Samuel and Hiawatha.

 Chi-chi Nwoanoku

A friend and I were given tickets to a concert in the Concertgebouw last Friday, when the purchaser was unable to go herself. This stroke of luck enabled me to see a documentary on Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, the composer, before a marvellous concert by the Chinekei Orchestra playing Coleridge-Taylor and Brahms. The orchestra is a BME group started by Chi-chi Nwanoku four years ago. It was also she who is responsible for the excellent documentary.

Samuel in a portrait in 1881
by Walter Wallis, now in
the National Portrait Gallery.
It was a surprise to find this
portrait, considering
Samuel's background.

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor 1875-1912

 Samuel with Jessie, his wife and their children,
Hiawatha and Gwendolyn Avril.

It is with some shame that I admit that I had never heard of Samuel but there is a lot of information on him available. He was born in 1875 in Holborn to Alice Martin and Dr Daniel Taylor, a Creole from Sierra Leone who was studying medicine in London. Daniel never knew of the pregnancy nor of the existence of his son; he became a prominent administrator in West Africa, eventually becoming Coroner for the British Empire in the Province of Senegambia in 1894. Alice named her son after the famous poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and they lived with her father, Benjamin Holmans, a farrier, in Croydon; she eventually married a railway worker, George Evans, in 1887. Benjamin was an amateur violinist and there were other musicians in his wider family. Benjamin taught Samuel to play the violin from the age of 5, eventually paying for violin lessons for him while someone in the extended family arranged for the boy to study at the Royal College of Music from the age of 15. Samuel, studying under a notable professor, Charles Villiers Stanford, changed from specialising in violin to composition and after completing his degree, became a professional musician, soon appointed a professor at the Chrystal Palace School of Music and conductor of the orchestra at the Croydon Conservatoire. Samuel married Jessie Walmsley whom he had met at the Royal College of Music, in 1899 after overcoming her family’s opposition on account of his mixed race parentage. They had two children, Hiawatha and Gwendolyn Avril, both of whom went on to have careers in music.

Theodore Roosevelt

By 1896 Coleridge-Taylor was earning a national reputation as a composer; Edward Elgar recommended him to the Three Choirs Festival where Samuel’s Ballade in A Minor was premiered. His early works were guided by the influential music critic and editor, August Jaeger of the music publisher, Novello, who regarded Coleridge-Taylor as a ‘genius.’ His Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast, conducted by his old professor, Charles Villiers Stanford at its 1898 premiere, became wildly popular and on the strength of that, Samuel made three tours of the United States, on the first of which he was

 Paul Laurence Dunbar, poet.

received by President Theodore Roosevelt, a rare honour then for a man of mixed race, however eminent. He was very popular indeed among African Americans and in London, he collaborated with Paul Laurence Dunbar, setting some of Dunbar’s poems to music. Coleridge-Taylor became increasingly interested in his father’s family history, featuring as it did, the release from slavery of his forbears after the end of the American Revolutionary War and their eventual settlement in Sierra Leone.

Throughout his adult life, Samuel composed constantly. However, composers were not handsomely paid for their creativity and he made an early bad mistake. He sold the rights to Hiawatha, copies of which were destined to be sold in hundreds of thousands over the years, outright to Novello for £15 when he needed money to get married. He did learn to retain his rights and earned royalties for other compositions but he always struggled financially. He died too young, at 37, in 1912, of pneumonia in which financial stress was also believed to have played its part.

His greatest success was undoubtedly Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast, widely performed during his lifetime and for decades thereafter. He also wrote two more Hiawatha cantatas and the tremendously popular Hiawatha seasons at the Royal Albert Hall continued until 1939. Among his other works were chamber music, anthems and The African Dance for violin; his Petite Suite de Concert is still played. Books and music about Coleridge-Taylor’s life and legacy are available through the Foundation which bears his name and the Samuel Coleridge-Taylor Foundation.

King George V granted Jessie, his widow an annual pension of £100 in 1912; a memorial concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 1912 garnered £300 and his loss of rights to Hiawatha, [one of the most successful and popular works written by anyone during the fifty years before his death] contributed to the formation of the Performing Rights Society to gain due future rights for composers to the fruits of their work.

