FROM THE LONG ROOM

Wishing you all a good weekend.

NORTH WEST WOMEN IN WWI EXHIBITION AT IMPERIAL WAR MUSEUM NORTH

Link courtesy of Grenada Reports


http://www.itv.com/news/granada/story/2014-01-17/north-west-women-in-wwi-exhibition/

WAITING FOR ED MILIBAND TO ARRIVE

Name dropping time. Met Ed Miliband about an hour ago for a coffee and a chat. Much taller than on TV. Then interviewed by Granada TV along with some mums. Might show the interview tonight.

Steve

DOWN WITH THE BLACKADDER VERSION OF THE FIRST WORLD WAR

Sweet babe in thy face, Holy image I can trace...

A Cradle Song

Sweet dreams form a shade,
O'er my lovely infants head.
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
By happy silent moony beams

Sweet sleep with soft down.
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles in the night,
Hover over my delight.
Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep sleep happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd.
Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
While o'er thee thy mother weep

Sweet babe in thy face,
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe once like thee.
Thy maker lay and wept for me

Wept for me for thee for all,
When he was an infant small.
Thou his image ever see.
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

Smiles on thee on me on all,
Who became an infant small,
Infant smiles are His own smiles,
Heaven & earth to peace beguiles. 

William Blake

PAXMAN'S DOCUMENTARY ON THE BBC ON MONDAY

null

http://acchistory.blogspot.com/2014/01/looking-forward-to-watching-this-series.html

VERY INTERESTING FEATURE FROM THE BBC

http://acchistory.blogspot.com/2014/01/very-interesting-feature.html

FROM PHILOSOPHY

THE HARP SONG OF THE DANE WOMEN

A little Kipling on a Viking/Dane theme...

Ah, what is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
For to go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in—
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you
Bound on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Then yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters,—
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And you look at your ship in her winter quarters.

You forget our mirth, and our talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables—
For to pitch her sides and go over her cables!

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow:
And the sound of your oar-blades falling hollow
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, ah, what is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
For to go with the old grey Widow-maker?

DEVON GLORIOUS DEVON - FOR A DEVON LASS - WELCOME HOME!

Any poem that mentions Drake,  Raleigh,  Hawkins and Grenville can't be bad  -  not a bad back four to have in a scrape! 

www

Coombe and Tor, green meadow and lane,
Birds on the waving bough.
Beetling cliffs by the surging main,
Rich red loam for the plough.
Devon's the fount of the bravest blood
That braces England's breed,
Her maidens fair as the apple bud,
And her men are men indeed.

When Adam and Eve were dispossess'd
Of the Garden hard by Heaven,
They planted another one down in the West,
'Twas Devon, 'twas Devon, glorious Devon.

Spirits to old-world heroes wake,
By river and cove and hoe;
Grenville, Hawkins, Raleigh and Drake
And a thousand more we know.
To every hand the wide world o'er
Some slips of the old stock roam,
Loyal friends in peace, dread foes in war
With hearts still true to home.

Old England's counties by the sea
From east to west are seven;
But the gem of that fair galaxy
Is Devon, is Devon, glorious Devon.

Dorset, Somerset, Cornwall, Wales,
May envy the likes of we;
For the flower of the West, the first, the best,
The pick of the bunch us be;
Squab pie, junket and cider brew,
Richest cream of the cow'
What 'ud Old England without 'em do?
And where 'ud 'un be to now?

As crumpy [soft] as a lump of lead
Be a loaf without good leaven,
And the yeast Mother England do use for her bread
Be Devon, be Devon, glorious Devon.

VERA BRITTAIN IN MALTA DURING THE FIRST WORLD WAR

She looks so young and vulnerable in this photograph.   She appears solitary and different from others,  even in company.   

WONDERFUL WRITING FROM VERA BRITTAIN

How elegant,  how heart-wrenching.  Vera`s loss of her fiance Roland and her brother Edward.   A truly remarkable woman.

THE PUBLIC SCHOOL ETHOS PERFECTLY ENCAPSULATED BY SIR HENRY NEWBOLT

Reputedly one of the reasons JOHN COOPER CLARKE developed an appreciation for poetry following his English teacher introducing the poem to his class.   Has always been one of my very favourite poems because my mother used to recite it to me word perfect when I twas but a wee bairn. Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night -- Ten to make and the match to win -- A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote "Play up! play up! and play the game!" The sand of the desert is sodden red, -- Red with the wreck of a square that broke; -- The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. The river of death has brimmed his banks, And England's far, and Honour a name, But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks, "Play up! play up! and play the game!" This is the word that year by year While in her place the School is set Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget. This they all with a joyful mind Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind -- "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Sir Henry Newbolt

MORE VERA BRITTAIN

The more familiar photographs of  Vera  Brittain although in the Pavilion Centre in Buxton,  where her life is commemorated,  there is a wonderful picture of her at Melrose I have not come across on the Internet.   She is standing at a window,  her face flooded in sunlight.   If someone can help me locate it I would be extremely grateful.   Thanks. 

