Palindromic Brexit

Today’s date, Sunday, February 2^nd, is a palindrome in which the date, written in a certain order, reads identically from left to right, and from right to left. If one writes the month first, as in MM-DD-YYYY, the date is 02-02-2020. Similarly and unusually, February 11^th will also be palindromic.. Thus,02-11-20 [carefully shortening the digits of the year!] And for palindromic overload, see December 2^nd 2021. Thus, 12-02-2021 followed closely by December 11^th 2021. Thus 12-11-21. Obviously one needs to tweak the number of permissible digits in the year to make it work but even so, it IS special and interesting to one who finds numbers not her natural metier! ***

Brexit sadness.

Joy unrestrained!

The title of this blog now becomes obvious for it is also the weekend when the endless, chaotic, unnecessary process of Brexit has finally begun its countdown. In spite of Boris vowing not to be ‘triumphant’ there was quite a lot of triumph evident unofficially on Friday with crowds weeping, singing, cheering while the other half of the country remained sad and rueful. Since the day Britain narrowly voted to leave the European Union in June 2016, the issue has divided families, cast a shadow over businesses and paralysed the Government. One half of the country is totally mystified by the opinions of the other half, and vice versa! And despite the Prime Minister vowing to unite the country, that will be almost impossible even though Remainers are resigned to the inevitable tragedy to come. It is a smaller version of the acerbic division in American politics where, to give but one example, the Republican Party in the Senate seriously explains why there should be no witnesses in a trial!

Boris currently is showing atypical good sense in trying, he says, to begin to heal some of the societal rifts. He is talking of steering public money towards the North and Midlands whose normal tribal voting patterns were abandoned in the rush to support his party which loudly promised to ‘Get Brexit Done!’. Hence his late support for the controversial HS2, the stunningly expensive rail link from London to the North which should kick-start the re-invigoration of the economy of the North, shamefully neglected for decades. There lies the dilemma for Boris & Co. His supporters in the South, in Parliament and in Party, foresee free trade, deregulation and the U.K. as a Singapore-style nimble free agent successfully snapping up opportunities in the global economy. But the voters in the North want their car industry and fishing

 The Brits are good at protesting; one of the many anti-HS2
protests over the last two years.

to be protected from global competition; they want their reduced manufacturing jobs to remain or increase; they want Big Government. And Boris’s buccaneering leadership of a government with a huge majority is aiming at an economy which will shed those Northern manufacturing jobs; will use fishing rights to trade off against perhaps financial power in the forthcoming EU negotiations; and which will hugely reduce Government support for areas dependent on traditional jobs as it works its way to becoming Small Government.

Several Flemish people here have commented on the thousands of job in Flanders which will probably disappear as a direct result of Brexit. Yesterday, the podolog I saw showed me a tube of cream no longer available for her practice to buy from Britain, ‘because of Brexit’. Incomprehensible to me but it is happening. And, inevitably, resident Europeans and jobs are gradually disappearing from Britain as the economy begins to shrink a little. The Bank of England forecasts that £23 billion will be knocked off the size of the U.K. economy by 2022. Phew! I am polishing up my Carpe Diem credentials so that I remember to savour every day now!

Must end with a lovely quote from Beatrice and Sydney Webb, those famous economists, Socialists, pioneers and distinguished historians, co-founders of the prestigious London School of Economics:

'Old people are always absorbed in something. Usually themselves.' 

I suppose all the heat and light over Brexit is about self-absorption, though not necessarily all about elderly preoccupation. A real sadness about Brexit is that the vast majority of the young whose lives will be considerably influenced by it, are not in favour of it, while the elderly supporters of Brexit who have chiefly enjoyed the benefits of E.U.membership, cannot expect to suffer the adversities of leaving Europe for very long.

 Beatrice Webb, 1858-1943
Sidney Webb, 1859-1947

***

Palindromic Post Script.

I had not appreciated until I looked at CNN on my Ipad this morning, [3/02/20] that yesterday's date was Really Special in the Palindromic World. That is because it works both in the MM-DD-YYYY format AND in the DD-MM-YYYY. As such, it is a palindromic date in all formats and the only such this century. The previous palindromic date in all formats was 11/11/1111 and the next all format date will be 12/12/2121, in 101 years! The Solihull School Maths. Department wrote on Twitter that, in addition to its other palindromic qualities, Feb. 2nd, 2020 is the 33rd day of the year AND the number of days left in the year is also a palindrome, 333.