Samuel’s close friend, the poet Alfred Noyes, wrote the following inscribed on his tombstone:

Too young to die,

his great simplicity

his happy courage

in an alien world,

his gentleness

made all that knew him

                                                                               love him.

The popularity of Hiawatha continues.

Coleridge-Taylor wrote music of extraordinary charm, inventive, sometimes lyrical, sometimes majestic. Nothing he composed came near to catching the public imagination and the devotion of choral singers, like his Hiawatha. The poignancy of his life story touches the observer; to live in near-poverty, while simultaneously enjoying wide recognition of his talents, and when his rights to Hiawatha could have provided him and his family with a steady income, is the saddest aspect of that narrative.

Coda

A friend with strong musical interests Facetimed me a couple of days after the Chinekei Orchestra concert and the Coleridge-Taylor documentary and I confessed to him my earlier ignorance and how my interest had been awakened. Immediately he said that ‘of course’ he knew of Samuel and his compositions and proceeded to give an instant mini-lecture. I was mortified!

Pomperlut

Just had my youngest to stay for nearly a week and what a pleasure it has been. Long enough to 

The much smaller Lyre of Ur replica with
some of Luc Vanlaere's other harps

Exceller Bikes' tables for coffee or beer

enjoy activities together and not too long for her to feel a bit bored at my slower pace of life!! I hadn’t realised she had never attended a Luc Vanlaere concert in Oud Sint Jan and his performance proved to be as delightful for her as it has been for me on numerous occasions. Our visit also gave me the opportunity to see again his splendid  reconstruction of the nearly 5000 year old Lyre of Ur about which I wrote in my September blog. This time Luc played the Lyre and also showed a video/commentary in which he described the early excavation of two original remains of Lyres in Southern Mesopotamia in 1929, plus a brief description of how his replica came to be made.

I failed to get Cait to visit the wonderful Gruuthuse Museum this time, but we did go for a beer to her favourite bike shop, Exceller Bikes in Philipstockstraat, a quirky venue with expensive bikes and equipment plus chic black tables and chairs, inside and out, for clients to sample a beer or coffee. We learned from the owner that in January/February the area in front of the shop will be transformed into a small square, facilitated by closing off Twijnstraat. Great for the shop and for future clients.

On Friday evening, as a final flourish, we went to Pomperlut on

 Pomperlut, a lovely 17th century building on
Minderbroedersstraat, Brugge.

Minderbroedersstraat, opposite the children’s playground end of Astridpark. It is superb and should be jointly ranked with The Park [on the same street] as Number One Restaurant in Brugge instead of at sixth or seventh! We had delectable tapas to start and shared the two mains featuring shrimps, and beef with gamba, which made the taste buds sing. We could not eat a dessert but one of the lovely waiters nonetheless brought us a free shared bowl of tiramisu which we managed, just, to eat. The restaurant itself is architecturally very pleasing with interesting lighting and various decorative touches featuring mushrooms and toadstools, Pomperlut being an old Flemish word for mushroom. The only downside to this wonderful restaurant is the cost which rather rules it out as a frequent treat! Although I did save money on the Saturday as I was hardly able to eat anything all day.

 Berthold Kijken

On the Sunday morning, I strode off to find Hauwerstraat 3A just off ‘t Zand where the first Aperitief Concert of the fortieth season for De Negen Muzen was to take place. One enters Number 3 as from a building site [it is opposite the huge hole where the Beurshalle once stood] but inside the main building all is new and light and the venue, De Brug is the tuinpavilijoen across the garden behind the main house and an ideal spot for a concert hall. I had had misgivings about a new, unknown venue after the dear familiarity of the Crowne Plaza, the usual setting for many years. The concert, entitled ‘Les Gouts Reunis’ Parijs 1700-1725, was a delight with gifted performers, Barthold Kuijken, traverso, and Ewald Demeyer, klavecimbel, playing Couperin, Hotteterre and Leclair to a full appreciative house. After which came the aperitef and the opportunity to greet fellow concert lovers.

