Anna Corbett's Blog, page 2

Here's one I made earlier!

Lockdown affected us in so many ways. During first one I went through different stages:
-Marching angrily around the park, trying not to focus on the gigantic grey cloud hovering above our world
-Laying on the sofa reading or shouting at BJ’s daily briefing on TV (still languishing in my pyjamas occasionally)
-Doing some desultory writing, trying to get more done on the sequel to Masquerade
-Considering housework a chore unworthy of my attention.
Lots of people found the time to revisit old crafts, such as knitting, sewing, crochet and other artistic activities. And here’s some terrible local news: one of the most popular shops in Lewisham is closing down soon: Rolls and Rems. The shop sells a wide array of fabric from quaint floral chintzy stuff, bold prints, net curtains, Asian and African designs, zips, reels of cotton, buttons, etc and a box of remnants which greets you right inside the door. It has always been busy, pandemic or not. The worthy folk of Lewisham enjoy being creative and the shop assistants are probably tired of being asked why it is closing down in February.
My mum was a dressmaker so my me and my sister learned a lot about the craft of sewing, although I was quite envious that my sister’s hemming skills were much better than mine. Some Christmases ago, being short of money I decided to make handmade presents and carried on doing it for two or three years. I come from a large family and needed to start in October. I made drawstring bags, tea-cosies, aprons, little mobile phone bags, table napkins … so on and so forth, most items embroidered with their names. Although my daughters still groan, albeit endearingly, at my clumsy attempts at chain stitch.
The elder one has recently washed her new apron after a couple of weeks of use, since she was afraid it might shrink - so much for food hygiene …and the younger one uses her mobile phone pouch to store other small items instead.
It is heartening to see so many beautiful crochet and knitted things on top of letter boxes all over the country to mark Remembrance Day. I found one in a local street decorated with hand knitted pumpkins on the evening of Halloween. We are an arty lot here and I am very excited to inform you that Lewisham will be London’s Borough of Culture in 2022!!

Autumn with Fadeke.

It’s Autumn half- term week and there are more people than usual on a weekday in the local park. Children are in the playground, riding their bikes, kicking a ball about or just enjoying the beauty of the green space and the trees.
When I shop for vegetables and fruit at this time of the year, I cannot help but create an arrangement of squashes, small striped pumpkins and other brightly coloured vegetables and flowers on the sideboard gracing the best space in my sitting room. The display is reminiscent of many happy years I spent as a primary school teacher, when the children and I made what we lovingly called the ‘Nature Table’. At some times of the year it looked rather bleak but in the autumn our collection was vivid and abundant.
Now retired from the classroom, my nature table at home is created around a stunning sculpture, thirty-six centimetres high and extremely heavy, which the artist entitled: ‘Proud of my New Dress’. Before the sculpture came into my possession she travelled around to various art museums across Europe. I named her Fadeke, after a little girl from my class when I first started teaching in 1974.
I must have taught hundreds and hundreds of children and young people across a career spanning thirty plus years. So many of them made an impression on me and Fadeke was certainly one of them. She was five years old; confident, imaginative and very talkative. So imaginative was she that teaching her to read was - well - challenging to say the least. Most of the rest of the class duly progressed as they learned to recognize phonics, whole words and sentences, in line with what I’d studied about helping children to read.
Fadeke threw all that aside, being far more interested in looking at the pictures on each page. Hardly surprising really when one considers that the stolidly cheerless activities of Peter and Jane left her distinctly unimpressed. She would come up to my desk when it was her turn to read alone and instead of looking at the words, she created her own narrative:
-Why does Peter have all the fun and Jane doesn’t?
- She always has to watch when he climbs trees and rides his bike. That’s not fair!
-Do you think her mum made that dress? I don’t think she likes it much.
- If Jane came to play at my house, we could have a lovely time.
- Do you think she would like to come to my house Miss?
The blank page awaits as the writer ponders how to describe the weird, perplexing images which flutter around in one’s mind. The process and symmetry of an engaging narrative does not always come easily and you can be assured that someone will be quick to point out if you’ve made a mistake regarding facts, timelines and all the rest.
I recently googled the meaning of Fadeke’s name in Yoruba: ‘pampered with royalty’. I knew she was from a Nigerian family but little more. Reflecting on it now, the name was absolutely perfect and befitting of who she was and what she brought to my world.
I would love to know what Fadeke is doing now. I like to think that she is royally presiding over a large charitable organization, using her imagination, confidence and drive to help others.

