WNO anniversary milestone

Last night we agreed that the holiday letting we fancy booking is an apartment overlooking Aberaeron harbour. There was a glitch when Clare tried to book on-line, so I rang up this morning and was pleased to find the place was still available. The letting company Wales Cottage Holidays uses a simple payment system working on any 'phone with a tone dial keypad. It's good for those who are unable to pay on-line, and resembles the remote banking transaction system used in parts of Africa, where usable internet is scarce but landlines or more likely, Nokia type mobile phones are commonplace. We've booked for late June, to be on the safe side given that my op is at the end of May. We've visited Aberaeron before when holidaying in Ceredigion. It's a long wait, but something lovely to look forward to.

There were fifteen of us at St John's for the midweek Eucharist I celebrated this morning. Walking home with Fr Benedict afterwards, I discovered that one of his passions is the history of liturgical development. In fact, he's doing a PhD on early Christian eucharistic prayers, and how understanding them has evolved over the past half century. This was something I also found interesting when I was studying for ordination, so I look forward to reading his work when he eventually publishes it.

We had blue sky clouds and rain showers today, and fortunately not when I walked in the park after lunch. I got back at four in time for a Zoom session put on by the Welsh National Opera, reviewing the seventy five years of its life, celebrating its remarkable evolution from a small group of keen amateur singers and musicians, which held its inaugural meeting in a Crwys Road chapel at the end of the war, to a world class professional touring company with its own full time chorus and orchestra. 

It was a delightful hour's watching with the WNO's archivist telling the story and former musical directors being interviewed, and telling anecdotes. The best true story was about a pioneering visit to the former German Democratic Republic, during the Cold War. Somebody joked about the need to omit punctuation from performance related documents, liberetti and technical schedules and notes, just in case the Stasi held up the documents, vetting them scrupulously for embedded microdots. The administrator took it seriously and to everyone's astonishment produced punctuation free paperwork. This occurred in the days before word processors. Imagine!  

This evening we sat together and listened to Oscar Peterson, and Miles Davis albums, and I drafted the last couple of Rogationtide reflections for next week. In many ways listening to jazz takes me back to my youth as much if not more than listening to sixties pop songs. It's far richer and diverse musically than pop songs (few of whose lyrics I can ever remember completely) and like opera, has far more meaning for me. I'm so glad that i grew up in a family with such broad musical tastes. Dad was always contemptuous about the new wave of rock and pop music when I was growing up. I think I understand why now. 

 

Musical journey

While the romantic world thinks of this as Valentine's day, the churches' calendar celebrates Sts Cyril and Methodius today. Two Greek brothers born in 9th century Salonica, educated in Constantinople, capital of the eastern Byzantine half of the empire. They became missionaries to the Slav tribes of the north eastern borderlands of the empire, learned to speak the language, invented the Glagolithic alphabet based on Greek letters, with extra characters, and produced the first written version of scripture and liturgical texts in Old Slavonic, still widely in use today in Eastern Orthodox Churches. They are regarded as cultural heroes to all who speak Russian and other Slav languages, religious affiliation notwithstanding. The written script is often described as Cyrillic after its inventor.

Methodius was for many years a Deacon but was made a Bishop in Hungary, and died in the Czeck Republic. Cyril was ordained priest. After a career as an imperial civil servant, probably the reason why his literary and scholarly gifts were put to good use, he returned to Rome at the end of his life. Reading part of his story in the Breviary office of the day this morning, I learned how he fell ill, and finally retired. He dressed in his priestly vestment and declared joyfully "I am no longer a servant of the emperor or of any man, but only of God Almighty.", and spent his last days exclusively in praise and worship. If a missionary doesn't get killed on duty, there can be no better way to leave this world, focusing on the one thing that is essential.

Not a romantic sort of Valentine's Day for me this year, but a trip to Kenilworth and overnight stay to look after Rhiannon, while Kath and Anto are away performing the Wriggledance show in Stamford, at the venue where we watched them perform their first show three years ago. How hard they've worked since then to get funding, create a new show and tour it around the country for twice the number of performances, especially in the present economic climate.

