Community values

 

An early Leaf Collecting post suggested that the single greatest benefit of the internet could be the opportunity to play back (bits of or whole) radio programmes which you were not able to hear at broadcasting time, like the BBC’s Late Junction or Desert Island Discs.

This is still true – but another huge plus is the ability to find out about community arts (and food!) venues spread all over the UK. You therefore feel you can share regularly just a little in the riches of such as the Glad Café and Mono and the Glasgow Women’s Library in Glasgow or Dundee Contemporary Arts in that city or the Ceilidh Place in Ullapool or the Portico Library or the Working Class Movement Library in Manchester or the Ship Inn at Low Newton in Northumberland or the Black Box in Belfast.  

 

The modern Manchester Ship Canal beside Salford, location of the Working-Class Movement Library.

 

Lindisfarne, just up the coast from the Ship Inn at Low Newton.

 

A colourful streetscape, possibly Donegall Street in Belfast, near the Black Box.

 

Some I’ve been lucky enough to visit, others I’ve walked past and others I’ve only read about. A further afield venue which maintains a detailed website which allows you to know almost as much as the local regulars do – while you are always thinking “how can this possibly work commercially?” – is  Conflict Kitchen of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. 

 

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The future of political activism

 

The political world has become more confusing and less understandable, so it is often argued, by such unexpected events as the election of US President Donald Trump and the vote for the UK to leave the European Union. 

So how might an informed and sensitive citizen respond? What ideas and actions might be appropriate? Inside or outside the conventional political system?

One of the more successful single-issue activism campaigns of the recent past in terms of media attention gained was Occupy. Micah White, a former leader, said on TV around the time of Donald Trump’s election that Occupy had once united right and left wing activists in a single issue but now the two camps had been split. He felt that activist groups now had to build towards the old-fashioned target of winning elections to legislatures and executives.

In turn, former US President Barack Obama, in his farewell speech in Chicago,  encouraged his audience to participate politically both through community organising and through elected office.

Former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair suggested that any social and political challenges might be best addressed by “the technology sector” rather than in “politics”. I interpreted his term “politics” as meaning in the party and electoral sense in which he had been so successful rather than in street protests. By “technology”, he may mean private technology companies, private-public partnerships or future life-transforming inventions.  

In the past, single issue campaigns often gained separate long-term and substantial support within electoral and party politics. The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, Amnesty International, Friends of the Earth, the Campaign Against the Arms Trade, the Palestine Solidarity Campaign  – I’m sure they all still lobby at political party conferences and other big events. We all remember the past cross-party celebrity-led campaigns against third world poverty and debt, against apartheid in South Africa.

Single-issue campaigns seem to have lost their profile in recent years. Organisations like Amnesty International do sometimes gain a media platform for their arguments, but equal if not greater attention seems to now go to the well-funded think tanks like the Resolution Foundation, the Institute for Fiscal Studies, the Institute of Economic Affairs, the Tax Payers Alliance, the Royal Institute of International Affairs (Chatham House).

How is political activity carried out now?  People often create new personalised political protest groups rather than join existing ones. The internet, especially the existence of Facebook and Twitter, has allowed events to be quickly organised but has also led to the phenomenon of “clicktivism”, by which people do little more than read a website or e-mail the promise of a donation. I have also long felt that users of Twitter express their political views in a particularly  aggressive and unhealthy way and have long felt alarmed by the way that the mainstream press and TV depend on it so heavily. 

 Although relatively young at 36, activist artist Ellie Harrison is part of an older tradition.  Her most recent project, The Glasgow Effect, got a huge amount of media attention when it was launched a year ago and rather less during its year-long progress. The talk she gave last month when the project ended  was thought-provoking in its analysis of the allocation of wealth and public resources within Glasgow and further afield and how people might work to improve it. .

A practitioner in the conceptualist tradition, Harrison sees the artist as being someone who can and should  channel his/her creative energies away from career indulgence, which merely adds “unnecessary objects to the world”, and towards efforts to create a more just society.  The personal qualities which artists possess and develop, like persistence, willingness to work hard, confidence, arrogance, flexibility and spontaneity, make them particularly suited to such activism.   

Following that dictum that artists should not merely create new objects, Harrison stated that, during the 12 months of her funding by Creative Scotland, she spent most time and energy in organising and participating in political events and campaigns, and her literary output consisted mostly of newsletters and e-mails and Facebook posts canvassing support for and reporting on these.  

