top, apparently commissioned by Jan Hendrik van Kinsbergen, an admiral. He founded a school next to the church and an orphanage, and wanted his pupils to sit together, straight opposite the pulpit. The pulpit has been relocated and is now situated between the nave and the choir.

Another unusual museum is the Pipe organ museum, a tiny, rather dusty place, more like a shed, stuffed with photo's of organs, organists, posters of organ recitals, cuttings from newspapers and rows and rows of files with information about organs. On the walls some interesting scale models of famous organs, made by organ fans. There are stacks of old records with organ music, and an extensive collection of CD's and sheet music plus books and brochures about organs is for sale.

painted wooden pipes in the museum

The main street goes straight from one side of Elburg where the museum is to the Vispoort, opening out to the harbour. Midway this street is intersected by a canal, framed by trees and with a covered bandstand over the water near the intersection. Around these "crossroads" are most of the restaurants, and I try two of them for lunch and dinner. Many restaurants are decorated with fish-nets to emphasize their seafaring past

Elburg also has a real open air rope-yard, where one can see the rope-makers at work. It is rather fascinating, and I now realise where the word "lijnbaan" comes from and why a "lijnbaan" is always rather long.

Another surprise is a herbal garden, which is in full bloom. The air is very aromatic. Bees and bumble bees feast on the flowers, open to the sun.

Since this summer I have been exploring various old towns around the IJsselmeer, and so far it has been is a very informative an joyful experience. A pity that Dutch motorways are congested and blocked up at any time, so that my drive back took an extra hour and 45 minutes, not something one appreciates in the evening. But I would not have missed my day out in Elburg. It also proves that life as a single can be enjoyable and worthwhile. And although I can't share my experiences with a partner, I may share it with any stray reader of this blog.

A walk on the Beach

A beautiful day, and the last sunny one for some time to come, according to the weather forecast. I have not been to the beach this year. When I was still working, I would often go there in the evening after a day cooped up in a grey, concrete building and go for a long and refreshing walk.

Although the holidays have started and it is midsummer, there are amazingly few people on the beach. The parking lots are not half full and I can even park a 10-minute walk away in a free parking area in the dunes. Normally this only happens in winter. Although the temperature is somewhere between 22 and 25 degrees, it feels rather fresh because of the northerly wind which blows right along the coast. It is ideal for walking in a thin, loose-sleeved blouse to protect my body from the sun. The water seems warm in comparison. although the first touch is always cold. It is clear, in the small creeks even crystal clear. This is unusual, as the North Sea is rather rough at times and so sand, seaweed and kelp make the water often opaque. I go for a stiff walk, three and a half hours with just a fifteen minute break for a drink when I reach the first beach cafe at the beginning of the next town. As soon as I get away from the small access point to the beach where I start my walk, the beach is almost deserted.  The gulls make an awful racket when I walk through their territory, places where they congregate and sit, all heads in the same direction. If one didn't know already, now one need to doubt from which direction the wind is coming. It is exhilarating to walk in a regular rhythm on the hard sand, feet in the water. The breaking waves make it impossible to think, and any thoughts which may still clamour for attention are blown away by the wind. Sometimes I have to wade through deep gullies. It is low tide, but when I retrace my steps on the way back tide is coming in and they are treacherously hidden by the water. I know this coastline and its dangers, the gullies with their strong currents out to the sea, and am careful. My feet enjoy the feel of the wet sand. They are given a free reflexology session and foot scrub in one go. I have to cross a nudist beach at one point. Amazingly I only see men, who are parading their pride and glory. Why just men? A bit further on six of them are playing a ball game in a circle, everything joyfully bouncing up and down.  And why wear shoes and socks and a sun hat, and nothing else? It doesn't make sense to me.

There are several other things which amaze me. Why do gulls all stay together in one spot, and why that particular spot? And why are there places where shells are heaped up along the tide mark, and long stretches with no shells at all, where one's footsteps seem to touch very smooth sand, virginal almost, the wet grains glistening in the light like small jewels? The answer will undoubtedly be the currents and the dangerous sandbanks in front of the beach of which there are quite a few here. Still is seems a mystery. A bit further on there are shallow footprints in the sand, very large ones and very small ones, some with just the toes and the heels showing, others the complete foot. I try to imprint mine as well, but it seems I am a ghost as I can't leave an impression at all, whatever I try.

Almost four hours later I sink into a chair on a terrace of a restaurant. It is situated on top of a dune with a fabulous view of the sea and along the coast towards Katwijk. Basking in the sun, which is a lot warmer here where we are sheltered from the wind, I revive myself with a glass of white wine and some "bitterballen". When I get up to walk the last ten minutes to my car, my limbs seem locked and I have to order them to put one foot in front of the other. It was a wonderful walk, but they have had enough. It is clear that the "Vierdaagse", a four-day walking event of 40 kilometres each day, is out of bounds.

