Adam Yamey's Blog: YAMEY, page 85

Playing the music of Thomas Tallis without much feeling

JUST AS A PHOTOGRAPHER should try to capture what he or she feels about a subject, rather than attempting to copy it slavishly, I feel that good musicians should not only reproduce what is in the composer’s score but also express what they feel about it and what it means to them as they play.

Last night, the 19th of June 2023, we attended a concert of music by Thomas Tallis (c1505 – 1585) performed by the Tallis Scholars at Cadogan Hall (see photograph) in Sloane Square. As far as I could tell, the choir sung well. But I felt for most of the concert they were concentrating on accuracy more than anything else – the result seemed sterile to me. It was only during the final piece “Spem in allium” that the performer’s music sprung to life magnificently – it was an uplifting performance of this piece.

Come with me in my Ferrari

Fort Kochi (Fort Cochin) is the picturesque, historic part of Kochi – a port on the coast of Kerala in southwest India. Occupied at various different times by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British, this small urban area at the northern tip of an island contains many buildings that recall the town’s former foreign occupiers.

Essentially, the historic town centre consists of a few short streets and some open spaces. Fort Kochi is built on flat terrain, and is a paradise for walkers even in the hot, humid weather that prevails most of the year. As a consequence, the large number of autorickshaw (‘auto’) drivers often seems to outstrip customer demand.

From dawn to after dusk, auto drivers cruise around the town in their empty vehicles, looking for customers. We usually spend at least a week in Fort Kochi every year, especially when the excellent Kochi-Muziris international art biennale is in progress. So, individual auto drivers get to know us as we stroll around. They stop and ask us if we need a ride. We tell them that we are walking. So, when they next see us, optimistically they invite us to take a ride. When we turn them down, they say to us in an understanding way:

“Walking, walking! – always walking.”

Other auto drivers, who either do not recognise us or are trying to tempt other tourists into their cabs, say:

“See my Ferrari. Come and take a ride in my Ferrari.”

This always amuses me because to describe an auto as a Ferrari is rather like describing a pigeon as an eagle.

On the subject of Ferraris, there are some in India. One of them, an eye-catchingly bright yellow, belongs to, or is driven by, a young man who is the late teenaged son of a wealthy family in Bangalore. Because this is not a type of vehicle that could be safely parked in most parts of the city, he can only use it to drive to and from the exclusive Bangalore Club, where he can park it in an area well policed by security guards. At his home, he parks it in the safe compound containing his residence. Given the density of traffic and the daring driving in Bangalore, it is amazing that he feels safe enough to flaunt his precious car on the roads between his home and the Club.

Keeping watch in the Kyoto Garden

LONDON’S HOLLAND PARK contains a lovely area – the Kyoto Garden. It is a well-maintained Japanese-style garden. I visit it frequently. Each time, I see something different there.

The garden is planted around a small pond in which there are several rocks, which look like miniature islands. Today, I saw a heron perched on the summit of one of these rocks. It stood still, moving its head slowly every now and then. It showed little interest in the many fish that swim in the pond. My wife noticed that there was a nest containing eggs just below the bird’s feet. The creature stood like a sentinel, guarding its future offspring.

I could see four eggs in the nest – there might have been more. In general, so I learned from Wikipedia, the various species of heron are monogamous and lay between three and five eggs. I have no idea what species I saw in the Kyoto Garden, but it is the first time I have seen a heron’s nest with eggs anywhere in Holland Park.

Broken glass, but life remains intact

The glass is broken

The mirror image is distort’d

But life goes on

Trees at sunset in Kensington Gardens

YESTERDAY EVENING, WE took a stroll in Kensington Gardens when the temperature was beginning to drop. The sun was low in the sky. This caused some parts of trees to be shadowed by neighbouring trees so that lovely patterns of light appeared on them. One any particular tree, part of its foliage was brightly coloured because the rays of the sun could reach it, and other parts appeared dark green because the sun could not reach them. All this is obvious when you see it described in words, but wonderful when you see it in life.

PS: It is light effects such as these that make it difficult for artists to paint trees

An out of date passport and a different world

OFTEN WHEN ONE IS SEARCHING for something, something, which you were not looking for, comes to light. A day or so ago, one of my old passports was discovered. It is an old-fashioned, blue-covered book with barely a trace of the wording and crest that used to be on the cover. I used to carry my passport in a trouser pocket, which rubbed against it and gradually denuded the cover. The ten-year document expired on the 19th of March 1990. This was a couple of months before I made my last trip to what was still known as ‘Yugoslavia’. Soon after that, civil wars erupted, and the country became divided into smaller independent units.

The passport gives my height but not my eye colour, which used to be recorded in earlier passports. It contains eight Hungarian visa stamps (one is illustrated above), all issued in London except for one which was affixed in Belgrade. There is also a Bulgarian visa stamp, which was issued in March 1983. In addition to these visa stamps, for which I was charged roughly $10 each, there are many border stamps – entry and exit. Most of these are for Hungary and Yugoslavia, which I visited frequently throughout the 1980s. In those days, Brits did not need a visa to enter Yugoslavia.