Old fogies like me are used to hearing younger people exalt modern technology (just like we did to our parents) so I was especially interested that Harrison feels like me that social media is not a good forum for activism. It is good for organising public events, she agrees, but otherwise it is “a beast out of control” where people behave much more badly than they do in public spaces or in one to one contact. “It is not social in the slightest”, she added; the individual user is already usually in a private space and the technology tends to increase the sense of isolation. 

Harrison’s talk referenced an earlier project where she devised guidelines by which artists (by which she probably means everybody) might live their lives fruitfully in the modern world. These guidelines included: view the world objectively, analyse critically the way it works, develop ways of working outside established institutions, work collectively rather than competitively and resist career ambitions.

So it might be said that Ellie Harrison has reached similar conclusions as has Carol Craig –  mentioned in a Leaf Collecting post last month, if from a different direction and through a slightly different perspective. By further coincidence, Think Globally Act Locally –  a phrase recalled in that previous post – was an earlier working title of Harrison’s project. 

 

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The world of Winterson

 

Because Jeanette Winterson are I are close to the same age, I can remember the fuss around her arrival on the literary scene. Furthermore, I had a bit more interest in her than in other writers who may be similar but who came later. For example, in 1990, I watched the BBC adaptation of her debut autobiographical novel Oranges are not the Only Fruit, which is the type of “misery” text which I would normally abhor and ignore.

An audience should of course always concentrate on a writer’s work rather than on his/her personality, but Winterson was always a high-profile and intriguing public character. She was overtly lesbian several years before the celebrity of Carol Ann Duffy and Jackie Kay; she was fiercely proud of her regional and working-class roots but equally a successful member of the metropolitan literati from a young age, with her famous friends and partners and homes both in the countryside and in London’s historic and gentrified Spitalfields.

I had not actually read a complete Jeanette Winterson book until her recent Christmas Days,  which alternates 12 Christmas themed stories with 12 pieces of mixed history, personal reflection and recipes of Yuletide food and drink.

One of my two favourite stories is “The Mistletoe Bride”, in which I felt sure I detected similarities with the type of sensual fantasy story Angela Carter wrote in The Bloody Chamber. Interviews from earlier in Winterson’s career suggest she would scoff at such comparisons – she pointedly rejects the term “magic realism” which was often applied to Carter – and indeed it does look as if she was an independent player in such genres as early as her second and third novels The Passion and Sexing the Cherry .   

 My other favourite story is “Dark Christmas” , which seems influenced by the stories of  M.R. James, several of which were dramatized on BBC in the 1970s under the heading  A Ghost Story for Christmas.  It is possible of course that entertainment like that was not encouraged within the highly individual family Christmases which the young Winterson experienced with her Evangelical Christian family.   

Several parts of the book refer to the religious origins of Christmas, and Winterson’s knowledge of (and perhaps even affection for) the Bible shows in some vivid imagery like the animal narrator’s observation of the Nativity in “The Lion, the Unicorn and Me” and the perspective of the Annunciation  from one untitled story on her website:  An unmarried woman sits at a table…The table trembles…As she crouches (under the table) she sees beautiful feet, strong like an animal, bare like a dancer…”

 Until Christmas Days my most recent acquaintance with Winterson was her BBC Radio 4 series in 2014,  Manchester: Alchemical City , still available on iPlayer.

 

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Three photographs which reflect topics covered in “Manchester: Alchemical City”: here, Victoria railway station, below, part of the canal network through the centre of the city, and, at the foot, the interior of the independent Portico Library.

 

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My listening was prompted by a memorable visit to Manchester and I found the programmes overall a stimulating review of history and culture. The title summarises her argument that the people of Manchester have always been gifted with the ability to turn dirt and base materials into gold and riches, whether they were the medieval alchemist and scientist John Dee, the builders of the first ever canal the Bridgewater, the textile manufacturers and traders of the 19th century Cottonopolis, political visionaries like Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx, the Chartists and the Suffragettes or Ann Lee, founder of the Shaker religious sect. (Mind you, the argument was stretched too thinly in her episode on popular music!)

Christmas Days led me to Winterson’s own website with its archive of her journalism. To single out only one, her piece about darkness has some alluring sensual details about different physical appetites for this time of year.  

 

 

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The personal benefits of looking outwards

 

Often society can agree on a problem without agreeing on a solution. In recent times, many people across all age groups have been felt to be suffering from anxiety due to a range of causes, and mental health is a great social and political concern.

