For many years I been fascinated by both Amelia Earhart, the pioneer aviator, and the music of George Gershwin.
Recently I was surprised to discover that two albums about Earhart’s final flight were being released so, naturally, I ordered a copy of each.
The albums are Amelia by Laurie Anderson and The Last Flight by Public Service Broadcasting. I am taking time to get to know each but I would certainly recommend both.
Around the same time as these albums were released I watched a repeat of a TV documentary (BBC Four) about Gershwin’s song Summertime and how it has been taken up by so many different performers and in so many styles since he wrote it 90 years ago – more than one thousand versions of the song have been released commercially.
It was while I was musing on the conjunction of this TV programme and these albums that a thought occurred to me: both Gershwin and Earhart died in July 1937.
Earhart, and her navigator Fred Noonan, were nearing the end of an attempted round-the-world flight. They had left California on 20 May 1937 and made a series of hops through the States, South America, across the Atlantic, Africa, India, the Far East and Australia.
On 2 July 1937 they flew their Electra plane from New Guinea aiming for Howland Island, a tiny speck of land in the vast Pacific Ocean. They never arrived and it must be presumed they ran out of fuel and crashed in the sea, though for years there were all sorts of conspiracy theories surrounding their disappearance.
Laurie Anderson talks about the creation of her album Amelia in this video …
Meanwhile George Gershwin, composer of so much beautiful music including the opera Porgy And Bess – where Summertime originated – Rhapsody In Blue, An American In Paris, and songs such as I Got Rhythm, Nice Work If You Can Get It, They All Laughed and S Wonderful, had been complaining of blinding headaches and a smell of burning rubber.
On 9 July 1937, a week after Earhart’s disapperance, he collapsed and two days later died in hospital. Unknown to him he had a large brain tumour.
Of course there is no direct connection between the death of these two characters but it seems a huge loss to humanity in just a week or so.
Somehow neither Earhart, nor Gershwin’s music, seem old-fashioned and it is strange to think they were gone before so much of the familiar 20th century history took place: the Second World War, the Moon landing, the collapse of the Soviet Union, the internet and social media, rock ‘n’ roll, huge changes in social attitudes, advances in medicine.
Public Service Broadcasring have posted this special video for one of the tracks on their album The Last Flight. This one is about the aeroplane, Electra …
Earhart, an advocate for women’s rights and the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic, was very aware of her public image and the need for publicity. One might imagine her fitting into the modern world comfortably. And the plane that she and Noonan took, nearly, round the world was a Lockheed Electra which, despite being a propeller plane, looks stylish to a modern eye.
She has been celebrated in music before, of course, in Joni Mitchell’s song Ameila from the 1976 album Hejira (one of my all-time favourites). And, I read, the British folk-rock band Plainsong released a 1972 album called In Search Of Amelia Earhart. I must look for a copy.
Earhart and Gershwin were born within 14 months of each other, in 1897 and 1898 respectively, and seemed to live parallel lives out of their own time.
The music of Gershwin never seems to grow old or stale. What a loss he was to the world, at the age of 38. For that matter, who knows what Earhart might have achieved had she not disappeared into the Pacific aged 39?
Here in the 21st century, I highly recommend looking out the music of Gershwin, from opera to classical to popular song. There are plenty of books to read about him and Earhart. And not forgetting the two new splendid recordings celebrating her life from Laurie Anderson and Public Service Broadcasting.
You won’t remember this, Roscoe, but many years ago, in 2012, Kathie was saying we should get a dog. She wanted a Border Collie. Then while I was away visiting family she discovered there was a three-year-old Border Collie here in Orkney looking for a home. So when I returned you were brought to visit us – and, well, that was it, our long story together started.
You didn’t get a great start in life as a youngster and we were advised to change your name. Roscoe was one of my suggestions after Kathie rejected Buster, my original idea.
You were a goofy dog – giddy, one of our friends called you. Do you remember you hadn’t seen stairs before you came to live with us? Once you got used to the idea you would go crazy, running up and down the hall, up and down the stairs, in and out of the rooms. Kathie worried you would fall and hurt yourself.
We enjoyed lots of advenures together although you never really took to riding in the car, unless you realised we were going to one of our local beaches, like the Bay of Skaill or Birsay.
You enjoyed trips on ferries around Orkney and occasionally to mainland Scotland. The first time we went on the big ferry south, the Hamnavoe, we got out on the rear deck and you did an enormous poo. Well, we were outside, you figured, so why not.
You were not socialised with other dogs before you came to us so if we met another fido you would lie down, refuse to move, and stare. After some training at the dog class you improved a little.
Kathie and I made some mistakes with you. Soon after you arrived with us we took you to the West Mainland Show in Dounby and you were completely overwhelmed with the unfamiliar people, dogs and noise. Sorry.
Do you remember you would bark furiously whenever the telephone rang and we had to quieten you with biscuits? In fact, when we first had you any kind of bell or buzz set you offf. You would interrupt University Challenge on the TV by barking and running around the lounge when the students pressed their buzzers. After a while you got to know the show’s theme tune and would start trotting around the lounge before the questions began.
Sometimes when we came home we would find you had chewed your bedding. It took us the longest time to realise it happened every time the telephone had rung while we were out. Once we figured that out we would turn off the bell while we were out. Problem solved. Sorry about that too.
You made us laugh with your antics and it seems you had a sense of humour. You would enjoy pushing the bathroom door open when someone was inside.
Christmas and birthdays were great fun because you loved to rip the wrapping off your presents. In fact, you enjoyed this so much you wanted to open everyone’s gifts. Eventually we were no longer able to put presents under the Christmas tree because you wouldn’t leave them alone. But we didn’t mind.
You – or perhaps I should say we – never mastered walking properly to heel. You were always pulling on the lead, eager to get to the next smell of interest.
After many years with us, it was 12 in all remember, walks became slower and shorter as you had less energy. But you made it to the age of 15 years and 8 months which everyone says was a great age for a medium-large dog.
You accumulated a large list of daily medicine to be taken for your joints and your heart. This involved extra banana and blueberry treats to make the medicine go down. As you got older, you became more reluctant to take your tablets. Also, latterly, you started to beg for food at meal times. It was as if you were saying, I’m old now, I can do what I want.
Eventually, Kathie and I – and, I think, you Roscoe – knew we were getting towards the end. Your legs became weaker and you found getting up more difficult. There were occasional trips and stumbles on the lawn.
Then came that awful night when we were woken by the noise of you having some sort of seizure. It was like you were dreaming, twitching and moving your paws, but much more violently. Frightening for us and, when you came round, disorientating for you.
We were advised this could happen again at any time. We didn’t want you to go through a repeat attack, particularly if it were to happen while you were at home on your own. And we thought you were too old for brain scans and more treatment. We knew we had reached the end of our road together.
So that afternoon, of 31 July, forever etched in our minds, the vet came to the house. It was a vet you liked and your end was very peaceful.