Immigrant

Immigrant: yes, that word. A word which is said over and over again in our modern world. A word which sadly is often used in a derogatory manner to describe those who have left their homeland for one reason or another. It’s nothing new; human beings have wandered across the world for many centuries.
I visited Cornwall for a few days last week, to catch up with family and to do some research for the sequel to my novel Masquerade. You may wonder what Cornwall has to do with New York and Tiger Bay if you have read my book, but that’s another story. Tourism in Cornwall has been the main industry for many years. That’s hardly surprising as it’s a stunningly beautiful county as you probably know.
However mining in Cornwall was an important part of the European mining history over two centuries and students came from all over the world to learn their skills and expertise. It’s a long and fascinating story; more can be found in ‘Voices of the Cornish Mining Landscape’, by Sharron P Schwartz, published by Cornwall County Council in 2008. Today most of the mines are closed, because the minerals are no longer there. The stunning mysterious buildings grace the landscape over certain areas, often dotted with lichen and ivy, their heavy granite walls showing the wear and tear of time and weather. Following the loss of their employment, thousands of Cornish miners emigrated to countries all over the world, sharing their knowledge, expertise and skills.
Surely sharing our world should be what it is all about. But as we all know there are those who had no choice, when one thinks about Slavery, modern day Trafficking, the Holocaust and too many other dreadful atrocities dealt out by humans to other humans.
If you have read or not yet read Masquerade, I’d like to include this short paragraph which is almost near the end of the story. It was a personal account of my experience when I visited Ellis Island on Columbus Day, a few years ago; it was extremely crowded.
I gave these words to one of the characters in the narrative.
‘Beggars and itinerant musicians approach those who look likely to part with a dollar or two. [ …] A black man, wearing long, dirty dreadlocks and a shabby faded coat shuffles towards me. He looks like someone who has slept rough for many years. He might be seventy or eighty years old, but could be younger due to harsh living conditions. [ …]
He starts to play the Star- Spangled Banner on a dented tin whistle, staring hard into my face the whole time as if performing for me only. The irony of visiting on the day that America celebrates the arrival of her most lauded immigrant does not escape me. But this man is no immigrant. No doubt his forebears were displaced. Not for them was the hopeful spirit of the pioneer. Nor did they stake claim to a land already loved and inhabited. Hungry and homeless, he is twice displaced. The phrasing of the tune is halting, poignant, sad. He stops midway through to catch his breath. I reach into my pocket for a dollar and put it in the paper cup he holds out before I am carried away on a tide of people.
‘Thankyou sister,’ he says, his voice a monotone.

ATC11Oct21

What does it mean to belong?

What does it mean to belong? Sep14th ‘21
If someone asked you to make an immediate response to this question what would be your answer? On asking friends and family I am often met with hesitancy while they consider. I found a couple of books on my shelves as to what it means to belong; note the year of publication.
Concise Oxford Dictionary, Fourth Edition, OU press, pub:1964
Belong: ‘to be rightly classified as member of club, coterie, household, grade of society etc…. ‘to live here, be rightly paced under this heading’.
The Penguin A-Z Thesaurus, Penguin Books, Ltd, pub: 1986
Belong: ‘be a member, be associated with, relate to’
And then there was Google: (current)
-an affinity for a place or situation.
-belonging: A sense of fitting in […] member of a group.
Also on Google: ‘Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, (Simple Psychology), first written in 1943 and developed on various dates up until the 60s/70s. Maslow’s response regarding the need for people to belong is high up on his five- tier system table of needs stating that: (Belonging is) ‘primal and fundamental to our sense of happiness.’
What it means to belong has been the subject of many generations of writers from across the world and across the decades. Here are a few recent examples:
‘Colour Me English’, by Caryl Phillips, (Harvil Secker, 2010)
‘A Search for Belonging’, by Michael Fuller (535 Books, 2019)
‘The Roles We Play’, by Sabba Khan, (Myriad Editions, 2021)