One of the border stamps is of special interest. It was issued when I entered Yugoslavia at Bozaj on the 5th of June 1984. Bozaj, now in the Republic of Montenegro, was a Yugoslav border post on the shore of Lake Shkodra. The stamp was placed in my passport a few minutes after leaving the Albanian border post, also beside the lake, at Han-i-Hotit. It was here that an Albanian entry stamp was put in my passport two weeks earlier when I visited the country, which was then even far more mysterious than North Korea is to us today. In 1984, the Stalinist regime headed by Enver Hoxha was still in place. The two weeks spent in Albania were both fascinating and unusual to say the least. I have described that holiday in my book “Albania on My Mind.”

In addition to the visas and stamps issued by socialist countries, there is one Greek entry and one exit stamp, both issued at Athens airport in August 1981. It seems that I was in Greece from the 11th to the 17th. Another stamp issued on the 13th by the Piraeus branch of the National Bank of Greece takes up most of one page and has something to do with money and traveller’s cheques, but my Greek is not up to translating it.

The accidental finding of this old passport brings back many happy memories of travelling in parts of Europe that have now changed beyond recognition – for better or for worse.                                                                                                 

The Poles in London’s Marylebone

IT ALMOST GOES WITHOUT saying that wherever you are in central London, you are never more than a few footsteps away from a spot that has played a role in significant historical events. Most of these historical spots have been recorded, and therefore are not unknown to at least a few people. However, when walking around London, I often come across a memorial which I had not noticed before despite having passed it several times. Such is the case with number 51 New Cavendish Street – a brick building in Marylebone, which we have walked past several times recently.

Number 51 bears a commemorative plaque which has the following information:

“This building housed the headquarters of the Polish navy during 1939-1945”.

Underneath this, but in much smaller letters, are sixteen Polish names. From an informative website (https://wartimelondon.wordpress.com/2018/12/12/new-cavendish-street-and-the-free-polish-navy/), I learned that these are the names of Polish naval vessels -ships and submarines.

Poland became an independent country at the end of WW1. By 1920, then with only 90 miles of coastline, Poland began to construct a navy. This was based in Gdynia, near to the ‘free port’ of Gdansk (Danzig), which was not under Polish control. In 1939, with little chance of withstanding attack by the Germans, Polish naval vessels began leaving the Baltic, and heading for British waters. In late 1939, Polish Naval Headquarters were established at 51 New Cavendish Street. Although the Poles had administrative control over their vessels, operational control was dictated by British military requirements. Between 1939 and 1945, the number of men working in the exiled Polish Navy increased from 1000 to 4000.

After the end of WW2, in September 1946, the Polish Naval Detachment in the UK was disbanded. One of its warships was handed back to the new Communist government of Poland. Only a few of the naval personnel felt able to return to their native land now that it was under Communist rule.

Well, I knew a little about the exiled Polish Air Force and have visited Audley End House, where Polish Special Operations Executive personnel trained before being dropped behind the lines in German-occupied Poland. I have even eaten dinner at a Polish Airman’s Club in South Kensington, but this place’s restaurant might well have closed since then. However, until my most recent visit to New Cavendish, I did not know anything about Poland’s navy and its role in WW2.

An industrious little creature

This pollinator

Labouring most diligently

Just let it bee

An artist and a traffic roundabout

THE FOLLWING FIVE ROADS meet at West London’s busy Hogarth Roundabout: The Great West Road, Church Street, Burlington Lane, Hogarth Lane, and Dorchester Grove. Excepting Church Street, they are all major thoroughfares, which carry a great deal of traffic. The roundabout is named after the artist William Hogarth (1697-1764), whose former home, Hogarth’s House – now a museum, is close by.

The museum at Hogarth’s House contains a large collection of prints created by Hogarth. All of them illustrate 18th century life in Britain in exceptional detail. The artist did not portray scenes straightforwardly. He portrayed the people and what they were doing in a satirical – sometimes comical – way. So, that what we see today is not only how things looked in Hogarth’s time but also what he felt about them.

Amongst the prints on display, there is one created in 1997 by the cartoonist Martin Rowson (born 1959). It depicts the chaos, dirt, and traffic at Hogarth Roundabout as Hogarth might have done had he been alive to see it. This entertaining print, which was made to commemorate Hogarth’s 300th birth anniversary, includes details copied from Hogarth’s prints. It is a fascinating addition to the collection of the small museum.

A homely pavilion in the park

EVERY YEAR SINCE 2000, the Serpentine Gallery in London’s Kensington Gardens has commissioned the construction of a temporary pavilion in its garden. These pavilions have two things in common. One is that they contain a café and the other is that it must be designed by a noteworthy architect who has never had one of his or her creations constructed in England. Almost all the pavilions constructed to date have been examples of adventurous and exciting architecture. This year’s architect is Lina Ghotmeh, who was born in Lebanon and now works in her studio in Paris.

Given the French name “À table”, the circular timber pavilion was conceived as a place for people to sit together and chat, just as they would around a dinner table. Given this aim of the architect, it succeeds. To enhance her aim, the specially designed tables and chairs are arranged in a circle. As my wife said, it is the homeliest of all the pavilions built to date. Unlike some of the earlier pavilions, one does not feel that one is entering an unfamiliar, or even alien, environment. Despite its welcoming nature and very human scale, the pavilion’s design is far from mundane. Although it is far from being amongst the most visually spectacular of the temporary buildings, it is pleasing to the eye. I will certainly visit it again before it is dismantled on the 29th of October 2023.