Later that day, Kathie and I managed to dig a grave for you in our enclosure and, wrapped in your Peppa Pig blanket, we laid you to rest along with your favourite toy, Javelina.
It was the most difficult and emotional of days but we knew we had done the best for you, our old friend. We think you would agree. So many tears were shed by us – and have been every day since – but you are at peace.
Having your grave near the house means we can leave flowers and talk to you whenever we want. Of course, your memory lives on in the house.
There are so many reminders of you in our daily routines and seemingly silly events can “set us off”. In the morning I don’t have to save a piece of my banana for you to have with a tablet; if I finish a yogurt pot there is no Roscoe to lick out the container and get yogurt all over his face.
Well, Roscoe, it’s been a marvellous, funny, loving and loyal 12 years – thank you so much, old buddy, you brought such joy to our home, and left us with so many wonderful memories.
We feel your spirit in our lives. We love you. Dear Roscoe.
Graham Brown
Postscript
Kathie and I want to say thank you to everyone at the veterinary practice, Flett & Carmichael, for all their help. You were always made welcome, Roscoe, and everyone would make a big fuss of you.
In particular we should thank Kate Carmichael who spent much time getting your balance of medicine right.
And special thanks to Moira Sinclair who treated you in your later years, Roscoe, including those fortnightly acupuncture appointments with lots of treats, and who gave us much useful advice about managing your last days. It was also Moira who came to the house on the last afternoon to ensure you had a peaceful end.
Earlier this year I left Orkney to return to London – but only for a few days. I spent 24 years of my life living and working in the UK’s capital and, according to Mrs Brown (Kathie Touin), this was my first visit since 2014. I went on my own as Kathie was looking after our elderly pooch, Roscoe.
As you might imagine, London is quite a contrast to Orkney: busy, noisy, lots of people, buses, underground (and overground) trains, endless restaurants and bars, so many shops. Well, you know how it is.
I also spent time in the south of England beyond London, specifically the town of Horsham in West Sussex and the village of Headley in Hampshire.
Northfields tube station in Ealing, once my local stop (image: Graham Brown)
To start with a conclusion… Would I move back to England? Well, I have no plans to leave Orkney but if I was forced to return I would, perhaps surprisingly, prefer London to “rural” England. The appeal of jumping on-and-off frequent buses and underground trains in London for free (I would be old enough to qualify for free travel if I was resident) would beat driving on the crowded roads of the south of England, which I did not particularly enjoy.
Anyway, about my trip. Fear not, this is not a day-to-day, blow-by-blow account, but some highlights and impressions…
The gentleman on the bus
For the London part of my trip I stayed with friends, first in Ealing (my old home patch) and then in North Finchley. To get from one to the other, with a suitcase, it was easier to get the tube to Victoria, then take a number 13 bus along the entire length of its route to its terminus at North Finchley bus station. The bus ride was about 80 minutes long, past many famous spots in central London and then the sights and sounds of a busy Saturday in the suburbs.
The double-decker bus had a luggage rack at the front where I put my suitcase. I wanted to keep an eye on my belongings so sat immediately behind the rack in seats meant for the elderly and less able. I decided I could move if necessary.
As the journey progressed a handful of older folk got on, sat next to me, travelled a few stops, then got off, as well as a young woman who waved a cheery “bye” when she got off.
Then, in Golders Green, an elderly but sprightly man with a walking stick got on and asked if he could sit next to me. As the bus set off he spotted the case and asked if I had been on my holidays. No, I explained, I am on holiday. We chatted about this and that, about how he used to live in east London, how he used to love holidays in his caravan, about my career and home in Orkney.
When I mentioned that, before moving to London and the BBC, I worked as a journalist he said that he had been interviewed by a journalist. I asked him why and he said: “I’m a 91-year-old Holocaust survivor.” What can you say in reply? I think I blurted something about him looking much younger, which he did.
In the short part of the journey left to us before he got off I discovered that he had spent the early part of his life in Hungary before being taken to Auschwitz. The interview with a journalist came about because he wrote a book to record his experiences so they could be handed down to his family.
He was a lovely, apparently cheerful, man who did not exhibit any anger or bitterness but a smile and friendship.
Fortunately he mentioned the name of the journalist who interviewed him – Jonathan Freedland of The Guardian – so I was able to look for the article, which was published shortly after my return home…
I have since bought and read the gentleman’s book, “Chicken Soup Under The Tree” by Ivor Perl, and it is a remarkable story. He came from a family of 11, only Ivor and his older brother Alec survived the war. I would recommend his book as a wonderful example of humanity over horror.
Foxed by the wildlife
Orkney is more than 500 miles from London as the crow flies, though it might not choose such a long journey, and more than 700 miles by car. This distance, and the Pentland Firth between Orkney and mainland Scotland, means our wildlife is different.
Ring-necked parakeet in Lammas Park, Ealing (image: Graham Brown)
So it was good to see two familiar distinctive species in London that you would never see in Orkney: a fox, when walking back from the tube station in Ealing one night; and several examples in Ealing’s extensive parks of ring-necked parakeets, noisy and colourful birds that have made a home in England. I also spotted magpies, very rarely seen in Orkney, such attractive and intelligent birds.
Sound effects
During my stay in Ealing I found myself singing “(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard”, a hit record for Cat Stevens in 1977. It is curious how certain songs seem to pop (no pun intended) into one’s head.
After a day or two the penny dropped. My bedroom overlooked trees and a footpath, beyond which but out of sight was a schoolyard. The sound of the children playing was reminiscent of the sound effects used on the record. That was why I was singing the song.
Speaking of music
The original reason for my trip was to go to a concert. For many years I have enjoyed the songs of Gretchen Peters and I have seen her play live on numerous occasions.
But Gretchen, and her husband and pianist Barry Walsh, announced that they were going to stop touring. They will still make occasional live appearances but no longer undertake long and exhausting tours.
And so it was that I went to see the final date of their final tour at a venue that was new to me, Cadogan Hall, off London’s Sloane Square.
The concert was full of Gretchen’s wonderful songs, she has such an amazing catalogue, and it was beautifully performed by Gretchen, Barry and their small band. The review by Helen Pocock captures the event well.
Gretchen Peters at Cadogan Hall (image: Graham Brown)
If you don’t know Gretchen’s music do seek her out. The review above was published on a country music website and I know this might put off some folk. To be honest, I wouldn’t put Gretchen into the country category, or any other for that matter. Perhaps Americana if you insist.
And, yes, one of the songs mentioned in the review, Five Minutes, is essential to Gretchen’s fans. It tells the story of an ordinary woman’s life, and how it didn’t quite work out, in the most moving way. Take a look at the lyrics and listen…
Gretchen and her husband Barry have always been very good at communicating with fans via social media or, when the opportunity arises, in the bar after concerts.