Although we might hesitate to apply blame too specifically, especially if it would make us seem too conservative or old-fashioned, there is often a general shared diagnosis that some of the forces which used to help keep society calm and healthy  – family, employment, religion, community – no longer, rightly or wrongly, are able to do so in the same way.

Carol Craig, in a post from her Centre for Confidence and Wellbeing, encourages a move away from materialism and towards spirituality as one step which would reduce anxiety in modern life.

Interest in conventional religion has dropped significantly in the UK in recent decades, so it is striking that often we try to hold on to elements of spiritual and religious life even as we re-characterise ourselves as secular. One of these elements which has come into vogue is mindfulness, being aware of yourself and your thoughts and feelings with a view to striving to develop senses of calmness, gratitude, pleasure and kindness.

Some educationalists have gone so far as recommend the practice of mindfulness in schools as they feel that the decline in Christian or other religious assemblies has made pupils less aware of the importance of reflection and spirituality. 

Although media reports usually mention the Buddhist origins of mindfulness, it bears similarities also to Christian prayer. Those of us who are Christians know we should pray to God to thank him for the physical and spiritual benefits he has already given us just as often as to seek help and support for the future.  I was struck to read a Christian minister and academic, Dr Ian Bradley, recently make this point explicitly.

 “Mindfulness is a profoundly Christian thing”, he said, so “the Church…should be encouraged to get more involved in pilgrimage, spiritual adventures that focus on mindfulness and meditation.”

Moving a little from the personal to the public space, Carol Craig suggests another valuable way to improve well-being is to look away from yourself and your immediate feelings and problems. Instead, take part in community activities, or in the work of organisations which share your views and values – a church, trade union, charity or political party.

Mindfulness was among many ideas covered in Swapping Psalms for Pop Songs, a rather non-pithy title for a recent BBC Radio 4 programme on the Sunday Assembly. This organisation, which launched itself as “the atheist church” which celebrates life and helps others, identifies itself specifically with community and social co-operation.  Its various local branches have allied themselves with food banks, health groups and housing associations.  

Ministers from different Christian denominations were both supportive and critical of the Sunday Assembly and presenter Mark Vernon suggested that this might mean that the organisation was “refreshing” a modern concept of spirituality. In the programme, academic Linda Woodhead emphasised that many people nowadays who see themselves as non-religious are not atheist. In the past, church congregations regularly included people of modest faith who saw them as “hospitable…filling stations” at certain stages of their lives. Nowadays, she argued, churches are seen primarily for the strongly committed and the more agnostic do not feel they have anywhere to go.

I do tend to share the view that any individual who has been a practising Christian all his or her life has probably become more strongly committed as the years have passed. It is also true that different times and events in your life might attract you towards or discourage you away from an organised religion. However, I definitely do not think that most Christian church leaders nowadays are dogmatic. Most whom I have observed have a very strong sympathy towards human frailty and inconsistency, and they both speak and practise the language of compassion.  They are very happy for people to join or rejoin their congregations at any time when those people feel that God is speaking to them.

I strongly share the view of Carol Craig and others that a way for any individual to reduce personal anxiety and to increase personal happiness is to practise a positive appreciation for the things which every day are going well in your life, and to share your talents and interests with others.

And to apply anew that dictum which was often quoted among political and social activists in the past:  think globally, but act locally. 

  

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Gangsters and their molls in New York and Havana

 

Happy New 2017!

As a theatre lover I recognise that Broadway musical plays of the 1940s and 1950s such as Oklahoma and Carousel are as important pieces in their own way as the work of Brecht and Beckett, but I’ve never really been a fan. Probably to do with the fact that the actors in screen musicals like Howard Keel and Gordon MacRae always seemed a lighter thinner breed in comparison to Spencer Tracy or Humphrey Bogart or Henry Fonda. Possibly also to do with the fact that my teenage pop listening days also included that bizarre later era of musicals when every established dramatic genre was twisted and turned into a musical like Paint Your Wagon or Camelot or Scrooge or Man of La Mancha. 

However, despite not being a fan of most musicals, I am a fan of Guys and Dolls.

