February 26, 2015 by heavenhappens

A beautiful sight but a terrible day! What an understatement…

I recorded a TV programme this week entitled “Cosmonauts: How Russia Won the Space Race”, because it is a subject that intrigues me.

I find Russia fascinating: The architecture, music, language, iconography, culture, and history, are all so different from what is familiar to me. It appears exotic and intriguing. I have been lucky enough to visit different parts of Russia several times and it never disappoints. You can read about these visits by following these links to previous blogposts.

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The reason that this particular programme appealed to me was because of something I stumbled upon during a visit to St Petersburg in 2003. But before I explain, do let me tell you a little about my trip to this fabulous city.

By rights I should not have been in St Petersburg at all! President Putin was meeting the leaders of the G8 and the European Union countries for a summit meeting and to celebrate the city’s Tercentenary. Apart from VIPs, dignitaries and invited pop stars like Paul McCartney and Elton John, no foreigners were supposed to go to St Petersburg during the celebrations so that Russians could take pride of place. Of course I didn’t know that when I made my arrangements!

St Petersburg is built on land reclaimed from the sea and made up of 101 islands linked by canals. Its unofficial symbol is, appropriately for a great shipping port ~ a ship, while Russia’s symbol is an eagle.

The city has changed its name several times since 1703 when it was built by Peter the Great. During the First World War it was called Petrograd. It was here that the October Revolution started when a cannon was fired from the battleship “Aurora” ~ accidentally I was informed. I saw the ‘Aurora’ which was still on the River Neva. In 1924 after the death of Lenin the city was renamed Leningrad. Then in 1991 after Perestroika, the first democratically elected mayor of the city, Anatoly Sobchak, returned the city to its original name of St Petersburg.

Many of the people in St Petersburg live in communal apartment blocks. Indeed the first place I stayed in was a tiny flat in one of these buildings. It was reached by going off the main street, behind some shops and up a very dark and dingy staircase to a door which, like all the others, was padlocked, chained and reinforced with steel! Not quite the self contained apartment I was expecting! But as I went to put my cases away it got worse – I found a strange old man sitting on a dining chair – in the wardrobe! This is the absolute truth. I never found out why he was there and I moved out as soon as I could.

Despite this I found St Petersburg as a city incredibly beautiful. I was there during the period of the “White Nights” when the sun never really sets and the night is as light as daytime.

I was spellbound by the beauty and grace of the canals, rivers and bridges; I was overawed by the beauty of the churches, the cathedrals, and the mosque; I was impressed by the well-kept parks and gardens; I was overwhelmed by the sheer scale and grandeur of the architecture; And I was mesmerised by the Hermitage and countless other museums stuffed with cultural treasures. To me St Petersburg seems to have the best bits of London, Rome and Bruges all rolled up in one great city.

The Hermitage Museum is of course world famous for its outstanding collections which cover every aspect of art, history, geology and culture. I was overwhelmed to see Rembrandt’s masterpiece, “Return of the Prodigal Son”. This painting is huge and it was placed just inside a vast room but facing double doors so that as the visitor steps into the room through the doors, it seems as if she is stepping into the painting to be welcomed and forgiven by the loving father. It was truly an emotional experience.

Having asked a Russian friend to rescue me from the tiny flat with the ‘lived-in’ wardrobe, I stayed in a luxurious apartment block next door to where Alexander Pushkin, Russia’s best-loved poet, lived and died after being shot in a duel. Daily I walked up and down the worn stone stairs which Pushkin himself would have climbed. I also visited the flat where Fyodor Dostoevsky lived and wrote Crime and Punishment.

By default I got to enjoy St Petersburg at its best with a full programme of activities planned for the 300^th anniversary. The Festivities started in earnest during the last week in May, the 27^th being the official birthday, and continued throughout June. Celebrations included a parade of ancient ships on the Neva, folk festivals, sculpture projects, orchestral concerts, fireworks on the river, sailing competitions, sports events, laser shows, a carnival procession, and art and history exhibitions. Most of the events were outdoors and free! There were new gardens being planted with countless trees, and rose bushes specially bred to withstand the very low winter temperatures.

Huge stages were erected in Palace Square for Alexander Rozenbaum and Elton John’s concert, and while I was there Paul McCartney and his then wife, Heather Mills, arrived to launch a new children’s charity. Very appropriately Heather Mills announced she was expecting her first baby! Sir Paul also received an honorary doctorate from the University.

Now to get closer to the point of my blogpost I will tell you about my visit to the St Peter and Paul Fortress where the first stone was laid for the foundations of the new city. It was a memorable visit in many ways. Firstly, I didn’t realise until I saw the blue and white flag flying on the fortress, that St Andrew is the patron saint of St Petersburg as we’ll as Scotland! This fascinated me, especially as I know that our St George is also the patron saint of Moscow! It’s a small world isn’t it?

The weather was also very memorable, as there was the most amazing storm while I was at the fortress. Following a lovely start to the visit in glorious sunshine, there was torrential rain, thunder and lightning, then hailstones to follow! I got soaked to the skin and took refuge in a deserted low building, a sort of museum that was unknown to my Russian friends, and was not advertised or publicised in any way. It turned out to be a real gem full of information, photographs and technology about early space exploration. It was the actual building where the solid and liquid fuels were first developed for the rockets which enabled space travel. Inside this museum, which surely would have been secret until very recently, we saw the actual Sputnik artificial satellite and all the technology that went into developing it. I was amazed by how small and cramped it was. There was also a display dedicated to Laika, the first dog to go into space and the preserved bodies of Belka and Strelka, the first two dogs who survived being in orbit. Among many other fascinating displays of capsules, docking vehicles, probes, rockets, and space shuttles, there were the remains of the Luna and Soyuz spacecraft, and a display about Yuri Alexseyevich Gagarin (1934-1968) who was a Russian cosmonaut and the first man to orbit the earth, in 1961. There was also the actual St Petersburg flag that had been on the Mir Space Station for 161 days. The flag was returned to earth in time for the tercentenary.

Sadly there was no printed material about this museum and we were not allowed to take photos or film so it was just another wonderful moment to drop into the bottom of my memory. But the thing that struck me most and has puzzled me since, was that it displayed in great detail the co-operation that had existed between the USA and USSR since the early days of space exploration. I always thought that there was deep rivalry between the two superpowers but it seems there was actually a lot more co-operation than people generally knew.

So I watched the programme and it was confirmed!

I learned that rockets were being built as early as the 1930s but it was the 1945 Hiroshima bomb that kick started the Russian drive to build a rocket as a weapon because they felt threatened. The Russian Sergei Korolev was part scientist, part engineer, part manager of the project. By 1957 he had developed the R7 rocket which was 9 times more powerful than the Hiroshima bomb but hopeless as a missile because it was too big, too heavy and too slow. But it was kept for space exploration which was Korolev’s passion. In October 1957 this rocket would carry and launch the first satellite to orbit the earth. It was named Sputnik, which means ‘fellow traveller’. It travelled at 18000 miles an hour and beamed radio messages back to earth. Nikita Kruschev was president of USSR as it was then and he asked Korolev to develop and launch another satellite for the 7^th November holiday. To everyone’s surprise this was Sputnik 2 and it carried a passenger, the ill-fated stray dog Laika. Although she had a capsule with food and water, the cooling system failed and poor Laika died of overheating within 6 hours of take-off.

By 1961 a man was prepared to be launched into space. As everyone knows, his name was Yuri Gagarin and he must have been incredibly brave. It took him just 1¹/₄hours to circle the earth. His re-entry was alarming with flames rushing past the windows and a burning smell in the capsule followed by ejecting at 7000 metres above the earth. However he landed, off target but alive, and he became a world hero.