Nevertheless I was surprised, and delighted, to receive a message on the day of the concert from Barry to say stick around afterwards as he hoped to get a few folk backstage.
So, as promised after the show, my friend and I were whisked up some steps to the side of the stage by Barry and into the depths of the theatre to a small reception room. I got the impression that many of us invited had travelled some distance to the gig.
Barry was very much the host, laughing and chatting, whereas Gretchen at the end of an emotional tour looked happy but exhausted. I spent a few minutes talking to, and thanking, them before leaving them to unwind.
Among the other guests behind the scenes, and looking suitably glamorous, was the actor and singer Elizabeth McGovern, better known to many as Cora, Countess of Grantham in Downton Abbey.
My old office
When I lived in London I worked for the BBC in various locations but mostly in Shepherd’s Bush at Television Centre, which you may have seen on TV, a 1960s building with a bowed frontage. Our office was on the second floor and right at the front of the building, looking out over Wood Lane.
Television Centre still has BBC premises at one end, and TV studios at the back, but much of it has been redeveloped, to create commercial offices and, including my former office, expensive apartments. The old reception area is now the entrance to these homes where there is a 24-hour concierge service. Other facilities include a private members gym, swimming pool and screening room.
Television Centre: my old office window now behind the trees (image: Graham Brown)Me back at Television Centre
I ventured into reception with my friend, an ex-BBC colleague, who had the bright idea of telling the receptionist that between us we had worked nearly 50 years at the BBC. So we were humoured while we asked questions and took photographs (as long as we avoided the residents).
Afterwards we had a coffee in one of the cafes on the site. Outside, in the old horseshoe car park at the front of the building, people were lounging in deckchairs. It was very surreal but I rather liked how the building has been developed and given new life.
A search online shows prices from £625,000 for a one-bedroom apartment to £1.6million for a three-bedroom with a parking space.
Me outside Savoy Hill, former home of the BBC
Incidentally, I also went further back in Beeb-time by stopping at Savoy Hill, off The Strand in London, home of the BBC from 1923 to 1932, somewhere I had never visited before.
All aboard!
I love a steam train so I took the opportunity for a day on the wonderful Bluebell Railway in Sussex. It was the first standard-gauge preserved steam railway in Britain, opening in 1960, and its 11-mile countryside route has atmospheric period stations which have featured in many TV and film dramas. Like all steam, or heritage, railways it is largely run by volunteers.
Bluebell Railway: water for 80151, built in 1957 (image: Graham Brown)
The locomotive I travelled behind was almost new when the Bluebell Railway opened. For those of us who like this sort of thing, it was a British Railways Standard Class 4MT 2-6-4T, number 80151. Appropriately, like me, it was built in 1957 (at Brighton, in the case of the engine). This was the time of British Railways’ final flurry of steam locomotive building before the engines were hurriedly scrapped in favour of diesels, or electrics, and 80151 was withdrawn from service in 1967. Happily it has found a new life in its retirement home.
I would thoroughly recommend a visit to the Bluebell Railway though it is not cheap – they have considerable running costs – so arrive early and take advantage of your ticket which allows you to travel up and down all day.
Old friends
There were many other highlights in my trip including …
Long walks in the English countryside with my aunt and uncle, who live around the corner from Headley Grange, a former workhouse where Led Zeppelin rehearsed and recorded;
Marvelling at the beautiful art in London galleries, on this trip the famous National Gallery in Trafalgar Square and the fabulous Wallace Collection in Manchester Square;
Enjoying the history and nature in Highgate Cemetery, now given peaceful beauty by the trees that have grown around the graves and monuments since Victorian times – so many famous people are buried and remembered there, notably Karl Marx, as well as more recent losses such as George Michael, Douglas Adams, Malcolm McLaren and Alexander Litvinenko.
Highgate Cemetery (image: Graham Brown)
But the highlight of my trip was the people, notably the gentleman on the bus, Gretchen and Barry, my relatives, and those whose names and photographs do not appear in this blog – my friends who I stayed with, or met for meals and drinks. Old friends, good friends, people who I have not seen for years in some cases, but who I am immediately at ease with as if we only saw each other the day before.
I am reminded of the Paul Simon song, performed by Simon & Garfunkel, Old Friends, which has the lyric:
“Can you imagine us years from today Sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be 70.”
For some of us that day is not so far away. Thank you everyone for a marvellous trip.
Finally, at a time of fear and uncertainty for many in the world, some lines I read on a monument at Highgate Cemetery:
“Behold I know not anything I only hope that good may fall At last, far off, at last for all And every winter change to spring.”
I have been fascinated by the radio since a young age when I started playing around with a small transistor radio, moving on aged 11 (ish) to borrow my parents’ large Grundig radio with its better sound quality. I listened to pop music, naturally, from BBC Radio 1 but also from Radio Luxembourg (English service in the evening) and from the pirate radio stations operating off the Dutch coast.
Then I expanded my listening to include shortwave radio stations from distant lands, as well as news, documentaries, drama and comedy on BBC Radio 4 – and in those days there was comedy on BBC Radio 2 as well (Hello Cheeky anyone?).
My interest has stayed with me for more than 50 years. Today I have a large collection of radios including internet radios, on which I can listen to radio stations from all over the world in good quality sound.
So I was intrigued when I came across a podcast called the British Broadcasting Century, something of a labour of love for its host, interviewer and researcher Paul Kerensa.
The podcast’s website describes it as: “100 Years of the BBC, Radio and Life as We Know It. Be informed, educated and entertained by the amazing true story of radio’s forgotten pioneers.”
It makes for fascinating listening. Thank you Paul.
One edition of the podcast featured a modern recording of an old song about radio listening in the 1920s. It reminded me of something I had seen on social media – the sheet music artwork for a song called There’s A Wireless Station Down In My Heart.
To cut a long story short, Paul was interested in the song and we agreed that my wife Kathie, a musician, would make a recording for his podcast. Kathie was able to obtain a copy of the actual sheet music and discovered the song dated from 1913.
There’s A Wireless Station Down in My Heart has words by Ed Moran & Joe McCarthy, music by James V Monaco. The song was written when wireless did not mean wi-fi like today and even pre-dates radio broadcasting in the sense that we know it. Instead the song celebrates wireless communication via Morse code, in a rather saucy way.
Kathie writes:
I had to laugh when I first read the lyrics to There’s A Wireless Station Down In My Heart. The title is catchy enough but I don’t think you can beat an opening line like: “Oh, there’s something nobody knows/I don’t suppose anyone knows”. It’s surprisingly naughty for such an early song, though people were probably just as naughty then as they are now.
It is another of these recording projects I take on where I think ‘oh, that will be easy and quick’ and four weeks later I’m still messing around with the arrangement. It began with piano for the accompaniment; because of the time period it’s an excellent, ragtime-style piano part and really good fun to play.