Brexit Bumbles On ...

It is difficult to get away from politics at any time, and to the dedicated follower of political fashion in British and American governments, one who can’t resist tuning in to hear, or read about, the political shenanigans in London and Washington, interest is even higher than normal. First there is the impending Trump impeachment proceedings with the unbelievably hostile political partisanship and the denial, or inversion, of telephone calls, heard and recorded and available to all interested listeners. Media reports record staggering levels of duplicity among politicians and point to an almost 50-50 support for, or against, Trump’s guilt among the American population.

 Dominic Cummings, the unelected eminence grise behind Boris.

Meanwhile in Britain, the stage moves from tragedy to farce with Boris [a supposedly more intelligent version of Trump] beseeching the public to “Bung a bob for Big Ben Brexit bongs” wherein he asked for crowdfunding for the inordinately expensive sounding of Big Ben on January 31^st when the UK begins the actual journey of separating from the E.U. Big Ben is at present undergoing extensive and prolonged renovation and the cost of a brief re-instatement would be estimated at around £500,000. Brexit supporters noisily favour a triumphant blast, bells and whistles and all, as we cast off from European shores [when, in fact, nothing much will happen for the general public]. But triumphalism is hardly the ticket for the millions who sorely regret Brexit. Boris’s recent handsome election win mainly united the pro-Brexit vote in the country; in fact a small majority of voters supported parties that wanted either a second referendum on Brexit or to scrap it altogether. And the deep suspicion about the desire for making a cacophony of sound on January 31 [ at 11.00 p.m by the way; midnight in Europe of course!] among the Europhiles in the UK is that the whole Brexit saga seems motivated by nostalgia for the long-lost British Empire and the warm glow of colonialism remembered. Bring back the blue passport and that splendid pith helmet!.

 And, I forgot to add, the annual visit of Carnival-in-Venice
in procession through the town. Like exotic birds of Paradise.

Meanwhile, in beloved Brugge, the low-key life goes on. Since I returned from the UK on January 6th, there were Christmas trees by the forest awaiting collection one morning; significant work of uprooting cobbles and re-laying them with new pipes laid below, begun on the Burg with the huge and handsome conservatory-cum-glazed terrace outside Tom Pouce, temporarily ‘disappeared’; quite a number of coffee houses and restaurants closed for a fortnight’s holiday, plus my much-loved bakery, Sint Paulus on Vlaamingstraat similarly out of action; this looks financial good sense in view of the blessedly-reduced number of tourists and visitors here; the extensive work on Katelijnestraat of, again, new pipe-laying continuing with the road often closed to motorised traffic though the bicycle [King of the Road here] is permitted. The market was restored last Wednesday to the Markt after a late switch to ‘t Zand the previous week; the lateness of the change as late as Tuesday evening for the stall holders but with no notices as to its whereabouts publicised on the chalet-filled Markt. By the time I had guessed where it must be, I had run out of time before my semi-sacred 11.00 coffee spot at Hotel Martins in Oude Burg. So Proxy it had to be; not at all the same as going to ‘my’ huge stall!! Still, normality was restored last week, a comforting sensation!!

There have been some glorious technicolour skies and this morning was misty, moisty, mysterious in the approved Bruges-la-Morte manner!! The Belfort eventually appeared from the swirling haze visible from my windows, around mid-day! Each morning I trudge willingly in the dark to the Crown Plaza Hotel to swim, feeling undeniably virtuous as I return home for breakfast. The view on my windswept, gaunt terrace has been wonderfully brightened after a lovely visitor last week brought me three huge Christmas Roses [Hellebores] in bloom to join the one I already had, arranged tastefully on the outside steps. The pleasure afforded by an outside terrace, even in dark days, is

immeasurable! And it reminds of the beauty to come. And a thoughtful and generous neighbour brought me back from Antwerp, two sheaves of tulips growing directly from individual bulbs. This is a wonder unknown to me but apparently familiar to Proper Gardeners. The effect is miraculously natural, as if the flowers are still growing in the fields. Clever people, the Dutch!!