In 1965 another satellite, Voskhod 2 was launched by the R7 rocket, this time with two men squeezed into the capsule. Once in orbit around the earth one of the cosmonauts went through the air lock and drifted in space 500km above the earth. He was almost lost as his space suit expanded due to the greater air pressure inside it. His hands and feet were tingling and he knew he would not fit back through the air lock unless he took drastic action. So risking being starved of oxygen, he had to release air from his suit and get back into the raging hot air lock as fast as possible. He did it but lost 6kg in that one day through sweating. On the return trip the cosmonauts again had to eject and landed in a forest where they had to wait for 2 days to be found ~ no GPS or mobile phones then!

Unfortunately things started to go badly wrong in USSR after these triumphs. The genius Sergei Korolev died in 1966 aged 59 after a routine operation. In 1967 the cosmonaut, Vladimir Komarov, in Soyuz 1 was killed on re-entry. Yuri Gagarin was killed in a plane crash in 1968. And in 1969 an explosion wrecked the N1 rocket and the entire launch complex. The worst disaster happened in 1971 when 3 Russian cosmonauts were asphyxiated on re-entry due to a technical failure.

Meanwhile the USA was forging ahead realising a successful moon landing in 1969. This was a great achievement but did not lead to further exploration, whereas the USSR was working towards manned space stations where people could live, work and carry out research in space. By mid 1980s the first permanent orbital station was ready. It was called MIR which was taken to mean peace, world or village; but actually “the word “mir” referred to a Russian peasant community that owned its own land”. On MIR cosmonauts could live and work for over a year. In 1991 as the MIR space station orbited successfully overhead the USSR disintegrated here on earth. Money for the space programme was cut, indirectly causing another near disaster. The cargo ship bringing supplies to the MIR space station crashed into it knocking out the electricity. For a while the cosmonauts observed the sheer beauty of countless stars, polar lights and a spectacular aurora, from a position of the total darkness and absolute silence that can only be found in space. One of the astro-physicists on board that day was an Anglo/American called Michael Foale, who recently retired. In the TV programme he repeated the comment that it was “a beautiful sight but a terrible day”. After this the MIR space station was abandoned to its fate and it burned up eventually when it re-entered the earth’s atmosphere after 15 years orbiting the earth. It is amazing to think that over 100 cosmonauts or astronauts, male or female, from 12 different countries visited MIR. MIR brought together two superpower adversaries from a long “Cold War” and taught them how to co-operate. Mir also showed that we can live and work in space if needs must. Men and women of courage can overcome terrible problems, and survive life-threatening situations by working together.

The International Space Station ISS, was launched in 1998 to replace MIR. This is a collaboration between the USA, Russia, Canada, Japan, Italy, France, Germany, Belgium, Netherlands, Sweden, Brazil, Malaysia, South Africa, South Korea and Spain.

I don’t pretend to understand the work that is done on this space station, and I may be very naïve, but I do think that this peaceful collaboration can only be a positive thing.

St Petersburg Church of the Resurrection of Christ

St Petersburg State Museum from a postcard

February 23, 2015 by heavenhappens

Weekly Photo Challenge ~ Rule of Thirds part 2

I am still learning about this Weekly Photo Challenge ~ Rule of Thirds and it has made me go back over some old photos which I love to see if they fit into the rule. I am finding it hard but maybe if I draw the grid on some clear cellophane I could put it over my photos and judge them that way. I guess it is going to take some time to learn to see with a photographer’s eye but I am enjoying learning from all the brilliant photographers on wordpress.

Visual of the Rule of Thirds

Weir at bakewell in Yorkshire

Deer at Dyrrham park

Black faced lambs in the Cotswolds

Memorial to the Unnamed Soldier near Red Square, Moscow

Storm Clouds Gather over Wheal Coates

grandson in Sandford Park

Feeding the geese at Mary Arden’s House

Rhododendrons at Warwick Castle

Sunsets over the sea at Findhorn, Scotland

February 14, 2015 by heavenhappens

Symmetry

Weekly Photo Challenge Symmetry

Happy Valentine Day

As I am posting this on valentine’s day I decided to use a photo I took in Dorset. I was at the Abbotsbury Swannery on Chesil Beach and it was a wonderful experience. The photo is not brilliant but it captures a beautiful moment shared with two swans that have mated for life. Ahh x x x

I’m also quite partial to a few other photos taken a while ago showing symmetry of sorts

Blenheim palace detail

Blenheim palace

The saddest door of all ~ Traitor’s gate at Tower of london

Cloisters at Gloucester cathedral

Scenic Norway

Park Statue in Oslo

Fountain in Oslo

Covering mine shaft in Cornwall

icon from russia

Sadly flood signs appear too often in Cotswolds

Open garden

Flirty Feathers

Butterfly in captivity

Angel of the North

Heart of stone?

Stained Glass Window

synchronised swimming

A cormorant resting

Autumn leaf at westonbirt

Metro station in Moscow 1995

Grey Heron in Hampstead

Birtsmorton Court

Local Butterfly

Lily in Dorset

Jewish cemetery in Krakow

February 13, 2015 by heavenhappens

All Lives Matter

I was very moved this morning by the news that over five thousand people had gathered yesterday for the funeral of the three students who were murdered on Tuesday in a brutal attack at Chapel Hill, North Carolina. This is on top of the three thousand who attended a candlelit vigil for them on Wednesday night.

I didn’t know these young people, but they were clearly much loved and respected by their community. The people who did know them best, their friends, relatives and fellow students, describe them as inspirational, happy, caring people.

Deah Barakat, aged just 23, was known for his charitable work and volunteering which inspired others to do the same. Yusor Mohammad Abu-Salha was his 21 year old wife and they were described as very much in love and recently married. Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha was Yusor’s sister and was devoted to the couple. She was only 19.

A neighbour has admitted killing them apparently. How and why someone could do such an awful thing is beyond my comprehension. Maybe he is mentally ill. Maybe he is evil. Maybe he was jealous of their youth, happiness and popularity. Or, maybe he was prejudiced because of their religion, they were Muslims. Whatever the reason, he is in the minority of wicked people who are destroying our world, and our ability to live together with peace, justice and compassion. And today the world is a sadder place because of his actions. As John Donne said in his famous poem

“Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind”

But the crowds of people who gathered to pay their respects and honour their memory are, in my opinion, the normally silent majority who, though usually powerless to make change, are prepared to stand in solidarity when something is clearly wrong.

This is the mark of a caring community and a civilised society.

It is up to each individual of whatever age or background to decide whether they wish to be anti-society, or part of the silent majority who want to make the world a better place for all; not just for the people who look, think, dress and act like themselves.

I would ask today that we think about it. And, in recognition of the tragedy that has befallen these lovely young people and their families, let us all do something, however small, to make our bit of the world a better place; a place where everyone is respected for their humanity, and is treated with dignity. Find someone who needs your kindness, a child, a young parent, a teenager, a troubled adult, a carer, a frail, disabled or elderly person, and give them your time and attention. Listen to what they are saying and make them feel that they are valued. That their lives, however different matter to someone.

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

John Donne

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http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/feb/13/thousands-funeral-muslim-students-north-carolina-shooting

https://embed.theguardian.com/embed/video/us-news/video/2015/feb/12/chapel-hill-vigil-muslims-north-carolina-university-video

February 10, 2015 by heavenhappens

Scale

Fascinated by the photos on the Weekly Photo Challenge, I thought I would join in this week. The prompt is ‘scale’ and I just had to post a photo of scale model of a hare.

Tess covered in Mosaics at the Corinium Museum

Tess before and after she was decorated

In recent years there has been a spate of large scale ceramic or stone objects appearing in towns and cities of the UK. Having mentioned it to my daughter last night I know that they have been seen in the USA too. The first time I came across it was when my grandchildren, Ben and Rosie went to London and were photographed alongside large colourful elephants. Wallace and Gromit were in Bristol recently too.
Next I heard of a Gorilla festival in Torbay and Exeter. There was also a festival of decorated horses in Cheltenham in honour of the races. Then it was 5 foot tall hares in Cirencester.
Why hares you might wonder?
Well Cirencester was a very important place in Roman times. It was called Corinium and had very good road links to the rest of the UK, such as Ermin Way and the Fosse Way. In 1971 during an archeological dig in Beeches Road near to the River Churn, a Roman mosaic was discovered depicting a hare. The original is now on show in the Corinium Museum. Hence the theme of hares for the festival. There were about 50 hares around the town. Most of them were 5 foot tall and decorated by local people including schoolchildren, members of the public, celebrities and artists. All of the large hares were named to reflect their sponsors. One of the most beautiful hares, named Tess, was on display in the Corinium.