When I’d added the vocal I thought it sounded like it needed a bit more. So I added some old fashioned-sounding acoustic drums in the background. (Using software, I hasten to add. I’m a lousy drummer.) It needed a clarinet and a trombone, obviously; sadly I was unable to fake a banjo part which I felt it could have used. Eventually I stopped messing around with it and ended up with the arrangement you can hear now.
One difficulty I had was the form. We were lucky to find the sheet music online but when I looked at it I wasn’t sure what the order of the sections should be. The chorus has a repeat marked at the end so one would assume you play it twice through. But there are two verses. I decided to just go with what seemed the most obvious structure (verse/chorus/chorus/verse/chorus/chorus) but that has meant it’s quite long – it clocks in at over four minutes.
I remember thinking that couldn’t be right because I didn’t think the recording mediums of the time would hold that much music. But doing a quick online search, I see that the predominant recording medium of the 1910s were flat discs, usually made of shellac resin. A 10” 78 rpm disc could only hold three minutes of music – this has survived to this day as the ‘ideal’ length of a pop single – but a 12” could hold up to five minutes. So it’s not inconceivable that the song may have been as long as my version of it when it was released. Assuming it was ever released as a recording.
I had to look up the authors in order to register my arrangement and recording with PRS, the performing rights agency in the UK. I could find nothing on the lyricist Ed Moran, but Joe McCarthy (1865-1943) went on to write You Made Me Love You (I Didn’t Want To Do It) with the composer of ‘Wireless Station’ James V. Monaco (1885-1945). McCarthy has a long list of credits including several Ziegfield Follies from 1919 to 1930 and film credits including Irene and Rio Rita. His most famous song is I’m Always Chasing Rainbows. I do find it amusing it took two men to write the lyrics to ‘Wireless Station’ (“Ev’ry time he sends me a spark/he hits the mark/right in the dark” etc).
Composer James V. Monaco had a stellar career with his songs recorded by Al Jolson, Bing Crosby and Judy Garland among others. His first hit was two years before ‘Wireless Station’ with a song called Oh, You Circus Day from the Broadway review Hanky Panky. Four of his compositions were nominated for Oscars.
It was great fun learning all this while working on the song. And it’s interesting to think about the changes in musical styles as well as the technology for broadcasting and recording these men would have experienced during their lifetimes. They were both born before the advent of wireless radio communication but during their lives it moved from Morse code through the invention of the telephone to proper radio broadcasting as we’d understand it today. Recording technology began as wax cylinders then changed to 78rpm flat discs (which were the forerunners of today’s trendy-again LP records). Both men died just before the advent of LPs and using magnetic tape was just beginning to be seen as a possible successor to wax for capturing music. They would have first experienced recording with the musicians grouped around a large horn to convey the sound to the cutting stylus; a decade or so after ‘Wireless Station’ was written, microphones became more commonplace in recording studios, creating a seismic change in singing styles that led directly to popular music becoming such a dominant force in music.
It’s a lot to pack in to a cute little song about a lonely girl and her anonymous operator sending her sparks in the dark when she’s lonely and blue. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did recording it.
Graham writes:
You can listen to Paul Kerensa’s podcast The British Broadcasting Century via this website or via other podcast platforms. Kathie’s version of There’s A Wireless Station Down In My Heart appears in the podcast which has as its main subject matter “Early Black British Broadcasters” (released on 8 August 2022).
To stream or download Kathie performing There’s A Wireless Station Down In My Heart – either in stereo or old-time mono – please visit Kathie’s Bandcamp page.
In less than a fortnight in the summer three people whose music was – and is – very important to me passed away.
They were Nanci, Don and Charlie. Their names written together like that suggest a folk trio though I don’t think they ever worked together. But between them they crossed musical boundaries of folk, rock, country, pop, rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, standards, blues, rockabilly, rhythm & blues and big band.
One of them, a solo artist, wrote some of the most affecting songs I know. Another, part of a duo with his brother, influenced so many of the world’s biggest performers with his singing and harmonies. The third laid down the rhythm for what could be the world’s biggest rock band, while playing jazz in his spare time.
You may have worked out who we are talking about: Nanci Griffith, who died on 13 August aged 68; Don Everly, who died on 21 August aged 84; and Charlie Watts, who died on 24 August aged 80.
They were all artists I was privileged to see in concert – ten, three and one time respectively – all in London except the last time I saw Nanci, when I was briefly introduced to her, in San Diego, California.
The death of well-known individuals brings out a range of reactions in those left behind from indifference to disbelief. Sometimes, when an older entertainer dies, I have to admit that I thought they had died some years before. But not these ones – their loss is keenly felt.
When I lived in London I kept a note in my Filofax – remember those? – of the shows and concerts I attended. This is how I know I saw Nanci ten times and, as it happens, the musical Les Miserables nine times (plus, much later, a tenth time, an excellent amateur production of Les Mis in Orkney). I was obviously a big fan of both.
Listening to the public reaction on radio programmes reflecting on Nanci’s legacy – in particular the excellent Another Country With Ricky Ross on BBC Radio Scotland – it was notable how personally invested people were in her music and upset to lose her, even though she had not been active musically in recent years due, I think, to ill health.
Many people contacted the presenters with stories of how much one or another of Nanci’s songs meant to them, and lots of the correspondents mentioned the wonderful personal and family stories she would tell in concert as she introduced her songs.
Listening again to her material, for example There’s A Light Beyond These Words (Mary Margaret) or Love At The Five And Dime, I was surprised how emotional I became.
Nanci could also be political, not in-your-face but in a more subtle way. It’s A Hard Life Wherever You Go is a thoughtful take on being an American in the late 20th century. While writing this blog I came across a specially-made video for the song which I had never seen before.
At one of the first concerts I attended I was sat close enough to the stage to notice that Nanci was wearing an LBJ badge to remember President Lyndon B Johnson. LBJ and Nanci were both proud Texans but nevertheless the badge surprised me given Johnson’s involvement with Vietnam. But afterwards I did some reading and discovered he pushed through civil rights legislation in the US against great opposition.
The music of Nanci is also the reason I met my wife, Kathie Touin. It’s a long story which I will try to summarise…
Back in the 1990s, before internet access became mainstream, emails made an appearance in my office. I somehow learned of a Nanci Griffith fans email group called the NanciNet and subscribed. And, no, it was not strictly relevant to my work.
When Nanci played at the Barbican in 1998 a get-together was arranged for members of the NanciNet who were attending the concert. We met in one of the restaurants. And that is where fate took a hand. I went with my then girlfriend and my parents, who were visiting me, and as there were four of us we had to join a less crowded table where two folk were sat. These turned out to be a female Nanci fan visiting from the United States and a guy from Belgium.
To cut a long story short, we all became friends, and the Belgian guy and myself visited the American in San Diego – this is where I briefly met Nanci (and Rodney Crowell). Later I made a return visit to the States by which time the American lived near Seattle, Washington and there I met her daughter’s piano teacher – Kathie. A year later we were married.