This emerged from my great interest in the National Theatre in its early years at its home on London’s South Bank. That interest was spurred by their practice of touring productions to Glasgow plus the fact that one of their three auditoria, the Cottesloe, had a company for many years led by director Bill Bryden from my home town of Greenock. Guys and Dolls, by Jo Swerling, Abe Burrows and Frank Loesser, was staged at the NT in 1982, directed by Richard Eyre. He discussed it on Desert Island Discs in 1985 in an interview which is still available to hear on the BBC Radio 4 archive.

One interesting snippet from the interview is that Laurence Olivier originally planned to produce Guys and Dolls during his own stint at the National Theatre.  I love Eyre’s anecdote about Olivier’s criticism of his production’s New York accents being “a bit of a melange” and his view that Olivier’s vocal performance, in contrast, “would have been placed exactly to the right street corner”!

 

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The southern half of Manhattan, as seen from the top of the Empire State Building in 2003.

 

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Near Times Square in New York – definitely “Guys and Dolls” territory.

 

The NT was sometimes criticised in its early years for being too dependent on star actors and the cast of Guys and Dolls certainly had some of my own favourites of that time. Bob Hoskins of Pennies From Heaven and The Long Good Friday was Nathan Detroit (perhaps this led to his American characters in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Mermaids), Ian Charleson of Chariots of Fire was Sky Masterson, Julie Covington of Rock Follies was Sister Sarah Brown. Among the supporting players was Bill Paterson as Harry the Horse.  

This cast did not come to Glasgow but I did see in Edinburgh a touring production in 1985, which Eyre refers to in the radio programme.  I was always struck by that show’s slightly unbalanced casting. The main star billing went to Lulu, then finding her new route between two periods of pop music fame, who was Miss Adelaide. Nathan Detroit was played by long-established TV face Norman Rossington (similar to Bob Hoskins in his earthy persona I suppose, but perhaps then less fashionable). Sky Masterson was the black US actor, then unknown but later more familiar, Clarke Peters. I enjoyed the production although I felt it displayed more of the elements of an old traditional performance rather than a cooler new one. (I think this cast did, however, transfer to London for a time). “Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat” sung by Nicely-Nicely Johnston is traditionally regarded as the show-stopper song and David Healy had been retained from the original cast, but I definitely recall finding this section technically impressive (with its two encores which appeared to have become standard) rather more than emotionally or artistically.

Soon after I enjoyed the film version, directed by Joseph L. Manciewicz, who was similar to Richard Eyre in being unused to directing musicals.  Frank Sinatra and Marlon Brando were paired in the two leading male roles. Sinatra would possibly have been seen as a safe piece of casting as Nathan Detroit being an established performer in screen musicals alongside the fashionable but provocative young dramatic actor Brando, but it’s easy to forget that in 1955 he was still younger than 40 and only two years into the new career which had been launched by From Here to Eternity and its attendant Oscar.

 

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Some old American cars in Havana, Cuba, in 2014. Part of “Guys and Dolls” takes place in Havana, a glamorous spot for American gangsters in pre-Castro times.

 

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The Bacardi building in Havana, built in 1930.

 

As with many folk of my age, my ideas and tastes in theatre were influenced by the writings of Kenneth Tynan, and Tynan’s review of the London premiere of Guys and Dolls still reads well: not just for his confident assessment of the show’s quality – “not only a young masterpiece, but the Beggars’ Opera of Broadway”, but his adoption of the language of its Damon Runyon characters: “Miss Adelaide, his ever-loving pretty who is sored up…”; “…being short of ready scratch, Nathan places a bet…”; “I will give you plenty of eleven to five that it is the first fugue that many patrons…ever hear”…;  “I found myself laughing ha-ha… more than a guy in the critical dodge has any right to”.      

This is probably the most famous work of its songwriter Frank Loesser. Songs as strong as any by more famous musical craftsmen like Rodgers and Hammerstein, the fruity, quirky Damon Runyon dialogue and its exaggerated delivery by the flashily dressed small-time criminals; the New York setting – all combine to keep Guys and Dolls fresh in my affections.

 

Reference:   Tynan, Kenneth (1984)   A View of the English Stage 1944-1963   London : Methuen

 

 

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Some Leaf Collecting highlights from 2016

 

Leaf Collecting is now four years old. Many thanks to all its readers.