Here are some of the others for you to enjoy ~

General Lievre

Gerry adding his contribution

Hareoh the Phareoh

Ceramic hares

February 7, 2015 by heavenhappens

Am I the ‘lunatic fringe’?

Alex Polizzi says I belong to the “Lunatic Fringe”. Little old me? Really?

I’ve been called many things in my time, drama queen and nervous wreck spring to mind and I hold my hands up to both. But this week I fell into a whole new category ~ the Lunatic Fringe!

Now if you know me, or think you do from reading my blog, this may come as a bit of a surprise, so let me explain.

I watch very little television as a rule, although I have to say currently I am spoilt for choice. I could not miss Wolf Hall, Broadchurch or Mr Selfridge! I am also tempted to watch anything with George Clarke, the restoration man in, as his beautiful Sunderland accent reminds me of my Geordie roots. Another presenter I admire is Alex Polizzi. She is the sort of feisty, intelligent, successful, call a spade a spade businesswoman/celebrity, I enjoy watching. On her programme she goes into failing businesses, be they hotels, cafés, shops, or entertainment venues, and gives practical help and advice on how to turn them around. It makes for fascinating TV.

This week Alex visited a children’s play barn. These are the sort of places I frequent with my grandchildren when it is too wet for the park! Of course these businesses are not so popular in the summer when children can play for free out of doors. I have to say Alex did not suggest the improvements which to me were blindingly obvious. I would install air conditioning to make it inviting on hot summer days and dedicate an area to sand and water play with a whippy ice cream maker nearby! It would be like going to the seaside but without the sunburn and crowded motorways.

Alex’s suggestions of course were practical, doable and great ~ new space-themed murals and paintwork, a much needed deep clean, and more nutritious, appealing and varied menu options. I did think that with the owner’s love of baking he could have been a bit more adventurous. My daughter makes wonderful little cupcakes for her son with grated vegetables or fruit in as well as mini tortillas packed with goodness. They are so cheap to make yet much healthier than the sugary cakes and biscuits the owner was lovingly preparing.

It was then that Alex explained that ‘normal’ customers who are dissatisfied don’t complain, they just never return! She said only the ‘lunatic fringe’ bothers to complain. What? Is this true? If so I am definitely a paid up member of the ‘Lunatic Fringe’. Who knew? Well just maybe Pets at Home, Greene King Inns, Gloucester Royal Hospital, the County Council and our local MP did. These have all been the recipients of complaints from me over the last few years. And, I have to say my complaints all achieved positive outcomes.

I could tell you about the explicit posters that were displayed outside our local pub advertising a ‘ladies night’ with male striptease. My complaint was that children on their way to school would see these posters, which I think is inappropriate. I also felt that a local pub was not the place for male strippers! My complaint succeeded because the landlords did not have a license for this type of entertainment so the posters were removed and the event cancelled.

I could tell you about my rather embarrassing but successful run in with the council over their attempt to site a hideous green bus shelter right outside my front window. (Does that make me a NIMFY?) I won’t go into detail about all of my complaints but if you read my blogpost Bus Stop Brenda you will get my drift.

If something is wrong in my opinion, I will usually write a letter of complaint in the hope that the person, company or service will put it right. I am polite, I use nice cards or paper, and I often search the internet for the name of the person at the top who makes the decisions. Is that lunatic?

My current grumble is with Sainsbury’s. I dread to think how much of my hard earned cash has passed through their tills over the years. I don’t have time to shop around, I never did, and so Sainsbury’s has fed my family and kept my household going for as long as I can remember. But they are risking all this loyalty for points worth pennies, and vouchers which drive me insane.

I have a Nectar card with Sainsbury’s and for every pound you spend you get points ~ so far so simple. You save up the points which equate to cash off your shopping. But recently the value of the points has been halved. You now need to jump through all sorts of hoops to get ‘bonus’ points or double points. This just takes you back to where you would have been originally but they pretend it’s a great deal for the customer. Next there are the confounded vouchers which come through the post or pour out of the till. They are not just simple money off vouchers, they are date restricted, product linked or just for fuel.

I also get vouchers from Pets at Home, Waitrose and M&S, sometimes for food, or clothing, pet stuff, or for household goods. It’s a nightmare trying to use them.

Nowadays, no-one calls me a domestic goddess, organised I am not. I used to be. When I was younger and working full time, a parent of 4 children with a dog and a cat to consider, I could manage to work efficiently for 60 hours a week, ferry my children to their various activities, attend to most of the domestic chores and provide nutritious food on a regular basis as well as keeping the animals happy, fed and exercised. But since I retired my organisational skills have dwindled to the point where cutting out and collecting the relevant vouchers and actually taking them in my purse to the right shop for the specified items between the appropriate dates is totally beyond me.

Bemoaning this to a couple of friends who still qualify as domestic goddesses they advised me to:

a) sort out vouchers into date order
b) buy a plastic zippy pouch to keep vouchers in
c) keep the zippy pouch with your purse in the reusable shopping bags
d) take the bags, purse and pouch to the shops
e) go through the vouchers at the checkout and present the relevant vouchers

So I tried this last week and failed miserably. Going shopping with a 2 teenagers, a small child and a baby in a pushchair may have been difficult but it was a doddle compared to going shopping with a 6 foot hubby currently in a wheelchair, which goes something like this:~

Convince hubby that shopping needs to be done
Explain to hubby that he needs to get out of the house
Find his shoes, coat, scarf, hat, wallet, hanky, drinks bottle in case he gets thirsty, sweets in case he gets dry throat
prise hubby out of comfy rise and recline chair
help him on with previously mentioned items
use indoor, 4 wheeled mobility aid to get to front door
use outdoor, 3 wheeled, foldable mobility aid to get to car
help hubby into car
put outdoor walker in garage
get wheelchair out of garage
fold up wheelchair and lift into boot
drive to Sainsbury’s
dodge the car washers who want to charge me £8 to put wax on my driver’s window with a dirty rag so that I can’t see out of it
get wheelchair out of boot
help hubby into wheelchair
ask staff to unlock store’s mobility scooter
help hubby into mobility scooter
take wheelchair back to car, fold and lift into boot
do the shopping, carefully adding a bit extra because we have vouchers
find a checkout wide enough for mobility scooter
unload all shopping onto conveyor belt
look for reusable bags, purse and zippy pouch bursting with vouchers worth £12 and hundreds of nectar points
Realise they are still at home on the indoor mobility aid
Ask hubby for his wallet
Pay for shopping
Replay 1 to 18 in reverse order
Go home and have a little cry

Now the end to this tale of woe is that I kept my receipt and went in the next day with the voucher for £12 off having fulfilled all the criteria, but the computerised till would not accept the voucher because it ran out at close of business the night before. My complaint is that my shopping was done within the specified time so the voucher should be honoured. What would Alex Polizzi say? Would the shareholders of Sainsbury’s rather I acted like a ‘normal’ customer and just voted with my feet or would they prefer to get a letter giving them the opportunity to honour my voucher and keep my custom?

Answers on a postcard please …

February 2, 2015 by heavenhappens

The simple song that spread around the world

There are some times, they are rare and they are brief but they happen, when the horizon between heaven and earth melts away and the future is changed forever. It is often those who have suffered the most who experience such revelations. Their gifts are a profound peace, the knowledge that all will be well, and total clarity about the course they must follow.

I am sure that it was just such an experience that led a young man from a desperately poor background to create the world’s most popular Christmas carol. A carol which caused soldiers to come out of their trenches one Christmas Eve during World War One to share rations and gifts with the ‘enemy’ and even play a game of football together!

