Tuesday, June 26, 2018

CLAUDE MONET - FRENCH ICON




The French are a highly civilised nation and have tried to maintain standards in literature and art through their various academies and institutes. Inevitably their rules and guidance are sometimes defied by groups dedicated to a new vision and to new techniques. These rebels may come to terms with the cultural establishment but, more likely, public taste eventually moves in their direction. Just such a rebel was Claude Monet (1840-1926) one of the founders of Impressionism, rejected in the 1870s, but latterly considered the finest painter in France and he died the pride of his country.

A young Monet by Renoir (1875)
Monet in his 1880s prime
 

Born in Paris, the son of a well-to-do grocer and his artistic wife, Monet’s family moved to Le Havre in Normandy in his childhood. His mother died when he was 12 and he was cared for by a widowed aunt.  Claude showed an early talent for drawing and decided, to his father’s acute disappointment, that he would study art instead of entering commerce. He duly enrolled in 1859 in the Académie Suisse in Paris where he meets Pissarro. After a short period of military service in Algeria, Monet was invalided out and from 1862 was working under Glyre and Eugène Boudin (who became his mentor) and with young artists like Bazille, Sisley and Renoir.


French conventional salon painting was still in thrall to the Romantic tradition of Delacroix and the Neo-Classicism of Ingres with historical, mythological and Oriental subjects being particularly valued. Monet and his circle were deeply interested in the composition of colour, the contrasts of light and the joys of landscape painting en plein air. They admired the realist Courbet but they were keen to experiment much further. Accordingly, Monet and his circle produced works using short brush-strokes, eschewing excessive detail and displaying bright colours without smooth finish, creating atmosphere and light effects.


These works were submitted to the annual Salon hangings sponsored by the Académie des Beaux Arts, but they were increasingly rejected by this prestigious but conservative institution. In despair the young artists organised their own Paris exhibition and in 1873 the first of 8 annual exhibitions opened in a studio on the Rue des Ecoles. An early Monet work caused a critic to coin the term “Impressionism” an uncomplimentary dig at the allegedly unfinished nature of the painting – but the term stuck.

Women in the Garden (1867)
Women with a Parasol (1873)


















 

Monet's seminal painting - Impression, Rising Sun (1873)

The Impressionist circle had fluctuating membership as one rule was that they did not exhibit at the Salon, which still enjoyed high prestige. Influential Edouard Manet, rather older than the others, never joined, Bazille had died in action in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, but Monet principally carried the torch (though he too exhibited for 2 years at the Salon). He was joined fitfully by, in retrospect, the illustrious Pissarro, Sisley, Renoir, Degas, Cézanne and the leading woman, Berthe Morisot. The style became immensely influential in art, music and even literature.


Monet began to prosper in the 1880s as dealers became interested in his work. In an 1870 stay in London he came to admire Constable and, above all, Turner and he produced canvasses of the Thames and the Houses of Parliament. He wanted later to assert his modernity and not be typecast as a landscape painter and we see bustling city scenes and railway stations.

Houses of Parliamenr, London

Gare St-Lazare, Paris
















Monet was an enormously prolific painter and by the 1890s rich collectors were flocking to buy his works. He would reproduce the same subject from different angles or at different times of the day. Thus, there is a series of studies of Rouen Cathedral and of simple Haystacks, among others.

Rouen Cathedral






 
End of the Summer














Monet’s personal life was complicated. He had married his beautiful and romantic model Camille Doncieux in 1870 and they had 2 children, but she died of cancer in 1879. Monet then took up with Alice Hoschedé, the wife of Ernest Hoschedé, a wealthy department store director, art lover and a patron of the impressionists since 1873. Alice had 6 children with Ernest but in 1878 disaster struck when Ernest was forced into bankruptcy. Monet helped out and the Hoschedé family and the Monets lived together harmoniously in various lodgings near Paris or in Normandy. Ruined Ernest took a job on a newspaper in Paris and became more detached from Alice, who nevertheless observed the proprieties, never acknowledging she was Monet’s mistress.


Ernest died in 1891 and Monet and Alice quietly married in 1892. Later, Monet’s eldest son Jean married Alice’s second daughter Blanche, who became an artist, was widowed in 1914 and tended Monet in his old age. Alice’s third daughter Suzanne married the American artist Theodore Butler in 1892, but when Suzanne died in 1899, Butler married Alice’s first daughter Marthe. This peculiar extended family lived together at Monet’s new house at Giverny, Normandy, bought in 1890, with Monet a reluctant, grumpy but loving paterfamilias of this ménage with Alice running the house efficiently aided by a growing army of servants a and gardeners.