Steve

SOMEONE I DEARLY WOULD HAVE LOVED TO HAVE MET

Vera Brittain.   Working on a poem re Vera Brittain for the centenary of WWI.   Spent two weeks reading her diary at Buxton library and it was quite a strange sensation reading her entries for January 1914 in January 2014.  Such intelligence and drive just burns through her writing.   A truly remarkable woman I would have loved to have met and talked at length with. 

FOR ALL YOU SKANKS OUT THERE

To all you female and male skanks out there with your predilection to narcissism via selfies, sexting and cheating on the people you`love forever`- see below.   Love this.  Working on my new poem`Skank`at the moment and no, I haven't used one obvious word that rhymes with the title although most of such ilk are a bunch of Jodrell Bankers...  

Begins:   Texting in toilets is your trade/or on the rumpled duvets of dire tired towns...

HORACE: HAPPY THE MAN

Want this as my epitaph. 

I know I sound morbid but as I tell the people whom I love and have genuinely cared about me throughout, one must be practical in such matters. Recital went down very well, juxtaposed with Coffee Chains and Predictive Text for lighter relief. Used the same approach following Loss. 

ille potens sui
laetusque deget, cui licet in diem
  dixisse "vixi:  cras vel atra
    nube polum Pater occupato

vel sole puro;  non tamen irritum,
quodcumque retro est, efficiet neque
  diffinget infectumque reddet, 
    quod fugiens semel hora vexit 


I include the John Dryden translation.  

WELL DESERVED TOO

About time too. When I taught literature I used two of her poems from Through the Square Window. Immensely talented writer. Just ordered my copy of parallax.

Steve




TS Eliot poetry prize goes to Sinéad Morrissey's Parallax

http://gu.com/p/3yzjm

OK SO MORIARTY LIVES.

I take it all back - guess if they can bring back Sherlock they can bring back his nemesis. Just recovering my breath after watching the series finale. A much better and balanced episode. Great to see Lars Mickkelson play a nasty piece of work who could give Rupert Murdoch a run for his money in the villain stakes.

Steve

EDUCATING YORKSHIRE - MEDIATION

IN HOW MANY WAYS HAS THIS BEEN MEDIATED IN ORDER TO POSITION THE AUDIENCE TO THINK AND FEEL A PARTICULAR WAY? 

 GREAT TV, SHAMELESS MANIPULATION OR BOTH?

GREAT LINES FROM FILMS

Captain Jack Aubrey's toast from Master and Commander:  The Far Side of the World.
When Captain Aubrey makes the toast 'To wives and sweethearts - may they never meet' he is following a custom in the Royal Navy called the toast of the day. There was a special toast for every day of the week. This one in particular was usually for Saturdays.

CATULLUS 5

Thanks for all the positive feedback and interest in Latin poetry which many people will not have heard recited before -  especially in my Pig-Latin!   Catullus`s exquisite entreaty to his beloved Lesbia is as vibrant now as when he wrote it in the late-Republican era.   Catullus (84-54 BC)  was besotted by his `Lesbia` commonly believed to be Clodia Metelli.   She is the subject of several other poems by him.   Several of you commented on the alliterative quality of the poem,  the stresses and the rhythm and I only hope I did it justice.   Below is the original followed by a translation by A. S. Kline.   His entreaty to love and forget what others say and to make the most of life and to live for the now is the precursor of the concept of carpe diem often misquoted as `seize the day' when the more accurate translation or concept is that of `harvest the day'.   Remember the Vs are pronounced as Ws as in 'way'.   

CATULLUS 5
Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus inuidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

Let’s Live and Love: to Lesbia

Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love,
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
may they be worth less than nothing to us!
Suns may set, and suns may rise again:
but when our brief light has set,
night is one long everlasting sleep.
Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more,
another thousand, and another hundred,
and, when we’ve counted up the many thousands,
confuse them so as not to know them all,
so that no enemy may cast an evil eye,
by knowing that there were so many kisses.