It was Joseph Mohr who wrote the words to Stille Nacht, (Silent Night). He had a very inauspicious start to his life. Born in Salzburg in 1792, he grew up poor and fatherless. His godfather was the local executioner and his mother knitted to make a living. But Joseph was a special boy. He sang in the church choir and had a gift for music and poetry. These talents were recognised and encouraged by the local priest who helped Joseph through school, on to university, then to work as a curate, and ultimately to train as a priest.

But times were hard in Europe during his early years. As well as natural disasters such as flooding, which destroyed livelihoods and infrastructure; the Napoleonic Wars had seen Salzburg and the surrounding towns and villages devastated, occupied, bombarded, defeated and heavily taxed. The ordinary people were suffering in 1816 when Joseph Mohr found consolation in the church at Mariapfarr. There he was inspired to write the words to his carol.

It would be two more years before the carol was set to music by Joseph’s friend, the organist and choir director, Franz Gruber in Oberndorf. They sang the carol together in German at midnight mass with guitars for accompaniment. The aim was to bring the Christmas spirit of love, peace, comfort and joy to their community in these difficult times. They surely succeeded then and ever since.

Joseph Mohr died penniless in 1848, having used all his earnings to provide education for the young and care for the elderly in his parish. He would never know that his little carol would travel the world being performed over and over again. It would be translated into over 300 languages and become the people’s favourite Christmas carol nearly 200 years after it was written.

Now that is a legacy to be proud of!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGA6djLsDgs

Snowdrops

At last the snowdrops, hellebores and crocuses have made an appearance in the Cotswolds where I live. Rather than repeat myself I will reblog my post about them here

Heavenhappens

Thanks to reading one of my favourite blogs I remembered that the flower of the day is the snowdrop. I already have snowdrops and hellebores appearing in my garden as the weather is so mild here so I thought I would repost some of the photos I have taken of these flowers in the past. I live near the Rococo gardens at Painswick, a place I have blogged about several times. According to The Independent Newspaper in 2008,

The Rococo Garden has one of the largest naturalistic plantings of snowdrops in the country and is in many ways the spiritual home of Galanthus Atkinsii.

Although many believe the Romans introduced snowdrops they are more likely to have been brought to England in the early 16th Century. Galanthus nivalis is native to a large tract of mainland Europe from the Pyrenees in the west, through France and Germany to Poland in…

View original post 55 more words

December 30, 2014 by heavenhappens

2014 in review

I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has read, liked or commented on my posts throughout 2014. I wish you all a very happy, healthy, inspirational and creative 2015. Here is my end of year report compiled by WordPress!

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 15,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

November 29, 2014 by heavenhappens

Blenheim Palace

It wasn’t an auspicious start when we met the coach to travel to Woodstock on 27^th November 2014. It was a misty morning, dismal and damp with drizzle. However as always the mood on the coach was sunny and light hearted; WI ladies are such good company. We were heading off to Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire to see the house decorated in “Glitter and Gold” for Christmas. On the way we travelled through the lovely village of Bladon where most of the Spencer Churchill’s are buried at St Martin’s Church.

Blenheim palace is a Baroque masterpiece designed by Nicholas Hawksmoor and Sir John Vanbrugh, which took 17 years to complete. On our tour we were told that the house was so perfect that it has never been extended or redesigned. It was begun in 1704 thanks to Queen Anne who had just come to the throne. John Churchill had been given the title, Duke of Marlborough by the previous monarch, William of Orange. It was a particularly turbulent time in Europe and the Duke was recognised by most as a man of courage, stamina and will-power, as well as a brilliant military man. He was leading the allied forces in Europe when there was a bloody and decisive battle at Blindheim, in Bavaria. On August 13 1704, Marlborough and his men held back King Louis XIV’s troops and saved Vienna from a French attack. This changed the course of history in Europe, protecting British interests. The Queen was so pleased that she granted Marlborough the Manor and Honour of Woodstock and acres of gorgeous countryside as well as the promise of money to build a house as a fitting monument to his great victory. The name Blindheim was then anglicised and became Blenheim.

This is an extract from the famous poem called The Battle of Blenheim by Robert Southey;

“It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“Who put the French to rout;
But what they killed each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said,” quoth he,
“That ’twas a famous victory!

By the time we reached Blenheim via the long sweeping drive, the sun was shining and it was a perfect day to take in the impressive views of the grounds, the lakes, the bridge, and the breathtaking beauty and symmetry of the house itself.

We were doubly fortunate because, not only was the house decked out for Christmas, but there was a spectacular art exhibition by the Chinese conceptual artist, Ai Weihei. Being an outspoken social activist, Ai Weihei brings politics into his work and some of it was quite controversial. However there were some really beautiful and thought provoking pieces. I particularly liked the ‘Chandelier 2002’, which was made of glass crystals, lights, metal and scaffolding. Being over 5 metres tall it hung glittering from the ceiling in the grand entrance. I was not so keen on the piece called ‘He Xie, 2012’, in the red drawing room, which consisted of masses of porcelain crabs on the exquisite carpet.

We managed to see almost every room in the public parts of the house learning snippets as we dipped in and out of fascinating guided tours. Every room was different and had objects of beauty to see, sculptures, furniture, china, silverware, paintings and spectacular tapestries. We were amazed to see huge cases filled with small model soldiers complete with arms and vehicles displayed in battle formation from many wars. It seems that Blenheim holds the National Collection of the British Model Soldier Society.

On the first floor of the house we took a fascinating, if rather unnerving tour, called “Blenheim~the Untold Story”. This was narrated by the ‘ghost’ of Grace Ridley who was the favoured servant of the first duchess, Sarah. The voice of Grace led us from room to room mysteriously as she rattled through over 300 years of history and 11 Dukes of Marlborough. It was certainly entertaining and informative.

On a very sad note, we learned that the 11^th Duke had died just a few weeks ago on the 16^th October this year at the age of 88. He was a cousin of the wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who was also his godfather, and he was also distantly related to the late Princess Diana. He inherited Blenheim in 1972 and devoted his life to preserving the Palace for the benefit of future generations. His titles will now pass to his eldest son James, Marquess of Blandford, who was born in 1955. It is an enormous responsibility which I certainly would not relish. However there is a strong board of trustees to help him.

After exhausting the beauty of the house and enjoying a lovely lunch in the Water Terrace Café, one of several eating places at Blenheim, we ventured out into the open air to enjoy just some of the many formal gardens. We saw the water terraces, the Italian garden and the secret garden which were beautiful. We didn’t manage to visit the park with its cascades and the Temple of Diana, where Winston Churchill proposed to Clemmie. Nor did we walk to the huge Column of Victory or Vanbrugh’s Grand Bridge. However we saw them in the distance and were thrilled by all we did see. We all agreed we would be going back in the Spring. And, we were amazed to learn that we could convert our day tickets into an annual pass which gives free entry for the next 12 months!

2015 marks many important anniversaries linked to Sir Winston Churchill, including the 50^th Anniversary of his death, and the 75^th Anniversary of the Battle of Britain ~ ‘his finest hour’. There will be a special exhibition focussing on his life, from his birth at Blenheim Palace on 30^th November 1874 to his days as our Prime Minister. The room where he was born has been preserved just as it was and there is a case with his baby vest in it. There are also 2 of his paintings and a lock of his hair. Winston Churchill was the son of a younger brother of the 8^thDuke.

There are many reasons I would like to revisit Blenheim Palace. I would love to explore the gardens, lakes and the park. I would also like to see the Column of Victory up close. But I think we were very lucky to see the house decorated for Christmas with glitter and gold. It was a very special day out.

Blenheim palace detail

Blenheim palace

The bed Winston Churchill was born in

Impressive gates

Nativity scene in the chapel

Glitter and Gold

November 28, 2014 by heavenhappens

Life Choices by Danielle Jordan

An inspirational blogpost from a thoroughly modern woman!

The World Outside the Window

Welcome to my latest guest contributor, the fantastically talented Danielle Jordan. Danielle is a self-employed theatre practitioner and so are all of her family including baby Scarlett. She has agreed to share the unique challenges she faces as a first time mother working as a self-employed person in the arts.