 

New Year Blog, 2020

After nearly three weeks’ blog silence, including two weeks for Christmas and family time in the UK and nearly a whole week back home catching up, at last I can think over how much I have enjoyed the break.Two weeks is a little too long to remain untethered, as it were, wandering from bed to settee, but it was SO worth it to see the whole family, at different times and in different locations. Christmas Day itself was Awesome as I believe they say in Arkansas. Great fun and food were enjoyed by quite a crowd and we managed to wander down to the pub before we ate, which is the usual bonus. The conviviality during the festive season never ceases to amaze and hearten. 

 Mah Jongg delight spans the centuries and continents.

And another, Christmas Eve delight, was that I was able to play Mah Jongg with Cait AND 

introduce the game to two grandsons, Dan and Connor, who just loved it. We played for hours and the boys, unfairly I thought, picked up the basics in double quick time, unlike me and my more mature friends. I am now busy finding Mah Jongg sets and books online to dispatch to the junior branch of the family. I am really building a Mah Jongg Empire which I hope will entertain and delight future players. Amusing really as I could hardly

describe myself as a World Class Player. It goes back perhaps to the saying about not being able to take teaching out of the girl! I like to think it is because of my joy in playing, both for intellectual and social reasons, that I have this strong urge to introduce Mah Jongg to others. It helps of course, that the boys do love to play games; apparently a popular tendency among Millennials!! Whatever! As an aside, I have decided to adopt the spelling of Mah Jongg with the double ‘g’ as it appears so often and I rather like it! It feels rather more Chinese, which is a ridiculous thing to write!!

I enjoyed a super surprise on Christmas Day; my son and his wife had had the lovely idea [for me] of having my entire output of blogs printed online. Unbelievable! SO Volume 1 and Volume 2 duly appeared on Christmas morning to add an extra lustre to my day. Of course, David had got carried away and had had printed 10 x2 books. So the poor grandchildren and offspring, including the lovely Californian branch, had to accept this gift-from-the-heart. I think I picked up the vague notion from the younger set that their volumes will be interesting to read after I have departed for the Great Classroom in the Sky!! However, a marvellous surprise, not to say, a stunner, for me!

We seemed to indulge in quite a few interesting events during my British stay and, apart from the fun we had which lingers in the memory, there were several high-spots. Chief of which was the trip to Pupo in Covent Garden for a great lunch, Venetian style, attended also by my lovely nephew and his gorgeous family. His children are small, around 5 and 6, and one of my grown-up grandsons wondered later how people managed to have children who were so well-behaved and great to know. I explained how important upbringing is and commented that the two little ones had managed to make their good first decision in choosing the right parents. Think he understood my point!! After lunch to the Apollo, that golden, curlicued, intimate Victorian theatre to see ‘Everyone’s Talking About Jamie’, a total humdinger of a production with energy, superb choreography, singing and dancing da morire, as the Italians say. It was a truly engrossing, energising production, direct from the original season in the Crucible in Sheffield and already performing in London for two years!!

The original Jamie [Campbell] who wanted to go to the
school Prom in a dress.

 Jamie's alter ego, Fifi La True.

But what I discovered, later, when I read the programme notes, was the most inspiring story of the real Jamie and of the tortuous road taken for the show to materialise into its fabulous self! A sixteen year old boy, Jamie, whom everyone knew to be gay, had a burning ambition to be a drag queen when he left school. He and his Mum lived in a small former mining village in County Durham, a long way from Drag Queen country but, at 15, desperately wanting to wear a dress to the school Prom., he wrote a detailed, explanatory email and circulated it to all the groups he thought might be interested in making a documentary about him and his dreams. The format he used, like a film script, caught the eye of the Creative Director of Firecracker who followed it up, presented it to BBC 3 and a T.V. documentary was eventually the result. In turn, by chance, this was spotted and in a series of fits and starts, humps and hollows, chance and coincidence, quite a convoluted narrative emerged, between the screening of the documentary on BBC 3 and the Sheffield Crucible Theatre commissioning of a script for a musical about Jamie. But a musical was eventually born, and booked for a three week period in February 2017.where it sold out every evening with nightly standing ovations. And thus, to the Apollo in London's West End.

 An earlier, haunting portrait.