CURRENTLY READING

Great Christmas present. Lots of brilliant archaeological detail and poems too. Many thanks Ms S.

LIKE THIS FROM PHILOSOPHY ON GOOGLE+

12 YEARS A SLAVE

Just watched an advanced screening and I would recommend it. Very good acting by all the cast with a restrained camera style in order to avoid diluting the power of this story. Many clichés and tropes are avoided with slavery being addressed in a mature way in order to emphasise the complexities of this issue. Many scenes are harrowing but the lack of sensationalism or style over substance sets it aside from Django Unchained last year.

AN EXCELLENT BOOK LIKE THE FIRST

I'm listening to Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 2 (Unabridged) on #Audible for #Android. Get the app free: https://www.audible.co.uk/wireless @audibleuk

A CANTERBURY TALE

I would place this 1944 film in my top three favourite films of all time.   It is simply sublime and one of the few films that confound expectations and formulaic narrative.   A genuinely heart-warming film with some of the finest dialogue in film.   The dialogue below is one of my particular favourites.  

INTERESTING ARTICLE FROM THE GUARDIAN

Dylan Thomas centenary: South Wales gets ready to welcome the world

http://gu.com/p/3ytyb

OH SO VERY TRUE

It should be an Olympic sport.

OH SO TRUE.

THE MUCH AWAITED SEQUEL TO WAITING FOR GODOT

SECRET SUNSHINE

Secret Sunshine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A couple of days ago I watched Secret Sunshine.  This  is a South Korean film made in 2007.  It follows the story of Lee Shin-ae who is recently widowed and together with her only son, settles in her late-husband's town.  Tragedy soon befalls her and the film is an exploration of grief, faith and acceptance.  The final scene with her friend and potential boyfriend Kim Chong-Jan is beautifully realised.  Kim Cong-Jan is played by the fantastic Song Kang-ho.  Some people have criticised the artificiality of the plot but are missing the film's point.  I would receommend the film highly.

LOSS

Loss

Is the sun dial without its shadow,

The mirror without its reflection,

The queue without the people,

The days without the hours,

The joke without the laughter,

The vase without the flowers,

The sea without its shoreline,

The creaking bough without the wind,

The dream without a future,

The letter without an address,

The empty bench in the out of season seaside town,

The when without the why,

The solitary coffee cup in indifferent cheap cafes,

Weeks without the days,

Achievement without praise.

Loss is the years that should be filled with laughter and with tears.

It is the symphony without the music,

No hope but only fears,

The tide without the moon

It is the beginning without its...

Friend. Loss is the unwelcome guest we must endure,

The shadow by the door,

It is the sea without the water,

The sky without the sun,

Loss is the me and the You,

No longer divisible by two,

Loss is profound,

Loss is the space between these lines,

The heart beat without its sound

© Stephen Evans 2013

HARBOUR WALL

Harbour Wall

Standing on the harbour wall,

That snaked out of the bay,

Half-way like a bow half-stretched,

I turned my back on you,

To face a ceaseless sea,

I turned my back on you,

For  a sun that kissed me with a bite,

And a breeze that pinched my skin,

I turned my back on you,

Oblivious to your siren calls,

I turned my back on you,

And my eyes wide closed I welcomed them,

I turned my back on you,

And took my first step into the dark,

In the blinding light of day.

Standing on the harbour wall,

That snakes out of the bay,

Where the seagulls' scream,

and the water's roar,

And the heady salt smell spray,

Scourge my senses,

In the blistering cold of day,

Where  I turned my back on you,

Cursed and blessed by a blinding light,

The stinging tears that soothe and cleanse,

Where  I turned my back on you,

I take my second step,

Ahead the shimmering distance squints,

The half-formed shades,

Wait patiently for me,

By the serene ceaseless sea.

© Stephen Evans  2013

NORMAN AND SAXON

I've just been informed that Norfolk has more medieval churches than any other county in England.  "Norfolk" is also a great poem by John Betjamen which I can post again soon.  This poem is a request by someone who lives and breathes Anglo-Saxon and Viking history and is one of her favourites from childhood.  It is "Norman and Saxon" by Rudyard Kipling and set in 1100 A.D.

Norman and Saxon 

A.D. 11.00 

"My son," said the Norman Baron, "I am dying, and you will be heir
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for share
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little handful it is.
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this:–

"The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow – with his sullen set eyes on your own,
And grumbles, 'This isn't fair dealing,' my son, leave the Saxon alone.

"You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears;
But don't try that game on the Saxon; you'll have the whole brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field,
They'll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.