BBC Radio 3 provided several of the cultural highlights of its writer’s year. For example, the Folk Connections weekend in January;  then the International Women’s Day programmes  which –  even though I tend to share Bernadette Hyland’s view that the day has now been somewhat hijacked by the middle-class –  did educate and reward me greatly about Barbara Strozzi, Amy Beach, Rebecca Clarke, Thea Musgrave and other contemporary composers whom I had never heard of like Judith Bingham, Hilary Tann and Rhian Samuel; the Sounds of Shakespeare weekend in April; and the two great series of snippets from the archives of the Third Programme and Radio 3 to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the former:  Power of 3 and Three Score and Ten.    

Best film of the year: probably Carol , directed by Todd Haynes.

Some fine TV in the Richard III section of The Hollow Crown, adapted by Ben Power, directed by Dominic Cooke, starring Benedict Cumberbatch; in the BBC’s War and Peace, which was actually the first adaptation I’ve ever seen and so the first time in my life when I’ve felt I’ve started to gain some knowledge of this classic work; in QI, a programme whose function is always hard to define but which is always entertaining and informative.

Older TV drama:  Bill Brand and The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.

TV/music: PJ Harvey at Glastonbury – the present day Kurt Weill with a suitably fiery band.

More music: Kel Assouf, the Tuareg band who seem like Led Zeppelin to Tinariwen’s Yardbirds;  Stephen Hough, an intriguing composer and musician who sees himself as challenging the atonal “dogma” of much 20th century classical music. 

Book: the profusely informative and eloquently argued The People : the Rise and Fall of the Working Class by Selina Todd.

Theatre: the Jeremy Dellar/Rufus Norris We’re Here Because We’re Here  looked imaginative and didn’t get nearly enough TV coverage from its supposed media partner, the BBC.

 

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Some reflections on some Christmas songs

 

The annual release of pop/rock songs on a Christmas theme is still widely mythologised  despite long-term reductions in sales. Yet it was a tradition which became established gradually and accidentally. At the start of the 1970s we already had Phil Spector’s distinctive Christmas Album which seemed to follow the playful style of a novelty record like Chuck Berry’s “Run Run Rudolph”. Alongside was the more earnest tone of John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”.

In 1973 came three of the most well-known and re-released Christmas singles, but these were simply the new releases of established groups. “Merry Christmas Everybody” by Slade was the latest in a series of hits which continued for several more years. In contrast, Wizzard’s  “I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day” turned out to be practically the end of their career. Elton John was just getting into his career stride and “Step into Christmas” got a much lower chart placing than the previous two possibly just because he had released other records recently or that this one reached the shops too close to Christmas Day.     

However this was the start of a routine. Popular music acts both famous and aspiring would release a single around Christmas following some tried and trusted lyrical (and sometimes musical) templates. Some you liked to hear again each December, some you definitely didn’t. In this time of goodwill perhaps I might muse at greater length on three Christmas singles over the next 40 years which made particular impressions on me.

“I Believe in Father Christmas”, released by the recently deceased Greg Lake in 1975, is definitely in the sombre vein of “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”.  Childhood sentimentality is rejected in the lyrics, which were written by Pete Sinfield: “they told me a fairy story” but “I woke up” and “saw (Father Christmas) through his disguise”. World peace is a principal desire of the narrator but not yet available; “hopeful” optimism is appropriate but requires individual effort: “the Christmas we get we deserve”.  

The song’s slow tempo tune was livened by chiming percussion and an acknowledged steal from a classical melody by Prokofiev. Happily it was a big hit and was played regularly on Radio 1 during subsequent Yuletides. Ironically, since Lake released the record as a diversion from his normal band work, it may be the record he is now most known for.

I remember in the mid-1980s saying to someone of my age, “There was a time when we thought that “I Believe in Father Christmas” was as grown-up and intelligent as a Christmas pop song could be” and the other chap agreed. Mind you, at the same time, I heard (or read) cool new young BBC broadcaster Andy Kershaw saying that he made trips to the emerging musical countries of Africa and Latin America around Christmas “so that I don’t have to hear Greg Lake on the radio” !

It was only a couple of years later when I heard on the radio a Christmas-themed record by a band I quite liked but who didn’t usually appear on Top of the Pops. A few days later, I heard the song again and by now I loved it. Although I rarely bought singles, I decided I must purchase this one, because the band was not yet popular, so the record would certainly not be a hit and would not be played frequently on the radio.

I was quite wrong. The record, “Fairy Tale of New York” by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl, was a big hit that Christmas of 1987 and became a Christmas radio staple.