Nanci’s songs sit somewhere between country, folk and rockabilly, she was hard to define. As well as writing brilliant songs of her own she had a knack of choosing other people’s songs to record and perform which she made her own – From A Distance (written by Julie Gold) would be the best known example, others include Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness (John Prine) and Boots Of Spanish Leather (Bob Dylan).
She also had excellent musicians to play with her touring band. Some, such as the late singer-songwriter Frank Christian, were very talented performers in their own right. And others making guest appearances with her on stage included The Crickets, Odetta and Ralph McTell.
I will enjoy listening back to my many Nanci Griffith albums. We will miss her.
My Filofax records are clearly not infallible because they show two Everly Brothers concerts but I know for sure I saw them twice before I met Kathie. One of the shows had a stand-up comedian as the support act, which struck me as strange. Their band included legendary pedal-steel player Buddy Emmons, the great British guitarist Albert Lee and keyboard player Pete Wingfield.
Do you remember Pete Wingfield’s only hit single? If you do, you are older than you are letting on. It was Eighteen With A Bullet (1975) but, to be fair, he did much else in his career, including writing To Be Or Not To Be with Mel Brooks!
I know I saw the Everly Brothers twice in London because I remember on the other occasion the keyboard player was Ian McLagan, formerly of The Small Faces and The Faces.
Later Kathie and I saw the brothers perform, in Oxford in 2005, possibly the last time they toured in the UK? I remember that Sir Tim Rice was sat a few rows behind us, which gives you an in idea of how well thought of they were. Phil Everly died in 2014.
It should also be noted that though many Everly hits were written by others – notably Felice and Boudleaux Bryant – Don Everly also wrote some wonderful songs, for example the huge hit Cathy’s Clown and the beautifully sad So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad).
And the third member of my trio, Charlie Watts. We all know, or feel we know, The Rolling Stones though Charlie Watts was the most private member of the band. I saw them in concert at the old Wembley Stadium in 1999.
He was a great drummer, not the big flashy drum kit for Charlie, but he was a vital part of the Stones’ sound and I’m not sure how they will manage without him (though early reports are encouraging).
Here’s an expert, drummer Stewart Copeland, explaining Charlie’s technique in an interview for The Guardian: “Technically, what it is, is that he leads with his right foot on the kick drum, which pushes the band forward. Meanwhile his left hand on the snare, the backbeat, is a little relaxed, a little lazy – and that combination of propulsion and relaxation is the technical definition of what he’s doing. But you can try it yourself, all you want, and it ain’t going to sound like Charlie.”
Perhaps that is the way to describe Nanci and Don, as well as Charlie. You can try it yourself, all you want, but they were unique and cannot be copied.
But we can treasure the music they left behind.
Graham Brown
To find out more
Stewart Copeland and Max Weinberg on Charlie Watts in The Guardian:
Recently I received an email saying I had been “a bit slack on the blog front recently”. I agree. I only posted four blogs in 2020, the most recent of which was in September, and none so far this year. Until now.
I suppose I can blame the pandemic and the resulting changes in daily life though, in theory, it should allow more time than ever to be creative. But somehow it can also create a sense of drift, a feeling that there is no need to rush or meet a deadline.
Well, spurred on by the email and by an improved sense of well-being thanks to increased daylight and the approach of spring (it is now light here in Orkney before 7am to almost 6pm) – here I am.
This blog is a bit unusual, you might even say it’s a bit of a cheat. I was looking at my Spotify playlist of some of my favourite songs. The list is not comprehensive and it does not lend itself to including longer or linked pieces of music, such as Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon or Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony for example. But it gives a flavour of some of the songs, performances and artists I enjoy.
While scrolling through the playlist it occurred to me that I could take a selection of the song titles and shuffle them into something like a free-form poem (apologies to anyone who actually knows anything about poetry). I have kept to the songs I particularly enjoy and not cheated by adding songs to the list just because their titles would be handy to help complete the blog.
Everything from the end of this sentence to my name at the bottom is a title of one of my favourite songs.
A song for you
I came to dance It doesn’t matter anymore It’s so different here I don’t wanna know Just dance
Who knows where the time goes?
C’mon everybody Back to California Kentucky Avenue Hit the road Jack Loud music in cars
Is that all there is?
Jeanie, Jeanie, Jeanie Picking up after you Your cheatin’ heart It never entered my mind Hallelujah I love her so
Who does Lisa like?
Heart like a wheel Any road Cypress trees The dreaming fields Waiting on a friend
What’s he building?
Indoor games near Newbury Doctorin’ the Tardis Moments of pleasure Christmas card from a hooker in Minneapolis She blinded me with science
What’s the use of wond’rin’?
Back in the USSR The day before you came All the way from America Sunday morning to Saturday night I met you on a Sunday
Who are you now?
I dreamed last night Walking down Madison Police car Band on the run Don’t come the cowboy with me, Sonny Jim!
Is there any way out of this dream?
When we was fab One of our submarines Brainwashed Cassandra Queen Bitch
What’s going on?
On days like these Everybody’s famous Power to the people Let there be love Stardust
What can a song do to you?
Hello in there Gimme shelter When I get to heaven I’ll take you there Amelia
What can a song do to you?
Say Grace Grace darling Three bells for Stephen Brothers in arms Bring him home
Wah-wah Wah-wah
Waiting for the silence
The End
Graham Brown
To find out more
If you would like to check who recorded the songs, and to see what else is on my growing favourites list, please take a look at this Spotify page…
Please bear in mind, as you probably know, that streaming songs on Spotify does not result in much income for the artists concerned. If you love music please consider supporting your favourite musicians and songwriters through the purchase of CDs, LPs, merchandise and concert tickets (online or, hopefully soon, in person).
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
The sun shining, the sky blue, birds quieter now breeding is over, but numerous sparrows still flitting about our bushes and trees.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
Lots to do in the garden, it gets me out in the fresh air – weeding, chopping, strimming, Kathie (being more creative) planting and encouraging.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
I fall over – stupid idiot – somehow between re-starting the strimmer and standing up I fall over, cut my knee and rip my gardening jeans. No harm done.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
More care is taken with the last of today’s strimming. We admire our progress today. Garden tools are tidied and put away. All done, time for lunch.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
Kathie heads inside first but soon re-appears by the front door. “There is a phone message for you, call urgently, I didn’t catch the name.”
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
I play the message, recognise my friend’s cousin who would not normally call me, I ring back, no reply, leave a message. This will not be good. But I must wait.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
My call is returned, it is worse than I feared. I try to take in what I am being told, say the right things, hold back the tears.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
I recall last night, Kathie and I happily watching TV, relaxing, getting an early night, unaware of the tragedy playing out hundreds of miles away.
I received some bad news today And it was such a lovely day
I was thinking only this morning – “It is time I rang my friend again.” I can’t now.