 Ewald Demeyere

Postcard from Brugge

In a time of what appears to be a bout of mass intellectual insanity in Britain, I thought a little postcard from Brugge might suggest a more light-hearted way of life is possible. And would certainly offer me some personal consolation for the dire straits in which my country finds itself; I am a happy  Bruggean captive who left equally beloved Britain to sample life in another country for an elderly adventure before it was Too Late! In fact, doing a spot of wandering with my son when he was briefly here recently, I noticed again several rather endearing touches about the town which I often see and which raise an appreciative smile every time I notice them.

Cafe Rose Red

For instance the golden hands suspended over a doorway which mystified me the first time I saw them, until I realised that the house is in a cobbled street alongside one of the canals, that the street is called Goudenhandrei and that the occupant of the house was merely celebrating that fact in a highly visible and amusing form. Similarly, the initially puzzling proud golden feathers perched high over a house on Spinolarei, almost in Jan Van Eyckplein, signals the skill of the man who lives below it; he is a well-known calligrapher and the golden quill boldly announces that fact. Equally eccentric but delightful are the plastic red roses which hang upside from the ceiling of the main room in the Cafe Rose Red, advertising the name in a most individual manner! Quirky and original but in no way detracting from the serious business of selling a huge range of beers to a lot of appreciative customers who turn up in droves; neither of which, (beers or customers) have any connection whatsoever with roses. I love going there!

 High spirits in Sint Jansplein

Going home on Saturday afternoon after a lovely lunch with friends a week ago, I heard deafening Abba music blasting as I walked up Wapenmakersstraat. I had no idea as to what was being celebrated or marked but I discovered that music came from an impossibly round little, highly-coloured little vehicle driven, or rather spun around, by two very happy men in matching shirts. Lots of people had stopped to admire the sight and everyone was smiling in the sun. Short bursts of silliness do lift the emotional/social temperature of a crowd or indeed, of an individual, and life becomes more fun. As Walt Whitman observed in Leaves of Grass, “Do anything but let it produce joy.” When the car had driven off still in deafening Abba mode, we onlookers all left too, smiling and savouring the silliness just observed.

In an echo of unexpected almost-silliness, there is a blocked window in a little house on the Groenerei at the Til Eulenspiegel end and it is painted with a charming scene of a couple dancing.

 But THIS is a part of the enduring charm of Brugge,
reflection in all its aspects.

It is inspired, though it is inspiration on a small scale, and always raises surprised approval from passing tourists and others. As does the up-market bicycle shop on Philip Stockstraat which sells coffee and beers from a Brussels brewery. Exceller Bikes is a bike boutique really with trendy luxury cycles and designer accessories and it always raises a smile for me that one can sit at the smart black tables outside of this splendid emporium to have a coffee. My daughter’s favourite place for a lunchtime beer!

 A closer view of the house adorned, on
Goudenhandrei.

An Historic Trail

Sint Janshuysmolen

This blog is an adjunct to last week’s on the Lyres of Ur because the second suggestion I had for my Californian visitors was to visit the one windmill of the four remaining, which is open to the public. It is called Sint Jansshuysmolen and there is a distinct whiff of a serious ascension about the entry. One climbs up a robust ladder with a side rail at one side only and it seems a Long Way Up. To actually view the wooden machinery closely, one needs to ascend a further indoor ladder but really dear reader, it is all Worth It.

 Triumphant arrival

The windmill itself is the only one built to stand in its present place. Commissioned by the bakers of Brugge, it was constructed in situ in 1770 to replace an earlier mill belonging to Sint Janshospitaal which was blown down in 1744. It is fascinating to be in the interior and to marvel first at the lack of space. The monumental size of the wheels and the cogwheels which service the machinery [I think!] is astonishing and one feels the eighteenth century miller must have been both slight in stature and fleet of foot to negotiate the interior working areas safely and effectively. I first visited this mill in 1989 I think, with my husband Eric and loved it then but had not thought of a re-visit. My loss I think. To enter this windmill reminds a visitor of the dignity and effort of important traditional labour and the ingenuity of man in providing the means to supply essential food. A visit for me to remember.