First, however, I had a bereavement visit to make out in Coryton, fortunately not far from the north Cardiff M4 interchange, so I was soon on my way up the motorway afterwards, listening to albums of CD recordings by jazz virtuoso pianist Oscar Peterson, from a box set of ten given me recently by my sister June. The second of the two that provided the sound track for my journey came as a surprise, as it featured an All Star band which did a world tour back in the sixties and seventies, accompanying Fred Astaire, singing songs by Irving Berlin, some of which were made famous from their use in his song and dance movies with Ginger Rogers and others.

Two thirds of the nearly two dozen songs on the album were songs I remembered well from my upbringing in a musical household with very eclectic taste, classics, jazz and the great American 20th century songbook. I knew at least half the words of lots of them, and could sing along with. They all conjured up happy memories of childhood and youth in a household never lacking in song.

I arrived Kenilworth just as the schools were coming out, and Rhiannon arrived just after I did. After supper and before setting out for Stamford, all were busy with engagements, so there wasn't much for me to do. At nine Kath and Anto set off, and had a clear run all the way for their hour and a half trip. They'll return in time for supper tomorrow, having done two afternoon performances. For once they'll be in a venue where I can imagine them in action.

Double duty, then respite

Back to St German's for the Wednesday school Mass, with a class that seems more eager than others to sing at the service. After coffee and a chat in the Day Centre, I had to return home and arrange another bereavement visit, for a funeral on the thirty-first of this month, passed on to me by Fr Phelim. This one, will be that of a young girl who died unexpectedly of a winter bad chest. It's usually people my age and older who succumb to 'the pensioners' friend', except when there's a major epidemic, from which God preserve us. This will doubtless come as a shock to the extended family, and they'll need plenty of time to prepare, so the sooner I can make contact the better. By lunchtime, I had secured a rendezvous for Friday morning at St Catherine's.

Thursday morning, a walk to St John's Canton to celebrate their midweek Eucharist, then a return home to await collection an hour later to return to St John's to officiate at a funeral. This was followed by a journey to Thornhill for the burial, then an hour in the Crem waiting room until my second funeral office of the day was due to start. I used the free time to complete my Duo Lingo daily exercise, as best I could given the flaky signal, and was quite surprised, given the distractions, to get 100% again, eleven days after the last time. I thought the set of exercises were easier than others lately. Difficulty levels in the exercises seem to vary, but so does my ability to avoid typos, memory and attention lapses.

I was home again by five and eating an early supper prepared by Clare, so we could leave early and walk across the Taff to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. Clare is a supporting 'Friend' of the College, and gets concert information and ticket concessions. This evening, we heard a performance from an excellent and classy jazz ensemble - piano, bass, drums, alto sax - music students playing standards from the 'cool' era of the fifties and sixties, in a manner of the Dave Brubeck Quartet. This kind of is part of the musical sound track of my early adolescence. I'm familiar enough with the music to know it almost off by heart, to know that they were exploring this music with fresh positive energy. It wasn't just faithful reproduction, it was proper jazz, and had me smiling from ear to ear.

Then we had a solo recital from a brilliant pianist, playing pieces by Debussy, Liszt and Chopin with great sensitivity and passion, making full use of a fine concert instrument, plumbing the depths of its finest subtle sounds in quiet pieces as well as its rich energy in the stormy dramatic moments. I found myself reflecting of the different emotional energies of these contrasting kinds of music for the first time and maybe that's a result of being in a smallish recital room with excellent an acoustic, making for an intimate direct experience of hearing music without the meditation of electronic amplification. The jazz spoke of the delight of playful adventure with simple melody, harmony, rhythm. The classical pieces in all their variety and length, explored the range and depth of powerful emotion, from contemplative awareness to passionate grief and anger. All this comes from the music as much as from the performer, and maybe somewhat from the hearer as well.