And I can't omit mention of another special treat when I met my stepson and his super son from New York; I  had seen neither for at least two years so it was with real pleasure that we met up at the Royal Academy to see the Lucian Freud Self- Portraits.  On arrival we chatted for ages in the foyer to Mick, Head of Security I think, who had distinctive echoes of a lovely Irish accent. He was charming and informative and said Goodbye to us by presenting us with free tickets to the Freud exhibition. Amazing. AND the exhibition was brilliant, tracing as it did, Freud's extraordinary artistic progress through his life. His searing, not to say brutal, honesty was a constant.

 Perhaps the most famous and accomplished of
Lucian Freud's self portraits.
Wonderful.

Frederiek Van Pamel

 Frederiek Van Pamel
in artistic repose!

 A corner in the Van Pamel shop

 Ijspiste, skating rink of artificial ice, on Minnewater this year.

Oh dear, this is late, late, late and I go back to England tomorrow. Not quite sure why I haven’t found time to blog since December 6th, but having guests may have taken up time!

Walking round Brugge this year is quite the loveliest, sparkliest thing.! The lights have surpassed their usual standard and removing the skating rink to Minnewater was a brainwave. There, situated as it is on the water decorated lavishly in lights, it is quite magical and the extra room provided on the Markt for additional chalets and lots of tables and benches for drinkers, diners and chatterers, works so well. There is a guided illuminated walk through Brugge to enable everyone to witness what is in effect, a festival of light.

Perhaps the most lavish Christmas decoration in town, adorns the facade of the shop of Frederiek Van

 Damme en fleur, 2019

Pamel on Ezelstraat; it is suspended apparently from the edge of the roof and hangs luxuriantly down, embellished more liberally than diamonds on a Queen, with greenery and fulgent baubles jostling to be seen. It will cause Santa Claus to lose his way in bedazzlement!!

Because of this display I discovered that there is an amazing exhibition by Frederick Van Pamel over Christmas, in Sint Janshospitaal in Damme of his floral art, entitled Wintersfeer in Damme. Unbelievably, it is rumoured that he and his staff have used around 10,000 blooms! I have discovered very little about him except that an admirer describes him as a mood-maker through floral art. He is, in fact, an internationally known floral artist, noted for his superb sense of colour and texture but working chiefly with flowers and natural products, taking floral decor to a whole new level. His lifestyle shop on Ezelstraat [so much more than a shop!] selling, of course, flowers, but also highly individual artistic pieces of furniture and decorative objects, is a magnet for artistically-inclined visitors and locals alike. He is a local boy, aged 44, and one would love to know more of his training and artistic/cultural background. 

 Wintersfeer in Damme 2019

Youth

 Lovers, 1925  Marc Chagall
From the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam

 All the exuberance of Youth here!

Last weekend, two grandsons, grown-up grandsons they would say, came to stay for the weekend with their joined-at-the-hip girlfriends. This is a happily-anticipated visit for me, one that is now established as a regular occurrence at Christmas Market time. They do lots without me, thank God, but I see lots of them too. This year, I was quietly amused to hear the boys talking about buying flats, house renovation, décor etc. It seems barely five minutes since they were little boys, often knocking hell out of each other. Now the two boys, plus the absent bruv who was busy taking out their Dad for a birthday treat that same weekend, all seem to be easy, great friends. Oh the magic of the passing years! AND the Lovely Foursome took me out and paid for a super meal. My cup runneth over!!

However, it did cause me to consider the presence of Youth in my flat, and indeed, in my life. From my happy upper slopes of ageing, to be a close spectator of youth is remarkably entertaining and nourishing. It confirms my own contentment somehow; to have young family members who are striding confidently into the future, with harmonious relationships, busy and fulfilling lives with successful, stable, professional

 A rather furtive shot of the beginning of one sequence
in December Dance.

occupations and interesting, fun-filled hobbies, interests and relationships. Nothing could be better to experience than the pleasure provided to the emotionally-involved family observer! It is the purest delight too; in no way demanding anything of me more than approval and enjoyment. Which I spontaneously and admiringly give while quietly acknowledging, with gratitude, this unexpected bonus of ageing.

 A joyful rabbit from an exhibition of Japanese
posters in the Stedelijk Museum.
Amsterdam. Rather thought this illustrated
the point of joyful youth with its

                     hopes and dreams.