Soon after my Californian guests and I had been windmilling, we wandered towards a possible saunter along the inner ring of canals and I remembered Cafe Vlissinghe, conveniently nearby, so we stopped off there. The nineteenth century interior never suggests to me its extreme age; it is well-preserved and cared for, comfortable and quite dark while the outside area at the rear has been seriously improved over the years since I first saw it in the 1990s when it was somewhat unkempt. Vlissinghe has been continuously open since 1515; miraculous given the Dutch, French, German,

 Cafe Vlissinghe, inside.

Burgundian predators who entered and occupied Brugge at what, from this viewpoint, seems like regular intervals over the centuries. The first recorded landlord was Jan Brey in 1515 but the building is older and can be traced back to 1485. The earliest known owner recorded is Jacob de Wulf but it is not known if the building was a tavern during his late fifteenth century ownership.

To complete a delightful day of discovery, after Luc Vanlaere’s lute/harp concert/exposition, we went to Pomperlut, a tapas restaurant opposite the children’s playground end of Astridpark. The first shock was to find the playground fenced off and dug up! Still have not found out why but continue to hope it simply means an upgrading and not a removal!!

Pomperlut in handsome 17th century building
at the corner of Minderbroedersstraat and Schaarstraat.

Entering Pomperlut which is old Flemish dialect for mushroom, is like taking a trip back in time. The seventeenth century building is almost completely covered in wood, with old chandeliers, unique lamps and a large fireplace so that one feels almost as it one has stepped back to Brugge in the seventeenth century! The ambience is warm and friendly and the food and wine were divine!!

It was a memorable experience with excellent service, all helping to generate a longing to return.

The Lyres of Ur

  Luc's Lyre of Ur in front of other harps.

Californian friends on a fleeting visit caused me to consider various locations within the mediaeval Egg which they would enjoy discovering but two venues were a must. One was a welcome return, for me, to see and hear the talented Luc Vanlaere, the harpist extraordinaire who gives free concerts in Oud Sint Jan’s five days a week. The description of harp concert really doesn’t begin to cover the range of musical instruments on show which Luc plays so beautifully during his 45 minute recital. But this time, it was exciting to see his latest venture. He has re-created the Lyre of Ur to a dazzling and authentic degree. It incorporates more than 300 pieces of inlaid mother of pearl and 33 pieces of Lapis Lazuli while the obligatory bull’s head decoration, and other sections of the structure, are covered with three layers of 24 carat gold leaf. I believe Luc said that the whole project had taken him two years to complete. It is stunningly beautiful and a huge accomplishment for him.

 Leonard Woolley during the excavations in the
cemetery of Ur, 1929.

Internet investigation has revealed that in 1929 a team of archaeologists, led by Leonard Woolley, representing a joint expedition of the British Museum and the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, discovered the remains of four musical instruments when excavating the Royal Cemetery of Ur in Iraq in what had been southern Mesopotamia. The lyres and one harp were over 4,500 years old and were richly decorated in the style of the court art of Mesopotamia. The instruments had been placed with the remains of ten women with one skeleton lying against a lyre and her skeletal hand placed where the strings would have been. Woolley recovered the delicate form of the wooden frames by using liquid plaster; the wood of the lyres had decayed but because the surfaces had been lavishly decorated with gold and silver, recovery was possible.

The Golden Lyre of Ur in
the National Museum of Iraq, Baghdad.

 Because of the place of discovery, it is thought that the lyres were used in burial ceremonies as accompaniment to songs. Each lyre had eleven strings which, when played, produced a buzzing sound repeated throughout each song. These ancient instruments were of two types: box and bowl with the box lyre having a boxlike body and the bowl lyre, a round body with a curved back. The Lyres of Ur are box and would have been played in an upright position and the strings plucked with both hands.

The bull's head from the Queen's Lyre
 now in
the British Museum.

The three reconstituted lyres were distributed between the participating institutions with the Golden Lyre of Ur given to the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad. The name comes from the head of the decorative bull which is of solid gold. Its eyes are of lapis lazuli and inlaid mother of pearl. The Queen’s Lyre, one of two found by Woolley in the grave of Queen Pu-abi, is similar to the Golden Lyre with the bull’s head masked in gold and similar decoration of lapis lazuli and mother of pearl. It is in the British Museum. The third, the Bull-Headed Lyre, shaped slightly to resemble a bull, has its head, face and horns wrapped in gold foil with hair, beard and eyes of lapis lazuli and further shell inlay. This is in the Penn Museum in Pennsylvania which also has the Silver Lyre, one of two discovered in ‘The Great Pit’ in the same cemetery. This beard-less bull [possibly a cow] is covered in sheets of silver attached with tiny silver nails and decorated with lapis lazuli.