For the first time in more than three months I am writing a blog entry. I have not written before now for a few reasons: not knowing what to say at this time of pandemic; expecting anything I do say to be overtaken by events almost at once; and, to be honest, not really feeling like writing.
Kathie (Touin, Mrs Brown) and I have not exactly been shielding during the lockdown but we have certainly kept ourselves to ourselves in the main, avoiding in particular big and busy supermarkets. In fact, Kathie avoided shops altogether until venturing into some smaller premises recently.
So while Scotland is easing restrictions more slowly than England, Kathie and I are deliberately taking it more slowly still.
Roscoe our Border Collie on the Brough of Birsay (image: Graham Brown)
We have met one or two friends outside in the last few weeks; visited Happy Valley (a tree plantation), the Brough of Birsay (a tidal island) and the nearby coastline; and this week the piano tuner came to the house – our first outside worker.
We realise we are lucky to live in a rural part of Orkney, where we can get out and about to exercise with our dog without getting into crowds, where we have a little of our own land around us to enjoy sitting, weeding, mowing or just hanging out the washing.
Anyway, in no particular order, here are a few disconnected thoughts about the situation now.
Does petrol go off?
I’m joking, though I guess there might be a limit to how long it lasts before changing composition or losing efficacy? Efficacy, now there’s one of the words that has joined our regular vocabulary in this pandemic year. The reason I mention this is that my car, a red Audi, was reasonably full of fuel when the lockdown happened in March. And, as I write at the end of July, I am still using that same tank of fuel.
Remember money?
On Roscoe’s walk the other day I found a coin on the roadside. I puzzled for a few seconds as to what it was, then realised it was a 5p. I did not recognise it at first because I have handled so little money in the last four months or so.
When visiting big cities in the last year or two I was struck by how most people use contactless cards and credit cards to pay for everything. Now, with people reluctant to handle cash, the same applies to Orkney.
Since March I have spent virtually no actual cash and I have not been to a cashpoint machine. I still have £20 that was in my wallet four months ago.
But here is a potential, if minor, problem… Without spending notes in the shops and getting change how am I going to get the correct money for car parks now that the local council is charging for them again?
More seriously, as with all technology, there will be people left behind who for reasons such as age or poverty do not have access to bank accounts, credit cards and contactless cards.
Kathie and friend walking in Orkney’s Happy Valley (image: Graham Brown)
Is the lockdown saving the environment?
The decrease in traffic and travel has helped our environment but I am not as optimistic about this as I was earlier in the year. I fear our governments will rush back to the old ways to try to get economies moving quickly.
And what about plastic waste? When hair salons re-opened a local hairdresser was interviewed on BBC Radio Orkney. She estimated she would be using more than 700 pieces of PPE (personal protective equipment) a week. I do not blame her, she has a business to run, but creating all this is not great for the environment.
And, as always, a few people are careless so there are already reports of discarded PPE washing up on beaches. BBC News reported that a peregrine falcon had been photographed with its talons caught in a facemask – a possible death sentence for the bird (see below).
Kathie and I, like everyone, have been wearing facemasks for our occasional shop visits. We have been able to buy washable ones and mine has dinosaurs on it (inside every grown man is a ten-year-old child trying to get out).
Like many people I find the mask a bit awkward with my specs but I have noticed something strange which seems to have crept up on me during lockdown. I wear my glasses for long-distance but now I find I can see nearly as well without them as with them – so, I wear my glasses to drive to the shop, then swap them for my facemask after I have parked the car.
When the local optician is open again for non-emergency appointments I will have to see them to find out what is going on. Barnard Castle is a bit far from here for an afternoon drive.
What about Orkney’s economy?
A large part of Orkney’s income, and many of its businesses and jobs, rely on tourism. One survey (see below) predicted that at worst there could be 3,000 jobs lost in Orkney (population approx 22,000) and the amount of money flowing through the economy halved.
Now that lockdown is easing we are seeing more visitors about the place which is great for struggling businesses but does make many of us feel a bit nervous of another outbreak.
A number of people here in Orkney favour the Isle of Man’s approach of closing the border (see two stories below) and thus allowing residents more open use of shops, cafes, restaurants and facilities – though I guess this would not help holiday accommodation providers.
But, even if this was agreed locally to be the right move to make, Orkney Islands Council does not have the same powers as the Manx Government.
I think for most people an even bigger worry is cruise ships. Orkney is a popular destination – more than 150 cruise ship visits in 2019 – but this year apart from one or two in early March we have not seen any. It seems unlikely there will be any calling for the rest of this year though if plans are announced for any visits I suspect there will be an uproar locally.
Isn’t nature wonderful?
As this year goes on more and more dates pass in my diary for events that would have been. The first week of August would have been agricultural show week in Orkney with our local event, the West Mainland or Dounby Show on Thursday 6th – it’s a great social occasion and we will miss it.
But without these events – and TV sporting tournaments such as Wimbledon, the Olympics and the Euro 2020 football – we have been able to spend more time outside in the garden.
California poppies enjoying the Orkney sunshine outside our house (image: Graham Brown)
There is still much to do but we have made more progress this year than in the past.
And there has been more space to appreciate the smaller things, like the caterpillars, and the butterflies, as well as the birds. Incidentally, the swallows have fledged three or four young from their nest in our garage and now have a second brood in another garage nest on the way.
We have been helped in our outside work by generally favourable, even, whisper it, warm, weather. That is, until this week when one day in particular had heavy rain, dark skies and strong winds as if it was November.
Every time we step outside the front door we are greeted by a flock of birds who know we are an easy touch for food. Earlier in the lockdown it was starlings and sparrows, now the starlings are mostly gathering elsewhere and it is nearly all sparrows – plus the occasional lesser black-backed gull.
This and that
Kathie and I decided that we should start to catch up with our many DVDs so, once a week, we have a DVD evening. We started with an 11-part 1984 German TV drama called Heimat, written and directed by Edgar Reitz in an intriguing mixture of colour and black-and-white, and originally shown in the UK on BBC Two. It tells the story of a village from 1919 to 1982 and remains one of my favourite TV dramas of all time. If you get a chance please watch it. (NB: there is also a sequel and a prequel which I have yet to see).
We spent time clearing out the house. To be honest, there is still much to do. But we have got piles of stuff for the charity shops and, when I get motivated, for eBay. The charity shops are starting to come back to life here in Orkney and we have donated one bag of clothes. Meanwhile, it’s as well we can’t have visitors as the guest room is a bit crowded with more stuff on its way out.
If you live outside Orkney you might not have spotted that we had a flying visit from the Prime Minister on 23 July. His visit to Scotland was, partly, in reaction to an increase in support for Scottish independence. Despite his itinerary, and even the fact of his visit, being kept under wraps “for security reasons” there were some protesters who had discovered his plans through social media.