On Wednesday afternoon I was lucky enough to attend a dress rehearsal of part of December Dance at the Concertgebouw. It transpired that the totally fabulous performance was created and performed by dance students from the Brugge Conservatoire. In a completely different setting, I was again a privileged witness to the bursting energy and creativity of Youth. The sheer exuberance, multi-talents, joy and energy were stunning to behold and fully deserved the standing audience ovation at the end. We left the theatre with light hearts and steps, savouring, in retrospect, the life-enhancing experience we had just had. I privately mused on my reaction to a Jan Fabre dance production at the same theatre two or three years ago when I was so bored I couldn’t wait to flee the scene of the crime.

I should mention that this international dance festival for a general audience takes place every year at the Concertgebouw in Bruges. It presents a balanced programme of established artists and young up-and-upcoming talent which is given the opportunity to display its creations on the December Dance Platform. In the margins of the festival, December Dance also presents readings, introductions and discussions.

 Lithograph by Jean Chaissang 1931
of Josephine Baker, an eternal symbol of
youthful exuberance.

Shedding Light

 Vermeer's Little Street 1630

An interesting week or so, beginning with a short trip to Amsterdam to catch a major Rembrandt and Velasquez exhibition at the Rijksmuseum. I had thought that I should go during this 350^th anniversary of Rembrandt’s death, to his native city which has been celebrating this notable event all year. I perhaps missed several other Rembrandt events but I was thrilled to attend Parallel Visions. In fact, though Rembrandt is the raison d’etre of the exhibition for the Rijksmuseum this special year, it had previously been at the Prada in Madrid where Diego Velasquez would have been the main man. The foundational idea of the exhibition is in the pairing of works of art on similar themes by contemporaneous artists; it is an inspired notion both for display and education.

The exhibition marks a special period in art’s cultural calendar, the Golden Age in each country; both artists were heroes of art in their respective countries at the same time and they are shown here with other important contemporary artists, Old Masters all: Vermeer, Hals, Zurbaran, and Murillo and the format is inspired. The paintings by paired artists on relatively similar themes permit the spectator to consider the interplay, dialogue, comparison and contrasts and find illumination on faith, religion, wealth and power. The hugely differing cultures of each country are demonstrated; Habsburg Spain and the Dutch Republic with their distinctive, almost opposing conceptions of Christianity yet their common artistic and cultural traditions. Interestingly, for most of the lives of the two artists, their countries were at war. When not at war, they were part of a group of countries: Germany, Britain, Portugal, entwined

 Velasquez's Gardens of the Villa Medici 1632

in commerce, rivalry, and co-dependant trade, each looking to outbid the others in any endeavour yet irrevocably members of the same Continental club.

One unexpected pairing features two landscapes; Velasquez’s ‘Gardens of the Villa Medici’ and Vermeer’s ‘Little Street.’ One is classical; one is domestic. Both shine with beautifully delineated
human action: Vermeer’s working women busy at their chores and Velasquez’s laundress throwing sheets over a balustrade. The background to the activities are skilfully observed: Vermeer’s cracked masonry and peeling paintwork; Velasquez’s boarded-up arches and broken brickwork. Two days pictured, one in Rome, one in Delft, catch for us the light, the shadows, the humble quotidian activities and the overall stillness of two perfectly executed scenes.

 Rembrandt's Self Portrait 1669

 Velasquez's Self Portrait 1640

Quite late in the exhibition is the pairing of two self portraits; Rembrandt’s of his ageing face and Velasquez’s showing a proud and arrogant man, resplendent in lace ruff throwing shadows across the jaw, face lit skilfully, adorned with a majestic moustache and eyes haughtily piercing the gaze of the observer. This is a man defiant, proud, wary and unyielding. Rembrandt’s splendid turban gives a je ne sais quoi of bravado to his sagging, mottled skin and the deep facial furrows, again beautifully lit. There is suffering there, but a resigned, rueful, uncomplaining acceptance of life’s emotional experiences bringing with it self-knowledge and a spiritual dignity. Of all Rembrandt’s many self portraits, this is the One I Want! The juxtaposition of the two portraits is inspired.

 De Bereigde Zwaan by Jan Asselijn  1650

Here is an interesting pairing; the swan, wings outstretched, defending her young, even to the death, alongside the martyrdom of a Saint, arms akimbo in agony, dying to defend his beliefs.

 The Martyrdom of Saint Serapion by
Francisco Zurbaran 1628.

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!