Silver Lyre of Ur in
Penn Museum. 

Having been enchanted to discover the Lyres of Ur, I am even more

 Detail of the 'Peace' panel of the Standard
of Ur, showing lyre-player.
Excavated from the same site as the
Lyres of Ur.

impressed with Luc Vanlaere’s ingenuity, skill and vision in recreating to such a high degree of authenticity, his own copy which is on display, and played, at his regular concerts in Brugge. This is a must for any visitor!

Meeting Madame Wong

Blue skies and sunshine persuaded a friend to offer a lift to go to Lissewege, het Witte Dorp, to see the wonderful 25th Beeldenroute, the sculpture exhibition which begins scattered
around the grassy area outside the wonderful Ter Doest Abbey outside Lissewege and continues outside the church in Lissewege and inside. An astonishing number of artists take part and always there is originality and wit on offer. This year is no exception and I particularly liked a splendid dog pulling on a leash hooked up to a spindly metallic walker. The dog is especially endearing and the linear sculpture manages to convey the canine excitement and eagerness awoken in countless homes and gardens on the command of Walkies!!

 Nico Blontrok

Carillonneur and composer Stefano Colletti

It is astonishing to realise just how many events there are on in Brugge during the summer months. I was asking Nico Blontrok, the Schepen in charge of civic cultural events in Brugge, to try to avoid the awful timing of a carillon concert by Stefano Colletti during August while a simultaneous rock concert was belting out on the nearby Burg. For the carillon audience in the Binnenkort of the Belfort, it was impossible to disregard the insistent thumping of the drums less than a hundred metres away; for the carillonneur in his lofty perch, it must have been hell to concentrate on producing his delicate music while sitting almost on top of the rock stridency. I don’t disapprove at all of outdoor rock concerts [there are many in the town, much enjoyed by visitors and younger residents]. It was the timing of the simultaneous performances about one hundred metres apart, which one would want avoided. The answer was that he couldn’t promise as there are so many events on in Brugge; I suspect he didn’t really understand the impossibility of a carillon concert being heard and enjoyed in the conditions imposed. Apparently, the great Zandfest, the third and final Rommelmarkt of the summer on ‘t Zand and beyond, on today, Sunday, Sept 22, was one of seven events taking place in Brugge on this one day.

 Ishtar

I attended the final concert in the Binnenkort last evening, of the season’s carillon concerts which featured Wim Bertelot, the town carillonneur performing on the portable carillon which is such a delight. He book-ended the performance by Ishtar, a Belgian group [to my surprise] with a persistent gypsy inheritance playing chiefly Eastern European music, sometimes hypnotic, sometimes softly seductive, sometimes plaintive, sometimes with a flamenco verve. It was thoroughly entertaining and skilful and the large crowd loved it all. Perhaps no one enjoyed it more than a little family group from Mexico, sitting near me. The tiny daughter, perhaps 18-22 months old, was totally fired up by the music, jigging and dancing, swaying and clapping non-stop and with enormous gusto and joy. Her complete absorption in the rhythm and the sound, was a wonderful illustration of childhood’s ability to seize the moment and lose oneself in it. It was the purest delight I have ever witnessed and I now wish I had asked permission to photograph her!.

 NOT the little Mexican toddler but the
total absorption in the joy of the moment
is the same.

The Sunday previous to the Rommelmarkt was Autoloze Zondag and there were so many activities in the petrol-free streets and squares. Quite my favourite of the morning was a trip to Langestraat to the street flea market there AND finding Madame Wong’s Bar which I had intended to visit before now. A few months ago, I was chatting to James, a young waiter in Martin’s Relais in Oude Burg when he told me it was his last day there prior to starting his own bar. Madame Wong’s indeed. I came across James and his family helpers selling Korean street food outside the bar and I enjoyed sampling some for my lunch, sitting out in style on the street and chatting to a Belgian lady doing the same. As I paid, a young woman waiting to be served, recommended Madame Wong’s for James’s wonderful 

cocktails. I marvelled again at the ingenuity, imagination and energy of young immigrants and at the extra dimension they can bring to other lives. There is a lesson here, somewhere!