Two concerts Kathie and I were due to attend in May – Gretchen Peters in Glasgow, Rumer in Edinburgh – have been postponed to February and March respectively. Right now I am not sure whether they will go ahead even then and, if they do, whether Kathie and I will feel confident about going. I hope we can. But I expect the artists, not to mention their support staff and the theatres concerned, are also worried.
Meanwhile, Kathie and I are not planning to go anywhere outside Orkney anytime soon. I hope that, wherever you are, you are staying safe and healthy.
Ten years ago Kathie and I moved to Orkney. By coincidence we arrived on 16 April which is St Magnus Day – he is the patron saint of Orkney.
And so each year we go to St Magnus Kirk in Birsay, not far from where we live, for the annual St Magnus service which also serves for us as a marker in our personal journey. But not this year.
Nothing much changed in our first ten years in Orkney and then, last month – everything changed for everyone in Orkney and beyond. Well, yes and no.
If I spend a little time reflecting I realise we have experienced more change since April 2010 than I imagined at first. Most of the change has been gradual, making it harder to notice, with an occasional sudden, often bad, impact.
View from our house on St Magnus Day 2020 (image: Graham Brown)
We enjoy a wonderful view from the front of our house across the landscape of Orkney’s West Mainland – and now there are a few extra buildings in the view; our “field” (it’s an enclosure, really) next to the house now has a stone wall all the way around it; inside our home we have decorated and improved some rooms; and we have Roscoe, our rescue Border Collie, who joined us in 2012.
Some change has been less welcome – Kathie’s musical inspiration and friend Keith Emerson died suddenly in 2016, and before his funeral was held my father also passed away unexpectedly. Last year we lost my Uncle David and here in Orkney we have mourned people we knew in our community.
On the positive side, Kathie had a major operation in 2018 which massively improved her mobility and fitness, then in late 2019 released her first album of music in ten years, Facing The Falling Sky.
We both became RSPB volunteers soon after moving to Orkney, and I have ended up as a (very) part-time member of staff. I was privileged to help mark the centenary of the loss of HMS Hampshire, which sank in 1916 off Orkney. I am a member of Harray & Sandwick Community Council. And Kathie and I are both managers, ie committee members, at Quoyloo Old School which is our village hall.
Kathie and me during the Sound Of Music coach tour in Austria (image: Graham Brown)
In between we have enjoyed several visits to Scotland’s Central Belt, getting to know Edinburgh and Glasgow, as well as visits to Orkney’s beautiful islands, to the in-laws in California and then, after they moved, to Northern Arizona. And Kathie and I spent marvellous holidays in Italy (Bologna) and Austria (Vienna and Salzburg).
All this now seems like another world, before coronavirus, or BC. Already I find myself at home saying something like “do you remember before coronavirus when …?”
Kathie has underlying health issues which mean we mostly avoid the shops. We are lucky that we can get deliveries from our excellent village shop, Isbister Brothers.
We are fortunate in a wider sense because we have my regular pension income. Kathie has managed to carry on teaching her piano students using Skype.
In some ways, for Kathie and me, and I am not making light of this crisis, life does not seem very different. We typically spend time at the house, Kathie working upstairs in her studio and me in my downstairs office. We live in the countryside so we can take Roscoe for his morning walk without meeting anyone.
But then the awfulness of this pandemic – the deaths, the sick, the brave and tired NHS and frontline workers, the closed businesses – will suddenly dawn on me, or Kathie. The radio, TV and online news, rightly, is full of Covid-19. It is important to be well-informed but we avoid watching the TV news just before bedtime to aid a better night’s sleep.
Her Majesty The Queen made a skilfully worded address to the people of the UK on Sunday 5 April, it was moving and reassuring. Later that evening we heard that the Prime Minister had been admitted to hospital with Covid-19 symptoms, then the next day he was moved to intensive care. It was shocking news whether you voted for him or not.
The virus is in Orkney, of course, and at the time of writing it has led to two deaths. We think of the families and friends who are grieving, and unable to hold the funeral they would wish, whatever the cause of their loved one’s passing.
There is a request show on BBC Radio Orkney each Friday evening, something of a local institution, each week for 50 minutes at 6.10pm. Since the lockdown the programme has expanded to fit in the greater number of requests being submitted, starting at 6.00pm and going on beyond 7.00pm.
And now, sadly, folk have started sending dedications to remember their relatives who have passed away – something I do not remember hearing on the programme before. In the absence of a public funeral it is a way to mark their loved one’s passing.
In comparison to the above it hardly seems to matter but like everyone our travel plans are on hold, particularly disappointing for Kathie who wants to visit her elderly parents.
Big events which many of us were looking forward to watching on TV, such as the Eurovision Song Contest, the Olympics and football’s Euro 2020, will not be there.
On a local scale, our monthly village quiz finished early before its summer break. We are not alone, of course, here in Orkney, like the rest of Scotland, the UK and much of the world, everything is off.
In fact, all the markers of a typical Orkney year are gradually being cancelled, such as Orkney Folk Festival, Orkney Nature Festival (along with all RSPB events), the St Magnus International Festival and Stromness Shopping Week. Who knows whether the Orkney County Show and our other agricultural shows, such as the West Mainland Show near us, will go ahead?
One of my favourite pictures: Roscoe and me on the Brough of Birsay (image: Kathie Touin)
When we finally come out of this, whenever that will be, what will be different?
How many Orkney businesses, reliant on tourism, will survive this? There were more than 150 cruise ship visits to Orkney in 2019 – will we ever see so many visiting again? Do we want to?
The environment will have enjoyed some relief from humans, will we build on that to create a greener future? Or will we turbocharge oil, aircraft and cars as we rush to rebuild economies?
What about the NHS? Will it receive greater funding? Or will people – and I’m afraid this is particularly true of some English people – go back to their old ways of wanting great public services along with low taxes. Spoiler alert: you can’t have both.
Will we look again at our UK immigration policies? Seeing the tragic losses of NHS staff it is noticeable how many have backgrounds outside the UK.
Where will Scotland and the UK be politically after this? Will Brexit still seem like a good idea, assuming anyone gets time to organise it? What about Scottish independence? What other unexpected political movements might flow from this?
It is as if the ground is shifting under us, like some giant slow-motion earthquake. The aftershocks will go on for years to come and none of us know what they will throw up and where we will all be at the end of this.
Ten years in Orkney – much has changed. For all of us.
Thank you to everyone working for us at this time, whether in the NHS, the care sector, shops, the postal service, local councils, emergency services, wherever – thank you.
Stay safe if you can.
And let’s keep an eye on the future: let’s see if we can make it better than it might have been.
So, here we are in 2020. What will this new decade bring? Will it be the Roaring Twenties, as it was 100 years ago? Or another Jazz Age? That would be nice.
More seriously, though it can be foolish to make predictions, I imagine much of the decade will be – or should be – dominated by the climate emergency and mankind’s faltering attempts to tackle it. We are not helped in this by the current fashion for populist political leaders who play fast-and-loose with the truth to suit themselves and their selfish interests.