A couple of weeks ago I went to hear the actor David Harewood as he spoke about his recently published book: ‘Maybe I Don’t Belong Here’ (Pan Macmillan, Bluebird Books for Life, 2021) He was tenderly interviewed by historian David Olusoga at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. The brave and honest account of his difficulties in navigating his way through life as a Black man in Britain was sadly all too familiar. His mental health buckled under the stress, resulting in him being twice sectioned at the age of twenty -three. Many of us in the audience nodded and sighed as his story unfolded. I left the hall in tears at the end of the evening as I suspect did many others. I read: ‘Maybe I Don’t Belong Here’ in one day. It was a painful, emotional read; a story which needed to be told, especially to those who don't consider racism, islamophobia and antisemitism to be an issue in this country.
Maslow’s work written in 1943 rings true throughout human history. Tomorrow will be September 14th. On that date in 1731, Sir Frances Child the Lord Mayor of London, made a proclamation banning London’s Black population from learning a trade. Jews were banned from this country by King Edward 1st in the 13th century and finally allowed back into England three centuries later, but antisemitism is still prevalent in the 21st century. Muslims are very often subjected to obnoxious attitudes and behaviour in our society.
A quote from the Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities written earlier this year: ‘In the UK, the best way to build trust is to emphasise to every ethnic group that we treat individuals fairly, and not on the basis of their ethnicity. We respect ethnic identities but also share a common, unifying, civic identity as British citizens.’ (??)
It is 2021. As we watch the news, read the newspapers and see so many vitriolic, bitter comments on social media, it is incumbent on us all to reflect on the validity of those words.

Music and Me

Have I already mentioned jazz ?
August 22nd is my eldest brother’s birthday. Victor sadly passed away 7 years ago; he would have been 82 today. He was a leading light for me regarding my love of jazz. He started learning the piano at a very young age, and introduced me to the music of talented musicians from across the world. He was a dedicated Melody Maker reader and when he went off to university in London he went to see as many musicians as he could. And when I left home for London he took me to Ronnie’s to see some of the most amazing jazz musicians in the world, including Count Basie, Betty Carter, Cleo Lane … the list goes on. I went on my own to see Duke Ellington at the Royal Albert Hall: I think it was 1967. I sat on the floor up in the top gallery and thought I must have been dreaming.
Victor’s career was as a dentist and he was no doubt the most awesome piano playing dentist you would ever meet! He did the occasional gig, also took up the alto sax later on and went every summer to a jazz retreat. He hosted jazz evenings at his house which were attended by Norma Winston, John Taylor, Howard Riley and many other British musicians. Coming from a musical family meant that some of us stood up to perform too. I quite fancied myself doing Sarah Vaughan/Ella Fitzgerald/Betty Carter renditions of the much loved jazz standards, improvising away as if there was no tomorrow. Naturally I ended up marrying a jazz musician and our two daughters were also brought up in a musical home.
I have been privileged to see so many of the ‘jazz greats’ in London and New York over the years. The sequel to ‘Masquerade’ will of course also include music, this time with more of a focus on British jazz from the 1950s onwards and will of course be dedicated to dear Victor.
Thinking of you Vic. Thankyou. xx

Words and thoughts.

‘We spend our whole lives in unconscious exercise of the art of expressing our thoughts with the help of words’ Vincent Van Gogh.