 James in Madame Wong's bar

The Joys of Friendship.

 View of the garden of the house where I stayed, in Wye.
Part of the back of the house where I lived for 31 years.

After the last blog staggered into the light following weeks of silence, I am back blog-producing weekly. I returned to Beloved Brugge a week ago after nearly three weeks of absence and visitor-focus, to find the little town still as beautiful; the temporary, pop-up Pre-Triennale cafe outside the theatre, gone and Papageno truly visible once more. The plastic shroud enveloping the entire theatre for painting, also removed to reveal subtle shades of yellow and all three ATMs in the Paribas facility not working. Even Paradise isn’t perfect!

I spent a long weekend in Wye where I lived and loved for 31 years and though I didn’t visit anyone as my time was limited and arranged already, the wonderful luncheon in a magnificent garden in Chilham [that postcard-pretty village nearby] gave me a prolonged opportunity to catch up with many friends. The genuine warmth of recognition and greeting was uplifting to spirits already high and the long chats I managed with several old friends was what psychologists call ‘strokes’ i.e. affectionate nudges to the ego!! In fact, the warm memory has caused me to ponder on the concept of friendship, real friendship, that is, not the social media kind.

I had two dear girl friends, both now dead, met when I was 20, socialised with, danced, pub-visited, dined, drank and journeyed with over perhaps sixty years. After our first few years living near each other, one moved to Borneo and I moved miles away from base. Contact was relatively rare over more than fifty years, but when we did meet, the interrupted conversation resumed as if it had never stopped and the comfortable togetherness remained. I didn’t think of contacting either when I encountered problems but I did see some of their children from time to time and one of my daughters stayed with one of the two, when she was in Borneo. So, compared to some friendships, this was intermittent in contact yet constant in emotional closeness when we did meet or speak.

Part of a group of friends, united by a passion for Mah Jong.
Celebrating a birthday with Chinese food.

This year I experienced the return of Chronic Fatigue, something I had endured for around twenty years in the past. The return proved to last only a temporary few months but a group of Bruggean friends brought me a hot meal each day for two weeks; provided massage for a damaged back during the same period, and did some shopping for me. I have known these friends for around three years and generally see them for a weekly get-together. They happen to be chiefly younger than I. So a completely different set-up from my old friends above but the term ‘friendship’ seems to cover both. There is the same warmth, kindness, empathy all of which are so sustaining to the recipient.

In Book V111 of Nichomachean Ethics [350 BC] three types of friendship are described; friendships of utility; friendships of pleasure and friendships of the good. The first covers those who add convenience to your life, like the easy, reliable welcome in the newspaper shop where I call every Saturday. The second category has those who help to keep you light-hearted. Definitely the skinny Afghan waiter in the restaurant nearby who shouted, ‘Hello darling; good to see you,’ as I passed this morning. Always he cheers me on my way, sometimes after a little chat to enquire about family and his application for Belgian citizenship. The third friendships, of the good, are rare but precious. With such a friend, every topic under the sun, including your deepest fears or triumphs, can be discussed; souls can be bared, hopes and mistakes shared; family worries confided. In this hierarchy of friendship, perhaps only my sister would qualify; maybe my children too.

A family group exhibiting the third category of friendship:
Friendship of the good..

Friendship is about caring, empathy, loyalty, trust. Euripides said that friends show their love in times of trouble not in times of happiness, but my experience suggests that Friendship is a Man For All Seasons. One constantly hears the advice for the elderly to have social contacts and social activities to help them remain mentally and physically healthy and one can see why. To be with people who make you happy; to be in company you enjoy, is a simple task, a simple gift for well-being, for to feel valued by others is a deep human need satisfied. I recently read a deceptively simple statement by Emerson which rather hits the spot. ‘The only way to have a friend, is to be a friend’.