Summer has really started. This past Sunday our choir sang the last service before the summer break. At the end of the service we said goodbye to the congregation by singing Chilcott's Irish Blessing. We have done it before, but this time I found it rather moving. I must be getting sentimental and dotty.

The Saturday before we had our annual choir party with a bring and share buffet at the home of one of the choir members, a good occasion to get to know each other better, as well as the culinary skills of the individual singers. It turned out to be a great, varied and delicious spread.

Now it is summer, no duties, except preparing for a week of singing in Ely Cathedral, something to look forward to eagerly.

More Music, June 25th-26th

Another musical weekend, a week ago already!

It began with the regular choir practice on Friday night, this time for an Evensong in the Old Catholic Church in The Hague.

On Saturday evening I went to a recital/concert in an unusual place, Steeckershil in Bleskensgraaf. Friends of friends always dreamt of having their own concert hall. After they retired, they bought and old farmhouse on a river in a small, typically Dutch village. The farmhouse has a thatched roof and inside it is a maze of rooms and stairs and steps. Probably because formerly the farmhouse was shared by cattle and people. The friends converted the hayloft into a beautiful concert hall which can take 80 -100 people under the old oak beams. There are two grand pianos in the loft plus an electronic organ. Here young and talented musicians who have often just passed their finals at the conservatory get a chance to perform. The farm has beautiful grounds, with a kitchen garden, an ornamental garden and fruit trees. It slopes down to the meandering river. All of the garden, and all the rooms in the house are open to the audience on the evening of a concert. Unfortunately on Saturday the weather was somewhat disappointing for this time of year, and so we could not enjoy our tea, coffee and cakes outside in the garden, but had them in the big living room at the back of the house, full of comfortable settees and chairs and with a view of the river and the garden. At 8 o'clock we went up the stairs for the concert. There is even a gallery, and although a bit scary to go there, the gallery affords a splendid view of the musicians. This time two young Italians, Emilio Zenodocchio flute and Alessandro Soccorsi piano, played for us. On top of being good musicians, they were very attractive too! Some have it all. It is nice to be so near the podium. There was a short introduction to each part of the programme, to the music and the composers, which made the evening even more enjoyable. I loved the programme, but then I have always been partial to the flute and tried my hand – or rather mouth – at it years ago.

During the interval there is always a buffet with finger-food, cheese and biscuits, wine, beer and soft drinks. By that time it seemed to get a bit warmer outside, so some of us enjoyed our nibbles and drinks there. The evening was mild, and as it was almost the longest day, the sky was still very light.

This is the programme:

1. S.Prokofiev (1891-1953), Sonata for flute and piano Op. 94 (1943)

2. J.S.Bach (1685-1750), Partita for flute and piano in a BWV 1013

And after the interval:

3. F.Liszt (1811-1886), Après une Lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi Sonata (piano solo)

4. C.Reinecke (1824-1910), Sonata 'Undine' Op.167 (flute and piano)

The concert is always followed by another buffet, now with fresh fruit salad and several other additions. The musicians mingle with the audience and take part in the conversation. They are charming and very gifted young men, who speak excellent English. We all hope they will be successful in their careers.

Our hostess is a dedicated cook, and her excellent preserves, jams, jellies and chutneys are for sale. It is difficult to resist the temptation and not to go home with one or more jars.

The couple owning the farmhouse-cum-concert-hall don't make a profit. They don't run a commercial institution, but try to cope with the support of sponsors and the contributions of  "friends" of the foundation.

When I drive back with my friend to Rotterdam where I left my car, we deeply inhale the smell of mown grass and herbs. It is midsummer and although it is 11 o'clock the sky is still very light. It is the sort of light in which colour seems to have faded and the world looks like an old-fashioned black and white photograph, two-dimensional.

Fortunately I do not have to get up early the next morning, as Evensong is not till 5 o'clock in the afternoon. It is Open Church Day in many cities, also in The Hague. As we will be joined by the Anglican choir from Rotterdam, we start the practice at 3 o'clock. Between the practice and the service there is time for a drink and a variety of cakes provided by several choir members and supporters.

It is a surprisingly warm summer's day, and everybody seems to be outside enjoying it. Nevertheless the church is pretty full during the service. We sing the Tallis Magnificat  and Nunc Dimittis, which I like. The anthem is absolutely beautifully sung. A pity that the organ is at the opposite end of the choir, so that except for the hymns, we  sing everything a capella. But at least we have the organ in full view.