An actor’s life for me (and baby)

Life Choices byDanielle Jordan

“Umm…I think she might have been a bit sick?”

“No no she’s just dribbling in her sleep, anyway, before you learn how to strangle each other, let’s go through that last scene…”

View original post 1,280 more words

November 15, 2014 by heavenhappens

Carried on the Wind – A Reflection

As a tribute to my friends who recently put on a moving play about World war One, I am reposting a reflection by a fellow Blogger

Carried on the Wind – A Reflection.

November 15, 2014 by heavenhappens

Pain

Pain is messy

A rebellious teenager, appearing

Defiant, disruptive

Causing chaos

Pain is invisible

A malevolent spirit haunting

Nagging, gnawing

Stealing sleep

Pain is antisocial

An angry mob descending

Erratic, uncaring,

Restricting movement

Pain is cunning

A bully stalking

Defeating doctors, confounding consultants,

Making fools of pharmacists,

Pain is relentless

A silent enemy

Heartless, challenging

Limiting life

It’s the middle of the night and as i can’t sleep my default mode is to get up and write.

I can’t sleep because of the relentless pain in my shoulder which is the result of an injury to my rotator cuff. I’d never heard of this unseen but essential part of my anatomy until it was injured. According to Wikipedia, the rotator cuff is a group of muscles and their tendons that act to stabilize the shoulder. Like me, you have probably never given them a thought; but, if they are inflamed, torn or damaged like mine, you will certainly know about it! The pain in my shoulder is excruciating, especially if I try to lift or lower my arm or twist it behind my back. It is worse at night because I tend to turn over and lie on the right side and it is my right shoulder that is injured. I guess it will improve over time and with some simple exercise, but at the moment the pain is hard to manage. The hospital doctor gave me Co-codamol but they made me sick and most over the counter analgesics don’t even dull the pain. So I guess I will just have to live with it.

On the bright side, it does not affect me much when my arm is by my side so I can still write ~ YIPPEE! I think if I was unable to write I would go crazy.

November 7, 2014 by heavenhappens

“Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red”

The weather was atrocious when I finally managed to visit the Tower of London with a friend. After an unseasonably warm October, November has arrived with a splash. It rained non-stop while we were at the Tower. Not gentle rain, or refreshing rain, but relentless, heavy, pounding rain, that ran in waves down the sloping entrance, soaking my shoes and the bottom of my trousers. My daughter has this theory that if it is raining in Barcelona where she lives, it will be dry in London and vice versa. She happened to ring me just as I was leaving the house clad in wellies and mac. But as there was a thunderstorm and heavy rain in Barcelona, she said I wouldn’t need them so I changed. She was wrong. I got soaked!

Despite the rain, the Tower was packed with visitors and I was impressed by how cheerful and friendly they were. Most of the people I spoke to in the extremely long queues were from London or nearby counties of Kent and Essex. Some said they hadn’t been to the Tower since they were children on a school visit. Others, like me, had made a day trip involving hours on public transport- coaches, trains, buses and the underground. Travelling, walking, and queuing all in torrential rain. All had made the effort because they were keen to see the installation officially called, “Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red”, but generally known by the people as ~ The Poppies!

Poppies of course are an emotive symbol, used since the 1920s by the Royal British Legion to raise funds for their charitable work, ‘to the memory of the fallen and the future of the living’. Although they are controversial, most people in the UK seem to wear them to show respect for those who fought and died in previous conflicts, and solidarity with those serving in the armed forces today. The tradition was inspired by the poem, In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae. The story goes that when his friend, Alexis Helmer was killed at Ypres in 1915, the Canadian doctor, Major John McCrae, conducted the burial. In his grief he was moved by the beauty of the wild red poppies growing amongst the horror of the graves. The sight inspired McCrae to write this famous poem.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The poppies forming the installation at the Tower, all 888,246 of them, were handmade under the direction of the ceramic artist Paul Cummins to commemorate the centenary of the outbreak of World War One. The artist reportedly said that he took his inspiration from the words of an unknown soldier from Derby who wrote that all his friends, indeed everyone he cared about, had been killed in that dreadful war. He described, “Blood swept lands and seas of red, where angels dare to tread”. The ceramic poppies, each representing a British or Commonwealth fatality in WW1, were ‘planted’ by volunteers in the moat around the Tower of London; not haphazardly, but artistically arranged by the stage designer, Tom Piper. Now complete, they spill over battlements, around walls and out of windows, covering the grassy moat with a red river of biblical proportions. There is a very appropriate poem which reflects not only the poppies but how I feel about the whole experience:

London by William Blake

I wandered through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

The Journalist, Jonathan Jones has been criticised in some quarters of the media for his opinion that the poppies at the Tower of London are “fake, trite and inward-looking – a UKIP-style memorial”, theguardian.com, 28 October). I found his comments shocking, but thought provoking.

My impression was of a river of blood flowing around the tower, but outside of the establishment in every sense of the word. Inside, the building protects and reflects power, treasures, pomp, ceremony, privilege, and a dark side to our history ~ cruelty, torture, imprisonment and murder.

Significantly, many of the people, probably the majority, who came to see the poppies, stayed outside the Tower. It costs quite a lot for an ordinary family to go inside! (Happily almost the whole installation can be seen freely from outside.) I think this is as it should be. The ordinary people came, not to see the grandeur of the Tower, but to be a part of something spectacular yet stunning in its simplicity. They stood good-humoured, all ages and nationalities, helping each other in the pouring rain, humanity at its best, honouring those who died. It was beautiful.

I did go into the Tower but it felt alien, as if it had nothing to do with the poppies – except for the Beefeaters. These men have all served at least 22 years in the forces, and must have attained at least the rank of Sergeant Major. They were larger than life characters who wore their immaculate, gorgeous, yet slightly ridiculous uniforms with evident pride and aplomb. Their uniforms were drenched. The rain dripped off them like the tears shed by countless families of the fallen we were there to remember. Somehow this fitted the mood and made it all real. Did those young men stand firm and wear their rain-sodden, mud-soaked uniforms with pride on those dreadful battlefields?

There is some talk this week of leaving the poppies in situ for longer. While I don’t agree with this I think it could be very moving to see them standing through the biting winds, mist, murk and mud of a British November. They could then represent the poor, the homeless, the jobless and all the disadvantaged in this very unequal world. If they stayed longer, through the cold, frost and snow of a harsh December, they could represent, the lonely, the sick, the disabled, and the elderly so often at the mercy of exhausted relatives or poorly paid and overworked “carers” in homes and hospitals. Too many of them look forward to death as an escape from suffering, as so many of those young men must have done during WW1.

The juxtaposition of the simple poppies outside, and the Crown Jewels inside the Tower was revealing. Considered precious, these ‘priceless’ treasures are displayed in glass cases watched over by security. With soft lighting and controlled temperatures they are guarded in secure rooms sealed by impenetrable metal doors. They reminded me of seeing the embalmed body of Lenin in his mausoleum in Red Square! Would that our young soldiers had been so well cared for on the WW1 battlefields!

Unfortunately we seem to have learned little after a hundred years. The most incongruous thing I saw during my visit was a sign, which said you could avoid the queues by paying for membership of something or other. This is exactly what is wrong with our world. Money can buy advantage in every sphere of life. Those with money, power and influence can get the best seats in theatres, tables in restaurants, food, education, housing, healthcare, medical treatment, etc. etc. You name it and you can have it if you have money.

The world is still run by a strange elite, a brotherhood, for they are mostly men, who make and adjust the rules to protect and promote their own interests and to feather their own nests. The few prosper at the expense of the many who struggle daily to get and keep a home in which to live and raise their family, to feed, clothe and educate them, and try desperately to stay well enough to not need help in their old age. Only when laws, rules and decisions are made, and actions taken to promote the common good, will the war have been worth it. We are a long way from that yet.

