London again

Another interesting exhibition which I went to see was in the Natural History Museum, Wildlife Photography of the year 2011.The photo's are amazing. Of course getting a wonderful picture is not just chance or a stroke of luck. Most photographers have gone to a lot of trouble to take those shots: lying on their stomach in shallow water for a full day, if that is what it takes. Hiding in huts in extreme cold conditions, hoping not to be trampled by a herd of bison. Whatever, the outcome is wonderful. The website shows all the photos and one can even order copies/prints online: on canvas,  paper, cardboard, framed or not, delivered at  one's door. Here is one of the photo's of a polar bear swimming, taken by Joe Bunni from France:

The nice thing about the exhibition is that the photos are not printed but shown on big computer screens. Like slides the light shines through them and they look much better than in print. Also one can still see them well even if there are lots of people, which fortunately wasn't the case when I went to see the exhibition. A new competition is open for amateurs and professionals alike. But after what I have seen, not even in my wildest dreams would I think of joining such a competition, as I take just snapshots! Although these pictures of wildlife on Picasa shot through my kitchen window in my tiny back yard, are not bad either. I admit the background should have been hazy. Just about everything is in focus, which is not really professional, although it was an exciting spectacle.

   The Evensong in St. Paul's was strange. To begin with the space in front of the cathedral, so the cathedral close if there had been one, was surrounded by a encampment of the Occupy Movement, the movement against economic inequality.  As it was towards 5 o'clock and getting dark when I got there, my picture is of very poor quality and blurred. I had no tripod, just a small camera. 

The police had cordoned off paths towards the steps of the cathedral, so that the entrance to the cathedral would not be blocked. But it was weird smelling the food that was being prepared and seeing all the multicoloured domed tents, in a variety of coulours. Inside the cathedral I could not hear sounds from outside, except for police sirens, not unusual in London.

   As far as Evensong was concerned I was a bit disappointed. Although I was early no one was allowed to sit in the choir stalls, as two large groups of foreign students were allocated there. Sitting just at the beginning of the nave, the sound does peculiar things and seems to whirl around in the dome between the choir and the nave, so that I found it terribly difficult to "hear" the music and the melody. Besides, the choir was reduced to just men, no boys, the canticles were sung in Latin and were chanted as well as the responses. I think I prefer Westminster Abbey, which seems to be far more intimate in spite of being a big cathedral as well. But St. Paul's seemed aloof to me, and lacked the spiritual atmosphere I had hoped for and expected.

   A concert in St. Martin in the Fields was more rewarding. It was a concert by candlelight and even more often disrupted by police sirens. But the atmosphere was intimate, and the music, although just chamber music, brilliantly performed by the Belmont Ensemble of London, even Eine kleine Nachtmusik sounded fresh and new. There is a new entrance to the crypt next to the church, and the crypt itself has undergone a transformation. It is all modern and efficient, but it blends in well with the rest.

   Another concert I went to with a friend was in the Royal Festival Hall, all Prokofiev by the London Philharmonic Orchestra. We had high hopes of the cello concerto op.85 and were really looking forward to that, but were both disappointed by its apparent lack of a theme or themes. We decided that perhaps it had to grow on us. It seemed extremely difficult for the cellist, Danjulo Ishizaka, and his performance was brilliant, but neither of us took to the music. The Suite Lieutenant Kijé and Prokofiev´s Symphony No. 7 were a real joy to hear.

A recording of part of the cello concerto

   Around this part of the South Bank also a lot has changed favourably. There are numerous small restaurants now under the railway lines in the arches where once were only grotto warehouses and boarded up premises. Now it is an area where people like to spend an evening out. I had not been to London for three years and was amazed at the many improvements and changes. Clearly the upcoming Olympic Games have speeded up those improvements.

London continued

"Doing" two concerts, Evensong in St Paul's and two exhibitions in a four day visit isn't so bad, I think. What I specifically wanted to see is the exhibition in the British Library, Royal Manuscripts, the Genius of Illumination. And at the same time see this "new" building, not so new anymore, near St. Pancras Station and the adjoining huge Victorian Hotel. The exhibition is stunning. How people in even the fourteenth century could illuminate mss in such minute detail and in such small script is amazing given the fact that they used primitive utensils like quills. The colours are as strikingly bright and brilliant as they were at the time the manuscripts were composed. It is absolutely amazing. I had expected very tiny books, with perhaps one character illuminated and some full page illustrations,  but almost all exhibited books are huge tomes with the most spectacular illuminations. In the margins leaves, birds, monkeys, but also quite naughty pictures, as usual. Perhaps because the scribes and monks got bored by all this piety? There is so much to see and discover. Somewhere in a top corner I spot a rabbit or hare, blowing a trumpet. Many of the books are Bibles or Psalters, made for the many queens, kings and noble lords and ladies in England and France. Of course they were all related by inter-marriage. I really lost track of the number of Henry's, Edwards and many others.