Today I find enough things to dislike in the record that I have to think back a bit carefully to remember exactly what I first enjoyed in it. One attraction was certainly the references to New York, a place I loved both in its idealised and real forms and which I had already been lucky enough to visit twice. (The original single’s sleeve had a wonderful old photograph – below –  of the city sky-line). A musical strength was the potent mix of the voices of Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl as they presented the romantic images of “you promised me Broadway was waiting for me” and “the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day”.  But I always winced at the stereotypical image of Celtic male drunkenness at the start of the narrative and the shared insults voiced later by MacGowan and MacColl. I have not warmed further to these elements as time has passed.  So “Fairy Tale of New York” is definitely one of those cultural artefacts where its qualities change depending on the angle or time of approach.  

 

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Fast forward again, this time to 2011, possibly the last Christmas when in the car I would automatically switch on a popular music station rather than Radio 3 or 4. By accident I caught a snippet of a song which seemed to revive some of the musical or lyrical atmosphere of “I Believe in Father Christmas” or “Fairy Tale in New York”.  Fortunately we now had the internet, so I could quickly find out the names of the artistes and could listen to the song for free to my heart’s content.

It was “When the Thames Froze” by (Tom) Smith and (Andy) Burrows, two members of 21st century bands which I had heard of but never from.

“When the Thames Froze” follows the solitary reflection of “I Believe in Father Christmas” rather than a narrative like “Fairytale in New York”. The lyrics seek a balance between the contemporary and the timeless. While the title image hints at centuries past, one striking line is clearly contemporary and political: “God damn this government, will they ever tell me where the money went?” And will they ever take some action about civic discontent and homelessness? The scene described elsewhere is less fixed: the hazards of “snow” and “cold” may not be physical. Whatever, the narrator seems reasonably confident that “my friends” and “you” will support him through difficulty.  As in “I Believe in Father Christmas”,  the ending builds tempo with cautious optimism although here all that is needed is hope and communication rather than effort : “tell everyone…let’s hope the next (year) beats the last”. Like many 21st century pop-rock songs, “When the Thames Froze” seems aware of its shaky structure, which is perhaps why familiar instrumentation touches are re-employed to build the Christmas cheer: brass band, ensemble singing.   

It is widely agreed that our celebration of Christmas has gradually become less religious and more secular. Is this change reflected in this arbitrary selection of three Christmas songs over 30 years? Yes, I think so. “I Believe in Father Christmas” does refer to “the virgin birth” and a faith in “the Israelite” although the narrator appears to be scoffing at this as “a fairy story”. Even fewer biblical references in the later two songs. The two characters in “Fairytale of New York” do not appear to be religious even though the church bells ringing on Christmas Day is an image of hope and happiness, delivered in a major key. And, 20 years later on, when the Thames freezes, perhaps not physically, the only reference to God is in the form of a curse:  “God damn”.

 

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The blessed tightrope-walker

 

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The Basilica of the Annunciation, built in Nazareth in 1969. According to Christian tradition, the church’s location is close to the place where an angel appeared to Mary, telling her she would give birth to the son of God.

 

Although Christian churches celebrate the feast of the Annunciation in March, the event is an essential component of the Nativity and therefore of Advent. “Gabriel’s Message” is just one popular carol whose words focus on it: “thy son shall be Emmanuel by seers foretold, most highly favoured lady.”

When I was younger, the Christian approach to teaching about the Annunciation was usually from a female perspective, such as on the ideals of motherhood, the sort of image which only a woman was expected to empathise with fully.

In later years the Virgin Mary’s acceptance of God’s instruction in spite of her fear has been presented as a timeless example of courage and faith which applies to both genders. I really responded, for example, to the argument and language in an article written by Sally Read in The Tablet in 2012. 

 “(Although) modern women can often mistake Mary’s submission for weakness… her life is (actually) a courageous quietly hair-raising navigation of God’s will… Mary knew too well the tremendous discomfort of difference, and its agonising finale. Her earthly walk through maternity has the breathtaking dare of a tightrope walker, never taking her eyes from God.”

Radio 3 excellent Words and Music series once had a programme about Mary which featured  several engaging and profound poems which I had never heard or read before. One was “Prayer for a New Mother” by Dorothy Parker which looks forward and back between Nativity and Crucifixion in the same way as does her “The Maidservant at the Inn” . Another was the narrative of “Mary and Gabriel” by Rupert Brooke, which, although more old-fashioned, contains many strong images.  

The Annunciation has been the subject of some wonderful visual art down the centuries. For example, the classic Fra Angelico Henry Ossawa Tanner’s highly modern and physical Mary and Arcabas’ more sinister visitor.