There may be no-one living now who actually fought in WW1, but there are countless families who treasure the memory of a relative who did, and this installation has given them an opportunity to remember them and to pass on their history to the next generation. My own grandfather joined up at the start of the war aged just 14 years 8 months and was sent to France as a bugler in 1917, aged 17. Thankfully he survived. But, like many others, he never talked about his wartime experiences. We found out about them when he died many years later and his comrades spoke at his funeral. Since then I have researched his war record and it is astonishing what he went through. To me he was always my lovely granddad who ran a corner shop and let me sit by the fire in the back of the shop eating out of date sweeties and chatting to my much loved granny. I always respected and loved him, but now I admire him for his strength of character and I am proud to be descended from him.

I will finish by posting some photos taken by myself and friends and by quoting a comment sent in to the Guardian, which I agree with wholeheartedly:

“So perhaps the sea of poppies is not about the war of 1914-18, but about a very different conflict, which is still raging in 2014. I mean, of course, the conflict between those who want us to believe that everything is all right (even if some bad things happen) – that everything that was done in the last 100 years turned out okay in the end, and will continue to do so; and those who know in their hearts and minds that things are not okay – that the events of the past decade, whether about banking, climate change, poverty or war, are signals to us that we need to do things differently. Perhaps a dried-up castle moat full of enormously expensive fake flowers is a very potent symbol after all – just not the one the artist intended.”
Nick Moseley
Chesham, Buckinghamshire

Original 18th century bath thought to have belonged to King George III

The saddest door of all ~ Traitor’s gate at Tower of london

10580058_708670312531577_5712236208646843665_n (1)

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2817086/How-make-888-246-china-poppies-fired-glaze-Meet-unsung-heroes-glorious-artwork-captivating-Britain-Tower-tribute-WWI-fallen.html#v-3868841266001

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zc5ijfpXwK0

September 27, 2014 by heavenhappens

Oh What a Year! 1963

I sing in a lovely choir every Friday morning and I love it. The songs we sing are varied but there is always one that catches our mood, gets us laughing, crying or dancing, and lights up our voices. This week it was the old Frankie Valli and the 4 Seasons number, Oh What a Night! It was released in December 1975, but the words recall “late December back in ‘63”. I bet you didn’t know that the song was originally going to be about December 1933 and Prohibition? However thank goodness Valli persuaded them to change it to a song about first love in ’63. You can play the song as you read my blog by clicking on the icon on the sidebar.

Oh, what a night, late December back in ’63
What a very special time for me
As I remember what a night!

I made a passing comment that I was sweet 16 in 1963 to the amusement of some of the older choir members and horror of the younger ones. But as so often happens with music it then brought up all sorts of memories.

1963/64 was a very special year for me. I was in my final year at Stratford Grammar school for Girls learning in the most beautiful setting imaginable. I was studying English literature at ‘A level’. My main text was King Lear. I’ve mentioned before that in those days it was possible to pay 4 shillings in pre-decimal money, which is 20 pence now, and stand at the back of the theatre to watch Shakespeare’s plays. I took full advantage of this and I was there in 1962 when Paul Schofield played King Lear in what is recognised as the greatest performance of the role of all time. It left an indelible impression on me which stays with me even now. The main themes of the play have universal and timeless significance,

Appearance versus reality
Justice
Compassion and reconciliation
The natural order

Our English teacher, Miss Southall, was an inspiration too. All black hair, flowing gown and long legs, which she bared to the sun during summer term. This meant English classes were held on the lawn in the beautiful walled garden with its Dovecote, in front of the magnificent Shottery Manor which was the setting for the sixth form. The school was, and still is, just a stone’s throw from Anne Hathaway’s cottage in Shottery. It oozed history with its old oak floors, wood panelling and not so secret passages which could have been priest holes. We were convinced that there was a tunnel leading from the Manor into town but no-one ever ventured in far enough to find out because it was pitch dark.

According to school history, the oldest part of the Manor was 14^th century when it was owned by Evesham Abbey. In 1402 the Bishop of Worcester granted a licence to John Harewell of Wootten Wawen for a priest to celebrate Mass in the Oratory of the Manor. This room became our sixth form study. The house stayed in the Harewell family for centuries but in 1919 the manor was bought by Mr A D Flower on behalf of the trustees of the late Edgar Flower. The Flower family were very significant to Stratford on Avon. Edward Flower started Flower’s Brewery there in 1831 and his sons, Charles and Edgar continued the business making rather a lot of money. Fortunately the Flowers had that wonderful Victorian ethic of using their money to benefit the community, (I wonder what happened to that in Britain?), and they used it to develop the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre. Charles donated the land by the River Avon and in 1875 launched a campaign to build the theatre. He also donated the money to build the theatre (about £1 million in today’s money), which opened in 1879 with a performance of Much Ado About Nothing. Charles also gave the cottages opposite so that the rents could be used to maintain the theatre.

The last members of the Flower family to live in the Manor left in 1951 and it was empty for a few years. But thank goodness Warwickshire County Council bought it and it was turned into the first Girl’s Grammar School in the area. It opened in 1958 just in time for me to arrive. I was very lucky to get in at all as I had moved from the north of England where my education record was patchy to say the least.

I started school in a converted Chemical Works by the shipyards on the River Tyne. I remember there was a huge room which was partitioned off for different age groups. My delight, and my downfall, was to peep round the partition to see what was going on in other areas. The grass is always greener etc….

I was not in infants for very long as I was what they called in those days, ‘a sickly child’. I was underweight (hard to imagine I know!), undernourished, with Rheumatic Fever and a heart condition. I eventually got back to school in the juniors but was so far behind that the teachers didn’t even try to educate me. They gave me all the little jobs to do, which was great by me!

On Monday mornings my job was to fill up all the inkwells. I went to the office to mix up black ink powder and water in a jug with a long spout. I then went from desk to desk. Each wooden desk had a hole with a ceramic pot in it. I poured the ink into the pot until it reached the rim. We used ‘dip pens’ in the juniors in those days, just a wooden handle with a metal nib on the end which you dipped in the ink then scraped on the edge to take off the excess. The youngest infants still used chalk and individual slates. I had to be very careful with the ink as washable ink was unheard of. This stuff would stain permanently!

As you can imagine this job could take all morning if necessary; however there was also free milk to give out and wafers to sell. In those days children didn’t bring fancy cool bags or plastic lunch boxes filled with snacks to school. If they were very lucky they would have a ha’penny (¹/₂d) to buy some wafers. These wafers were the sort you get on an ice cream ‘sandwich’. They came in big boxes and were sold 2 for ¹/₂d.

Many children were undernourished in those days as it was just after the war and there was still some rationing. The recently formed NHS did a wonderful job of providing supplements for children. We got little bottles of orange juice, cod liver oil by the spoonful not capsules, Virol malt extract and I got a tonic too.

I can honestly say I don’t remember learning a thing at primary school except to sing, ‘Flow Gently sweet Afton’ and to make an advent calendar out of matchboxes for Christmas. It was my inspirational, well-read and self-taught father who taught me what I needed to know: how to read, write, do maths, to identify constellations, wonder, dream, question, listen, love. He had an open mind and an open heart. It was he who convinced Miss Williams, the original head teacher of Stratford grammar School for Girls, that I was a suitable candidate for her school. I am so glad that he did. Because, since 1963, thanks to that education, I have been able to plough my own furrow.

St John’s School, Felling

Upper Sixth Shottery Manor

My Stratford Blog http://wp.me/p2gGsd-5c

So what else was on at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre in 1963 that I watched for 4s (shillings)?

The Tempest, Julius Caesar, Comedy of Errors, Edward 1V, Henry V1, Richard 111, and the newly adapted history plays under the title of the Wars of the Roses.

In 1963 the director was Peter Hall with John Barton, designer John Bury, and music was by Guy Woolfenden

And the actors in these plays had names that have graced theatre, television and film for decades:

Paul Schofield, Vanessa Redgrave, Dorothy Tutin, John Gielgud, Peggy Ashcroft, Judy Dench, Roy Dotrice, Ian Holm (a fabulous Richard 111), David Warner ( a dreamy Henry V1), Janet Suzman, Clifford Rose, Penelope Keith, etc….