An aside here for pedants, like myself: I know the First Century began with year one and so the first decade was to year 10, the second decade from 11 to 20, and so on, meaning the new decade does not really start until 2021. But after two thousand years, conventions grow and change – sometimes, not always, it is best to go with the flow (yes, Mr Byrne, that’s you).
To be honest, it was only in the last week or two of 2019 that I realised we were about to enter a new decade. I think this is because decades have not been such a big deal since the turn of the 21st century.
In my lifetime we have had the Fifties, the Sixties, the Seventies, the Eighties, the Nineties and then, err… Did someone say the Noughties? Does anyone really like or use that name? And, as for the 2010-19 decade, I don’t recall ever seeing a name attached to it.
The 20th century was the same: the first decade was known, at least in Britain, as the Edwardian era, and the second decade was so dominated by the Great War that no name seems to have been attached to it.
Besides, the labels for decades are arbitrary and only capture a small part of the time period. For more on this read my blog about the Sixties which, I believe, for most people was nothing like the cliches portrayed in TV documentaries.
The last sunset of the old decade seen from our house (image: Graham Brown)
Anyway, for Kathie Touin (Mrs Brown) and I the decade just ended was hugely significant because it was when we moved to Orkney, nearly 10 years ago in April 2010 (more about that later this year). Suffice to say we made the right decision and are very happy here – with our Border Collie, Roscoe, who turned 11 in 2019.
And the year just ended? The highlight of 2019 has to be the release of Kathie’s new album of music, Facing The Falling Sky (see my previous blog). Let me say again, it is a super collection of songs produced in a novel way.
Since my last blog it has been included by DJ Steve Conway in his 8Radio show Conway’s Christmas Gifts – 17 albums he loves and would gift to a friend. He selected, among others, Kate Bush, Paul Weller, PJ Harvey – and Kathie!
Travel in 2019 took Kathie and I to Arizona in February to see the in-laws and I made two trips to Edinburgh, one in May on my own to see Gretchen Peters in concert then again in November with Kathie.
I failed to write a blog about the second Edinburgh visit so here’s a summary. The trip was originally planned because Kathie wanted to see guitarist Steve Hackett in concert. After booking tickets we spotted that, two nights later, Mark Lewisohn (an expert on The Beatles) was presenting a show to mark the 50th anniversary of the release of the Abbey Road album. So we booked that as well.
Both shows were great, we even got into the Steve Hackett meet-and-great before the concert.
Kathie & I meeting Steve Hackett, a gentleman (image: Graham Brown’s smartphone)
Mark Lewisohn spoke (with musical and archive clips) for nearly three hours about Abbey Road. You might think this sounds overlong but if, like Kathie and me, you are a fan of The Beatles it was fascinating at every turn.
We kept up The Beatles theme by taking a day trip by train from Edinburgh Haymarket station (opposite our hotel) to Glasgow Queen Street. Then a short bus ride to the wonderful Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum to see an exhibition of Linda McCartney photographs.
Linda McCartney was a fantastic photographer with an eye for detail and an unusual angle or take on a subject. Her subject matter ranged from international superstars to intimate family portraits. The exhibition, Linda McCartney Retrospective, finishes at the Kelvingrove on 14 January but transfers to the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, where it is on display from 25 April to 31 August.
I would highly recommend a visit and allow plenty of time, there are lots of photographs to admire and you will not want to rush past them.
Our big holiday this year was an 11-night stay in Austria, split between Vienna and Salzburg. I should have written a separate blog entry about this but on return from the holiday we went straight into a hectic period preparing for Kathie’s album launch and the blog was never written.
We had a wonderful time – the people were friendly and helpful, the food was excellent, the cities seemed cleaner than those back in the UK and there was evidence of Mozart everywhere (he was born in Salzburg and lived in Vienna).
Highlights of our trip included the wonderful paintings in Vienna’s Albertina and Kunst Historisches Museums; seeing the River Danube and the fairground wheel from the Third Man film; a brief visit (for me) to Austrian broadcaster ORF; the Spanish Riding School (I went once, Kathie went twice); seeing Mozart’s Requiem performed in the beautiful Karlskirche, Vienna; cathedrals in both Vienna and Salzburg; looking down on Salzburg from the castle, Hohensalzburg Fortress; our Salzburg river trip; and our Sound Of Music coach trip. (NB: lots of pictures coming soon – promise – on my Instagram feed).
Ah, yes, the Sound Of Music coach trip. I was not a big fan of the film but before leaving home a friend said we should do this – I think up until then I was not aware of the film having been shot around Salzburg. When we arrived in the city I thought, why not? And we booked the trip.
It was four hours or so of great fun, travelling in and around Salzburg and then out to the beautiful lakes in the mountains which we would not otherwise have seen. Our tour guide was friendly and enthusiastic, without being pushy, and as the coach travelled between stops we all sang along with the soundtrack of the film.
Julie and me – a stop on the Sound Of Music coach tour (image: Graham Brown)
I found myself curiously moved by the music. I have been a fan of musicals since living in London – when my parents came to visit they would inevitably want to go to the West End to see a musical and I also came to love them.
But somehow the Sound Of Music was associated in my mind with seeing the film as a youngster when it seemed very unfashionable compared to the pop music of the day that I was listening to. All that changed on our coach trip, perhaps I was emotional thinking of my late parents on that day, but for whatever reason I was hooked.
Incidentally, on that afternoon out we also spotted a Bristol Lodekka. Most of you will have no idea what that is, I imagine. It is a double-decker bus, of a type that regularly came past our house when I was a child on Eastern Counties’ Peterborough to Cambridge service. Sometimes in the summer holidays Mum and I would take the bus to Cambridge for a day out. The one in Salzburg was being used to transport tourists.
A Bristol Lodekka – in Salzburg (image: Graham Brown)
They were called Lodekkas, I understand, because the lower deck was step free once you were on board. The person to ask all about this would have been my Uncle David, an expert on buses who has had books of his historic bus photographs published.
Sadly, David (Burnicle) was one of the folk we lost in 2019. He was always engaging company and lived an inventive, loving and productive life – though, of course, that does not make his passing easy for his family. Here he is as a young man, a photograph taken in the year I was born…
Many, probably most, of us will have suffered loss of some sort in the past year – just in the last days of the year came the unexpected death of Neil Innes, one of Britain’s most talented, funny and modest songwriters. To his family the loss will be greatest. Thankfully, his wonderful music will live on.
Who knows what will happen this year and who will still be standing at the year’s end when the Earth’s cycle has taken us around the Sun one more time?
So in 2020 let us enjoy life whenever we can; celebrate each other’s creativity and foibles; spread love to family, friends and to those we don’t know, in our own country and abroad, of our beliefs and of others; and let us work for a better world.
Graham Brown Orkney 