The Catalogue with a picture of one of the illustrations

A great deal of the earliest books dating from the 13^th century were illuminated in Bruges, the blue, red and yellows as vivid as the Flemish tapestries, the gold as shiny and brilliant as if newly applied. And there is an abundance of gold. In some books from Bruges we see the hand of the same illuminator – the same birds appear in the margins, a tit, a finch, two angels, their wings very delicate and almost translucent. In a very small space of hardly a few centimetres, Abraham is painted with his 12 sons who at the same time represent the 12 apostles. It is just incredible that such miniatures could be painted in such detail. Either the scribes or monks had perfect eyesight, or they worked with magnifying glasses. I could not find any information about this.

   During the Middle Ages people certainly weren't as prudish as the Victorians. In one illustration the story of Saul and David is depicted. David could have stabbed and killed Saul when Saul was relieving himself in a cave. But David did not want to kill an anointed king. There is a tiny drawing of the scene with Saul crouching on the floor of the cave, bare bottomed, with his royal cloak hitched up and a crown on his head. David is hiding behind the King somewhere in the cave.  Quite amusing. Of course the crown was for the benefit of the people so that they could identify the king, but still... Neither were people then so shy of painting nudes, as we see in the illuminations of Adam and Eve in Paradise and Christ on the cross. Perhaps this prudishness comes later, and had its heyday in Victorian times.

   There was too much to take in in one visit. The catalogue is splendid, but weighs a tonne and so I didn't buy it. But their website is very beautiful and gives many of the illustrations in detail. Besides one can zoom in on the illustrations. And last but not least there is an app for iPhones and Android phones, which is not at all expensive.

   The building, although modern, is of red brick and perfectly fits its surroundings. Inside it is modern, efficient and beautiful. Many of the treasured books in the Library are permanently exhibited in rooms which the public is free to enter. A far cry from the distinguished but old and cramped premises in the British Museum.

London

Christmas has come and gone, 2011 has gone, a new year, another month.  And a visit to friends in London after all the carols, parties and too much unusual food.

   To escape from my Dutch birthday I avail myself of a cheap Eurostar offer. Why is a Dutch person celebrating a birthday  condemned to slave away providing friends and guests with coffee, cakes, drinks and all sorts of treats? In other countries birthdays are either ignored, or one is treated on one's birthday. Friends may prepare a surprise for you, may invite you to a meal or take you out to dinner. Not so in Holland.  If one has a partner who serves the guests and sees to their needs, it is OK. But being single, it is hard labour. It is very nice when guests taking leave tell you they have had a wonderful time, such interesting conversations, so marvellous to see old friends again. Wasn't it lovely? How often have I heard that and thought: Oh, was it? Good! But personally I haven't had a chance to talk to anybody, but have been too busy serving my guests. So I escaped!

   Avoiding the hassle of airports I take the train. It is a wonderful experience, a chance to meditate, enjoy the country, read, doze and generally relax. There is no escape, neither the need to think. And in my case far more convenient than taking a plane. There isn't a lot to see in Holland, as the train goes mainly through very urbanised areas. Once on the Eurostar, the fast train from Brussels to London, it is a different story. Belgium and the North of France seem rather empty. It is a dull day, the sky pewter with rose coloured slits where the sun tries to peep through. The land is wet, the furrows filled with water reflecting the sky. Rows of bare trees on the horizon are sharply drawn against the open skies, the structure and pattern of their branches beautiful and unique. Riding horses in a muddy paddock seem too elegant and proud for their dreary surroundings. Near Calais, nearing the sea, the skies are absolutely superb. Clouds like plucked cotton wool hang in shrouds from the sky, which is full of darker clouds, the sun desperately trying to find a place to escape through.

   We dive into the Chunnel, to escape some 25 minutes later to bright sunshine. It is pure joy after many days of dull and dark midwinter weather. England, here I come.

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.