 

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According to the New Testament, Mary, after learning of her pregnancy, quickly travelled to her cousin Elizabeth who lived in “the hill country of Judea”. These statues of Mary and Elizabeth are in the forecourt of the Church of the Visitation, in the village of Ein Karim near Jerusalem.

 

 

 

 

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Days of the counter-culture

 

Supplementing a recent BBC4 documentary, the Roundhouse website includes some great historical information about how the 160-year-old former railway shed evolved into one of London’s most active and vibrant arts venues.

The early days of the Roundhouse included performances of the new “psychedelic” pop/rock music, so it was not surprising on the documentary to hear some music by Jefferson Airplane.

Their song “White Rabbit” struck me as eerie and other-worldly when I first heard it several times without knowing its identity on a university union jukebox in 1974-1975,  with its snare drum, climbing guitar line, building crescendo and Lewis Carroll-influenced dreamscape lyrics. It still casts a decently strong eldritch spell today.

 

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San Francisco, from whence came Jefferson Airplane. Photographed in 2000.

 

The programme and web-site impressed on me that Arnold Wesker’s Centre 42 plan for the Roundhouse in 1964 must have been one of the first times anyone envisaged that a former industrial work space might be adapted to arts and cultural use. More recent high-profile examples in the UK have been the Tramway in Glasgow, the Tate Modern in London and the Baltic gallery in Gateshead.  

 

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The Baltic art gallery, constructed from a former flour mill on the banks of the river Tyne at Gateshead. Photographed in 2003.

 

 

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Our changing perspective of World War One

 

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Gravestones at a World War One battlefield, probably Verdun.

 

An earlier Leaf Collecting post recalled a speaker on a long-past edition of BBC’s Newsnight who suggested that a major reason why World War One was being still remembered after a century was the number of its soldier-poets who were still studied at school.

A more recent piece on the BBC website by poet and broadcaster Ian McMillan wondered whether our common view of the World War One experience as one of horror and disgust is actually false, and whether it has been skewed by one single poem, “Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen.

Part of McMillan’s argument is that it was two poetry anthologies published independently in the 1960s, by Brian Gardner and Ian Parsons, which established and emphasised this bleak pessimistic view of the war. This was in line with the anti-war views shared at that time by many liberal writers, academics and broadcasters. This was an era of fear of nuclear war prompted by the Cuban Missile Crisis, the first wave of popularity of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament and protests against the Vietnam War. The social and political climate also boosted the popularity of Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem.

McMillan’s view is shared by Tim Kendall, who has edited a recent collection of World War One poetry. Kendall suggests that Brian Gardner actually provided false information about Owen, for example that the latter was prone to share “horror photographs” with contemporaries who had less combat experience. He adds that the Latin epithet which is part of Owen’s title was used 20 years earlier in a newspaper report by the rather more bellicose Winston Churchill and therefore its application here was not quite as “original” or “revolutionary” as Owen fans have suggested.

 My own collection of the poetry is a later one, The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry, in a revised edition from 1996. As well as the familiar names, it includes female poets and combatants from Austria, Germany, France and Italy. 

Whose poetic experience is the more authentic? When I was young, my impressions were in line with McMillan’s: it was Owen who was the orthodoxy, the accepted spokesperson, with Isaac Rosenberg acquiring some status as the only significant poet who was not an officer. Recently it appears that David Jones and In Parenthesis have been pushed further towards the top of the pantheon.

The one weakness in an argument that earlier readers of Owen inherited the flawed critical perspectives of the 1960s, in my opinion, is that many more of those readers had direct experience of war. Men and women alike might have served in the forces or in reserved occupations at home during World War Two, and others had done National Service. School-age readers had fathers or older relatives who had served – although admittedly, if they were like my Dad or David Hepworth’s, they never spoke about it.

I was really struck when I saw Mike Leigh’s 1950s-set film Vera Drake by that pub scene where men discuss briefly their different war experiences:  such moments must have been a powerful and intimate bond between many of those more introvert individuals.

The status of particular works of art keeps changing, because the ways audiences respond keep changing. Except for that one crucial fact, that far fewer readers or viewers of war stories today have had personal experience of the hardship and danger and sacrifice which are being described and presented to them.  

 

ww1photo

A notice-board somewhere on the Western Front commemorates the vast numbers who died.

 

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