I recently visited an immersive exhibition of the work of Vincent Van Gogh. Having seen a variety of art exhibitions in London, Paris and New York I have to say this is one of the best artistic experiences I have ever enjoyed. Probably like many others, my former acquaintance with Van Gogh’s work mainly consisted of sunflowers, self- portraits showing his bandaged ear and whirly night scenes. How little I knew! The man was incredibly prolific having produced so many wonderful paintings in his short life, and dying aged just twenty-seven. He said: ‘I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.’ And he certainly did.
Masquerade was probably one of the biggest projects I have ever undertaken. The characters’ inner thoughts, responses and actions often took over my dreams, so much so that the real world and the imagined world sometimes overlapped. Although that could be an age thing too …
I’m currently working on the sequel. The narrative takes place in Cornwall and London, both places that I know well having grown up in Cornwall and lived my adult life in London. However, in writing the current novel I don’t have the excuse to jet off to New York regularly to ‘do research’, which usually involves spending most nights in jazz clubs, before going back to my digs on the all-night subway. On one occasion I stayed in NYC for three months. Well, it was only right that I should have the ‘gap year’ I had missed as a teenager.
Once again, I think about the characters as I’m washing the dishes, strolling around the park or creeping about in my flat at 3am, trying not to disturb my neighbours.
Wish me luck guys, as I try to ‘express my thoughts with the help of words’. Thankyou Vincent!

The women in Masquerade

Writing a novel where George, the main character is a different gender and age as myself presented me with much to consider. Here was a man who spent most of his life trading off the way he looked and using women shamelessly in his efforts to secure what he considered to be ‘the good life’. However, he did have some sense of guilt and pangs of regret which he tried to demonstrate in small ways throughout the narrative when he reflected on his behaviour. He was a complex man, much more than just a bad person.
Despite the social expectations of women at the time, I was at pains to demonstrate that those in the story did not all have to come across as victims of their sex. His elder sister Ruby, an intelligent girl, after many disappointments, rose to become a successful business woman. In New York, Alice developed into a confident, strong woman after a life of struggle and tragedy and whose forgiveness and wisdom helped George to find redemption. And if you read carefully, you may assume that the benevolent Sarah Kinsey, whose kindness and compassion for the young women in her care, had past secrets of her own.
In the 17th century, a woman was expected to become a wife and mother, had little agency in her world, whose future belonged to her father and/or brothers. A few of the women portrayed by Shakespeare deviated from the norm. For example, there was the scheming Lady Macbeth, although it has been suggested by some, that perhaps it was because she had not conceived a child. In the comedy, ‘As You Like It’, Rosalind ran from home, disguised herself as a man and played a trick on the man she had in her sights.
Just a few thoughts …

Identity and Double Consciousness

I want to talk about identity in relation to George Hodges: the confused, badly behaved man in ‘Masquerade’; the man who is hiding behind a version of himself which cannot feel true to his selfhood. If any of us were asked a question about how we identify, quite naturally we would probably talk about where we were born and grew up, who exerted the most influence in our lives and the people or issues closest to us.
In the nineteenth century, WEB Dubois talked about what he termed as ‘double consciousness’, in relation to how oppressed people had to deal with dual identities: ‘by double consciousness Dubois referred most importantly to an internal conflict in the African American individual between what was ‘African’ and what was ‘American’. Today, a hundred plus years later, I think the modern interpretation of double consciousness is more about how a lot of us need to navigate ways of developing adequate coping strategies within a society where the default position is considered more acceptable. One example: perhaps conforming and trying to ignore certain attitudes and judgements as a way of surviving, responding to preconceived notions or questions which suggest that you do not really belong … topics for another day …
Consider then George Hodges making the extremely dangerous decision to ‘pass’ as white in America at a time when it was against the law and led to serious consequences if discovered. He naively thought that in doing so, he would be able to lead the high life he had dreamed of. And he did so, usually at the expense of wealthy white women. But leading such a life came at some considerable cost to his racial identity and his feelings of remorse and guilt about the family he had rejected. America was depicted as ‘the promised land’ in the Hollywood movies that he loved; he blandly dismissed the roles played by African American actors as he watched.
Having made the choice, the life he chose was not as straightforward as he had thought it would be and there are references throughout the text of his inner turmoil. That’s until he came to realize what part jazz played in his reflections, together with the love and loyalty of one of the women in his life. When you read it, you will pick up on his interiority.
Laters everyone.
Anna