And what else was happening at home and abroad in 1963?

Major William Hicks Beach (Conservative) was MP for Cheltenham and Harold Macmillan was Prime Minister in UK until Sir Alec Douglas Hume succeeded him in October.

The Beatles released their first album, Please Please Me and rapidly rose to fame.

Britain had the worst winter since 1946/47 when I was born. The snow lasted until April.

The Great Train Robbery took place in Buckinghamshire with millions of pounds stolen.

In June 1963 the first woman to travel into Space was a Soviet Cosmonaut, Valentina Tereshkova. She orbited Earth 48 times, spending 71 hours in Space. She parachuted to earth after ejecting at 20,000 feet.

Tens of thousands of protestors came from all over the world to join the CND march from Aldermarston to London to protest about the Hydrogen Bomb which threatened world peace.

Thousands of African Americans were arrested in Birmingham, Alabama for protesting against segregation.

Martin Luther King gave his ‘I Have a Dream’ speech during a march on Washington for jobs and freedom

President John F Kennedy made a historic Civil Rights Address in which he promised a Civil Rights Bill

The first Sindy Doll was marketed by Pedigree.

In October the Rolling Stones played at the Odeon in Cheltenham. The Beatles played there on 1^st November.

Pope Paul VI succeeds Pope John XXIII as the 262nd Pope.

The second James Bond Film ‘From Russia with Love’ opened in London.

22^nd November 1963 was a terrible day. Not only did authors CS Lewis and Aldous Huxley die, but President John F Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. Lyndon B Johnson was sworn in as president.

The first episode of Dr Who was aired on television in November 1963. During the 60s the series was in black and white.

September 26, 2014 by heavenhappens

Carpe Diem ~ Corn

I went to Taize one summer when it was so hot and dry that the magnificent River Loire had almost dried up in places. Too hot to stay in the car I decided to walk for a while across the fields and I had an amazing experience. At the foot of the hill were fields of sunflowers, corn and poppies. I stood alone in a field full of sunflowers, looking up towards the church, as a gentle breeze blew. The wind caused the flowers to bend and the sound they made was so strange. I experienced what I can only describe as the spirit moving.

Today’s Haiku prompt at Carpe Diem reminded me of that moment.

Soft wind whispering

Spirit moving through the corn

Speaking to my soul

It reminded me strongly of the beautiful words of one of my favourite hymns:

Be still for the presence of the Lord

Be still for the presence of the Lord  The holy one is here

Come bow before him now  With reverence and fear

In him no sin is found  We stand on holy ground

Be still for the presence of the Lord  The holy one is here

Be still for the power of the Lord  Is moving in this place

He comes to cleanse and heal  To minister his grace

No work too hard for him  In faith receive from him

Be still for the power of the Lord  Is moving in this place

Icon at Taize

August 26, 2014 by heavenhappens

Banksy ~ A rebel with a cause?

I recently wrote about our concert at the Tuckwell Open Air Theatre. For several weeks before the concert we rehearsed in a room above a pub in one of the older parts of Cheltenham. Right opposite the pub, on the corner of Hewlett Road and Fairview Road, was an ugly modern telephone box. I will never understand why the powers that be got rid of our lovely red telephone boxes and replaced them with these ugly grey plastic things. But I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder!

However, I digress. The telephone box was attached to the side wall of a very insignificant rented house. Insignificant that is until one Saturday night in April this year when a van turned up and a man covered the wall of the house with tarpaulin. He then proceeded to paint a mural around the phone box which showed three men apparently using listening devices to hear and record the conversations of people using the phone box. The trenchcoat-wearing men were obviously meant to be spies. Now this was clearly a reference to the fact that GCHQ, the Government Communications Headquarters, is based in the town. GCHQ had been controversially in the news because of Edward Snowdon’s revelation that they listen in to private telephone calls, though quite why anyone is surprised by that I fail to see. I may be missing something, but if this is done in the quest to prevent terrorism and serious crime ~ isn’t that their job?

When the tarpaulin, the man and the van left, there appeared an amazing piece of very professional street art or graffiti, depending on your point of view.

It was quickly established that the art was the work of the world famous elusive Bristol based artist known as Banksy, which made it extremely valuable to whoever owned that wall. Banksy owned up to the work, which is now known as Spy Booth

People came from miles around to have their photograph taken inside the Spy Booth including my daughter and my grandson!

Of course all of this attention had negative consequences too. The painting was very soon badly vandalised, which is tragic, but also rather ironic as it was originally an act of vandalism itself.

The debacle which has rumbled on ever since verges on the ridiculous with the owner, the tenants, the council, local business people, millionaire prospective buyers and art experts all proclaiming their views loudly in the local newspaper. But most residents agree that it livens up a rather dull area, is a tourist attraction and definitely belongs in Cheltenham. It would be irrelevant as a political statement if it were not linked to the phone box and the home of the Government communications Headquarters.

Banksy himself has said, “As a kid I always dreamed of growing up to be a character in Robin Hood”. It seems now his street art is so valuable that he doesn’t need to steal from the rich. They are queuing up to buy his work! Today I heard that another of his paintings, Mobile Lovers, attached to the side of a community building in Bristol has been sold for a six figure sum and all the money is going to secure the future running of the premises as a Youth Club.

August 26, 2014 by heavenhappens

Miss Margaret’s New House

When I was a student in the 1960’s I started collecting nursery rhymes and poetry which I could use once I started teaching. I built up quite a collection in a folder. I also got into the habit of cutting poems out of the daily newspaper if they appealed to me. One poem impressed me so much I have treasured it for the last 50 years. I still have the original cutting. Brown with age, I’ve now laminated it so that it doesn’t get damaged. It is called Miss Margaret’s New House and it chimed with me really strongly.

As regular readers of my blog will know, my much loved mum died in 2012. She lived just a couple of doors away from me, which was really handy when I was caring for her. But once she had died, the house being so close was a constant source of sadness which I could not escape.

The house was empty and forlorn for months but now new people have bought the house to ‘do up’ and live in. It seems to me that there will be nothing left of the original house soon. It now has a huge extension on the back, the lovely hardwood window frames have been replaced with white plastic and the leaded lights are gone. The kitchen has been ripped out and a new one built in the extension. The wall between the bathroom and toilet has been knocked through and all the fittings have been replaced. The climbing roses have been cut down and the rambling hedgerow tamed and trimmed. All the carpets are gone and modern wooden flooring installed and the walls have all be painted in neutral tones.

I’m sure it will all be lovely by the time they move in, but no longer will it be ‘my mum’s house’. This is a blessing in a way as I will no longer feel those pangs of sadness as I pass by on my walks with the dog or my grandson. Every trace of my mum’s taste and personality has gone from the house now, along with her fixtures and fittings, into the skip.

Her style was plain and simple. She loved the soft pink on the walls, pale green on the floors ~ always Wilton, always 80/20 wool. She loved roses in the garden, flowers in the house, and dark oak Ercol furniture. She loved soft cushions and silver ornaments. Her door, like her heart, was always open to visitors, especially her family. She never forgot a birthday and was generous to a fault. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her.

Now to get back to the poem! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

She never liked The Firs. She said

‘Give me simplicity.

Pretentious roofs and leaded panes…

Lord, how they sicken me!

I’ll have an honest house one day.

Clean-shaped outside and in.

Where need shall take its dues, and oust

The merely finikin.

A downright house, a compact house;

A small house – I am small;

The lone pea in its vasty pod

Is not my role at all.

Nor yet for me pert painted doors,

Flame yellow, scarlet bright;

A low house with white window sills,

And trees to left and right.

A quiet house, a peaceful house…

Cool in the August heat,

But snug and safe when parching winds

Drive brown leaves down the street…

This will I have’, she said and let

It cost me what it may

I shall not grudge that dwelling’s price…

She moved in yesterday.