"But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs.
Don't trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they're saying; let them feel that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear 'em out if it takes you all day.

They'll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour of the dark.
It's the sport not the rabbits they're after (we've plenty of game in the park).
Don't hang them or cut off their fingers. That's wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best man- at-arms you can find.

"Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and funerals and feasts.
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish priests.
Say 'we,' 'us' and 'ours' when you're talking, instead of 'you fellows' and 'I.'
Don't ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell 'em a lie!"

"ANYONE LIVED IN A PRETTY HOW TOWN" by e e cummings

This wonderful poem I dedicate to Lyds for all her support.  I've embedded a great reading of the poem from Youtube and the poem below.  A great poem about small town mentalities and prejudices.

From "anyone" to his "noone", "semper in corde meo".

anyone lived in a pretty how town

  by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

BITTER MEDICINE

Bitter medicine

Bitter medicine one, two, three,

How you poured it carefully,

Bitter medicine one, two, three,

How you poured it gleefully,

Drop by drop bitter and thick,

Just the cure to make him sick.

Bitter medicine one, two, three,

How you waited patiently,

Stirred with spoon and sugared the pill,

'till he was seriously ill,

Bitter medicine one, two, three,

You wanted all the world to see,

Your kindness-killing mimicry.

Drop by drop and year by year,

A measured dose just like each tear,

Bitter medicine one, two, three,

Death by tea and sympathy.

© Stephen Evans 2013

THE RAILWAY MAN

I read Eric Lomax 's autobiography fifteen years ago and revisited it as a film version is shortly being released in the UK.  However,  my revisit was  through an unabridged audio book version read by Bill Paterson who manages superbly to bring out Lomax's dourness,  dryness and decency. It is a terrific rendering of the written book.

I always found the first-third of the book a little dull but necessary to create the sense of the writer's ordinariness and his love of machinery,  particularly of old steam locomotives. A sense of loneliness and solitariness is also evident.  The railway serves as a running metaphor throughout; its symbolism evident from the offset.  The second-third,  is harrowing made more so by its non-sensationalist account of the torture, humiliations,  sufferings and privations of the POWs including of course, Lomax.   The arbitrariness of the torture and Lomax's will to survive at any cost is demonstrated during these chapters.   However,  I found the final-third to be the most compelling: the story of the long term effect of this experience on the writer and others like him.  Lomax is brutally frank about how he found adapting to normal life extremely difficult as he carries the mental and emotional scars over the decades.   The knock-on effect on those he is close to particularly his first and second wives is also handled with great candidness and must have been an experience suffered by many of the servicemen and servicewomen returning home in trying to carry on as if nothing had happened during the intervening years of the war. Implicit is the testing of  Lomax's faith not only in humanity but also in God. He is a religious man before the war but implicitly, it would appear, that his faith brings him little solace in the war's  aftermath in dealing with his issues. Coming to terms with his broken-self and his reconciliation with one of his main tormentors is what I found the most rewarding and uplifting.   

Firth, who plays the older Lomax can do repressed emotions extremely well although I have reservations regarding Kidman's role as Lomax 's second wife Patti.  Patti is a stalwart in Lomax's life and initiates the first steps in communication with his former enemy. I hope I am proven wrong about Kidman.  I am uncertain why the film has been made now, given the book was released in the 1990s.  It is to be welcomed though, as this aspect of the Second World War has lived far too long in the shadows of David  Lean's The Bridge on the River Kwai.   The book also touches on the plight of the civilian slave workers who were also treated terribly by the Japanese yet had very little assistance in helping them to return to their countries at the war's end,  often ending up living a mendicant existence in the villages beside the railway they suffered in building.   

A further element of the story is how torturers can also feel remorse and guilt and in a sense endure a form of torture after the event.   The idea that people can change in a good way is also interesting and  an uplifting idea.   I would like the final two-thirds of the book to be given equal weight in the film. Whether all these elements can be addressed in a movie,  especially one aimed at a mass-audience, is debatable.   I will watch the film version but with a degree of trepidation.   

Steve

Recuperating:: looking from my bedroom window at snow falling, March 2013

Like so many hosts swirling to the ground,

Like so many souls returning earthen-bound,

The gravity of thought at an instant soothed away,

A soft sweet song sighs forth inside,

The lost child finds his way,

From out the bitter darkness,

A swirling sweep, wisp, whispers,

Softly sent to say,

That miracles can happen,

At any time of day.

© Stephen Evans 2013