Jazz Reflections

JAZZ REFLECTIONS ©
Whether or not you have (yet!) read my novel Masquerade, you will soon be aware of the part played by music in the life, the senses and the very core of the main protagonist, George Hodges. He grew up listening to music played on an old gramophone which took pride of place in the family home. The significance of some of the songs he heard meant little to him then. Apart from one song.
‘Nobody’, recorded by Bert Williams in 1905 was a refrain which was to haunt George for most of his adult life as he struggled with issues of seeking what in modern parlance would be known as ‘the American dream’. As you read on, you will understand why.
The life and career of Bert Williams is tenderly rendered in one of my favorite books, by one of my favorite authors: ‘Dancing in the Dark’ by Caryl Phillips, (Vintage Books, 2005), described by The Times as: A compassionate portrait of an enigmatic figure. It’s one of those books you will want to read over and over again.
The first time George heard live jazz was as a young man when he saw Jelly Roll Morton at Cardiff’s New Theatre. And yes, the great man, who described himself as ‘the man from Louisiana who created jazz’, really did appear in Cardiff in 1923! Whether he did ‘create jazz’ or not has often been the subject of much discussion by jazz enthusiasts over the years, referred to later in Masquerade.
But let’s get back to George. Jazz becomes the background to his life as he arrives in New York city at the very height of The Harlem Renaissance. And it is for the reader to decide how much jazz meant to him as he sought redemption for his life -style and behavior for twenty plus years in the city. I could continue ad nauseam about jazz, but I’ll say goodbye for now, or as we say in Lewisham: 'laters', with a soft T; I think it’s called a glottal stop, (with two soft Ts!)

Lewisham Lockdown

Big decision - I decide to take a different route to the supermarket this week. Doesn't take much to make the day special at the moment.
Major considerations:
-Which mask to wear. It's got to be one that won't make my glasses steam up or slide off and end up on the ground. That happened last week; I got so flustered that I put said specs in my pocket and carried on walking. Into a wall. An enlarged eye bag appeared a few hours later.
-Lipstick or not? Yes, if the streets are quiet enough, I can take off the mask. Also need to consider if some potential film director just might come along, who is looking particularly for a 'mature' woman whose hair is white for a few inches before abruptly tailing off into a tiny black bun at the back. The role would have to be someone striking enough to play The queen of Sheba. As if! I'll wear my headwrap but keep the lipstick.
-Clothes: carefully casual or smart? Refer info above.
I'm on my way. the streets are eerily quiet, apart from a few parakeets squawking away at the top of a tree on the corner. A few discarded bits of furniture outside houses, free gifts for passers-by: a computer desk - who needs one now that everyone props up their laptop in bed and zoom away. A couple of grimy armchairs covered with old toys.
Mask still on. Just in case.
I get out my 'phone and take a picture of my first violets of the year, huddled behind a beer can on the railway embankment. I smile and point it out to a woman passing by with her buggy. She can't see my smile because of the mask, but steps aside to the edge of the kerb.
I duck and dodge in the supermarket, fraught with terror if anyone coughs, or only covers their mouth, but not their nose.
Back indoors the ritual begins:
- wash hands
-wipe down keys, door handles, 'phone and shopping
-wash hands
-get undressed, put pyjamas back on
-wash hands, wash hands, wash hands ...
Take care of yourselves everyone