It took the sum of all she had,

But well content she seemed;

She has them all-the sheltering trees,

The quiet that she dreamed;

The low pitched roof, the straight bare walls-

All hers, and perfect, save

For the white window sills. There are

No windows in a grave.

By Ana Jackson

My mum painting in Painswick Rococo Gardens

August 24, 2014 by heavenhappens

My Life in the Glass Cabinet

Preserved Rose from Lourdes

August has been challenging to say the least. We needed a new gas boiler ~ expensive but not a disaster you would think. However…one thing leads to another … a burst water pipe in the loft filled up the loft space and soaked the insulation; water came through the ceiling and the loft door soaking all the carpets in the hall, bathroom and airing cupboard. Water then came through all the electric light fittings and the alarms. The gas fitters trying to stop the water managed to put their foot through the ceiling and made a hole in the bathroom wall. We then had a gas leak where the pipes were connected to the meter!
Result ~ 2 regular gas fitters to fit the new boiler, 2 emergency gas fitters to fix the gas leak, 2 emergency electricians to change all the fittings and make it safe, 2 plumbers to change the pipes, 1 handyman to fix the hole in the wall, 2 builders to take down the ceiling and build a new one, 2 decorators to repaint the ceilings and walls in the hall and kitchen, 2 carpet fitters to lay new carpets to hall and bathroom, 1 carpenter to make new loft door, 1 man to replace loft insulation, several insurance assessors and surveyors and a very frazzled housewife!
As if all this weren’t enough my husband then had a nasty fall and injured his leg. It will take some weeks to recover and he is in a wheelchair until it does. Undaunted we decided to go away for a couple of days as it was my birthday on Monday. Not being used to worrying about access I booked a hotel which involved getting said husband and wheelchair up and down several stairs countless times daily. Finding this rather awkward I managed to jam my little finger causing a deep gash, and losing copious amounts of blood in the beautifully tiled reception.
And so dear reader as August draws to a close I am busy getting my little bungalow back in some kind of order. I had to empty the glass cabinet so I could move it for the carpet fitters and today’s job was to clean it and put everything back.

I realised as I put things back that this glass cabinet is a treasure trove, preserving significant moments and key memories spanning almost my whole life.
There are the two little pixies that I bought in Woolworth’s on Felling High Street in 1952 for my mother with my sixpence pocket money. When she died and the house was cleared they turned up amongst her possessions. She had kept them for 60 years and I will keep them now.

Felling High Street when i was a girl

There is a nativity scene with a painted card background and little plastic figures. This is a poignant reminder of the traumatic Christmas of 1952 when I was in the children’s hospital at Rothbury in Northumberland. It was given to me by a kind visitor and has attained a ridiculous level of significance in my life.

There are treasured Christmas cards from friends as far afield as Africa, Russia and Poland. For many years I was involved in an inter-cultural linking charity called Global Footsteps/Rendezvous.
We organised Conferences where young people could interact, learn from each other, share their cultures, have fun, and generally get to know each other. This led to many close friendships, and a couple of marriages, between people who would otherwise never have met. It is a joy to me that I still receive cards from some of the youth and I treasure them.

There are little things from my children such as extra items for my Christmas crib scene, glass angels, and maple syrup bottles! One of my daughters lives in Vermont where the maple syrup is tapped right from the trees outside her barn.

There are paperweights that my husband used to make for me with lovely pictures inside and ornaments we collected from the wonderful places we visited over the years.

There are glasses from Anjou and Vezelay, which we collected during a wine tasting holiday in the Loire and Burgundy regions of France.

Glass from Vezelay and Anjou

Crystal Glass from Wales

There is a decanter given to me by a very dear friend when her husband died. He used to write beautiful poetry and was a very holy man. So I put a little verse inside the decanter in memory of him:

Life is only for LOVE

Time is only that we may find GOD

There are lots of mementoes from Lourdes, candles, Icons, Rosary beads, statues, crosses. Some of these were given as gifts, some were my mothers, and some I bought myself. I realise that many of my readers are of different faiths, or none, and I respect that. But today I feel strongly that, although I no longer belong to any particular church community, my faith is very important to me. It has been a constant in my life, a comfort in hard times, my anchor, the rock my life is built on.

Memories of Lourdes

Then of course there are the assorted glasses that I have gathered from jumble sales, trips to the Welsh Crystal factory, or as gifts. All have a safe home in my glass cabinet…

As long as my little grandson Stanley can’t find the key!

July 22, 2014 by heavenhappens

Frozen in Norway

Sculpture by Gustav Vigeland in Oslo park

One of the many joys associated with having grandchildren is that you get to watch the most beautiful films at the Cinema, or enjoy Disney videos at home, without feeling silly.
Recently I have been captivated by Frozen which I watched with Ben and Rosie. In the film Elsa the Snow Queen sings ‘Let it Go’, which is one of the songs our choir sings. It really is a most beautiful song, but when the children and their parents sing along together it is truly moving. This weekend we are performing it in a concert at the Tuckwell Open Air Theatre.

The film, Frozen, is based on Hans Christian Anderson’s tale of the Snow Queen. When my daughter, Anna, was young she played a part in a local production of the fairytale so it has a special place in my heart. Also, the dramatic landscape of Norway was the inspiration for the setting apparently and I had a wonderful holiday in Norway some years ago.

If you have never been to Norway, I hope this film will inspire you to go. In July 1999 I flew to Oslo then travelled by train across Norway. Trains and boats are really the best way to travel for seeing scenery I find, and in Norway there is so much to see. The countryside was truly spectacular and very rugged with snow-covered mountains, icy glaciers, breathtakingly beautiful fjords and waterfalls, wildflower covered meadows and lakes so still that it was hard to tell what was real and what was a reflection.

Reflections in a still lake

There is a real port called Arendal in the South of Norway which becomes Arendelle in the film, Frozen. But it is in Bergen that you find the exquisitely preserved old buildings of Bryggen which feature in the film. There is a fish market in Bergen just opposite these ancient timber buildings. I was a bit shocked to find whale meat for sale alongside fabulous salmon.

Shopping for Salmon in Bergen Market

Also in the film you will see Stave churches. There are many of these beautifully preserved churches in Norway. They were built mostly of wood during the middle ages. The largest is Heddal near Notodde. It is a beautiful fairytale church which dates back to the 12th century. There are several of these Stave churches around Bergen and we decided to visit the Fantoft Stavkirk on St Olav’s day. I caught a bus with my husband from Bergen and we had a very pleasant journey to the church. As we went to enter the church my husband realised he had left his wallet with all our money, tickets and passports on the bus! Fortunately I had a mobile phone with me and I managed to find the telephone number of the bus company. I rang them and sadly explained our situation. Imagine my delight when they said the driver had found the wallet and was finishing work for the day soon. He offered to drive back to where he had dropped us on his way home and return the wallet to us! He would not take any tip and seemed surprised that we were so overwhelmed with gratitude. Call me an old cynic but I just can’t imagine this happening in the UK.

Stavkirk

My husband and I intended visiting the church on the way to the house at Troldhaugen where Edvard Grieg lived. I say the house but actually it was like an estate with a very impressive villa which is now a living museum. There was an island where visitors can enjoy free lunchtime concerts of Grieg’s music in the summer months. There is also the cabin where he worked. By the time we got there we had missed the concert and only had time for a rushed visit.

There are several fjords which could be the setting for Arendelle but it is claimed that it is Nærøyfjord, an arm of the Unesco-listed Sognefjord. I can believe that as it is so spectacularly beautiful. We travelled on the famous Flam railway passing huge waterfalls to reach the fjord. Along the way we could hear beautiful operatic singing and we could not work out where it was coming from. The train stopped under a waterfall and from there we could see a woman standing on the very top of the mountain. She was producing that magnificent sound which echoed around the fjord. From there we travelled by boat to one of many little villages dotted around the fjord.

Village along the fjord

Also in the film, Frozen, Elsa flees across a glacial landscape which resembles the Folgefonna glacier. It could equally have been the Hardanger Glacier, which we saw, and flew over. It certainly is a bleak and barren place when viewed from the air.