Monet at his garden and house and Giverny

Monet loved his two gardens at Giverny – the front Clos Normand densely planted with every possible flourishing bloom displaying vibrant colours and the second water garden, famous for its water lilies and delectable bridges. His life was agreeable; he became an expert on plants and gardening, he adorned the house with his collection of paintings honouring old friends and he built up an enviable selection of Japanese prints, moved by their restrained delicacy. He still loved to travel and he treated himself to a splendid Panhard motor car, making long journeys through France.


He cultivated his friendships, especially with Georges Clemenceau (Le Tigre) whom he had met as a poor medical student in 1860s Paris. Politics did not attract Monet (he never voted) but the basis of their friendship was recollection of earlier times, a shared love of art and an enthusiasm for Japanese prints. Clemenceau also was developing a garden in Brittany and he came to rely on Monet for help and guidance. Party politics apart Clemenceau and Monet were united in their general radicalism, their atheism, their feelings for justice in the age of Dreyfus, and their love for the soil of France.


The years were crowding in; Alice died of leukaemia in 1911, a devastating blow which almost made Monet retire from painting. His sharp eyesight was endangered by the onset of cataracts, which were temporarily patched up. With the encouragement of friends Monet returned to painting and embarked in 1914 on his famous series of  250 studies of “Water-lilies”, which he had first painted in the 1890s. The Great War raged all about him but he was able to concentrate on his painting.

Water Lilies



Water Lilies again

 
Clemenceau and Monet
    
In 1918, almost the first act of Clemenceau after the Armistice was to visit Monet and secure the gift of the Water Lilies series for the French nation. An extension to L’Orangerie gallery was commissioned to receive the paintings, which emphasised the beauty of Nature and perhaps the fleetingness of Life – but there are endless abstractions possible. Monet at last died in 1926, appropriately in the arms of his friend Clemenceau. He had lived a full, vivid life and had lit up his world with his genius.


When the Water Lilies were unveiled, Clemenceau was dismayed by their mixed critical reception. Only in the 1950s were the paintings “rediscovered” and their iconic status established. All art goes through phases of favour and obscurity but ultimately true quality shines through.


SMD
26.06.18
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2018

Saturday, June 16, 2018

COCK-EYED RELATIONS



No, this is not a piece about my highly eccentric great-aunts (that pleasure is for another day!) but rather a reaction to the peculiar affinities recently created in public life between unlikely mates. Some of these are so unlikely and exotic that I find myself rubbing my eyes and pinching myself to check that I have not carelessly strayed into a parallel universe.


Inevitably my first stop is Donald Trump, who despises every historic relationship forged by the USA since 1941 and substitutes his own to boost his insatiable egoism. Thus he, the President of the United States, beacon of democracy and freedom, rushes to Singapore to hobnob with Kim Jong Un, ruthless dictator of nuclear-armed, yet impoverished, North Korea, a pariah state since 1954.

Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump, the best of pals

The meeting might be worth it if Kim renounced nuclear weapons, freed political prisoners and eased his isolation – but none of this was forthcoming, other than vague promises. Trump announced, without consultation, that he would suspend US joint military exercises with South Korea – a coup for Kim, a blow to the South and a worry for Japan. Trump of course hailed this half-baked effort as a diplomatic triumph and an example of his matchless deal-making skills. Not in my book, Donald!

Trump upsets old friends at the G7

The flip-side of Trump is his careless ability to offend his friends. He is the heir to Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan but this tradition counts for nothing in Trump-land. He has embarked on a savage trade and tariff war, initially aimed at China, but since extended to the EU and his neighbours Canada and Mexico. Now many criticisms are possible of world trade imbalances, but negotiations are the way to resolve them not the sudden slapping-on of large tariffs. A tit-for-tat trade war looms damaging to the West, unlikely to save US rust-belt industries or promote stable growth. The US is economically strong and may prevail, but are these rational policies? Trump’s idiotic and undiplomatic tweets demonising Trudeau and slighting May, Merkel and Macron are in every respect self-defeating.

The Remainer Conspirators - Grieve, Soubry and Clarke

Odd bedfellows are also a feature of the Brexit struggle in the UK. Fanatical Remainers like Dominic Grieve (surely a linear descendent of Benedict Arnold) allied to ghastly and shrill Anne Soubry are both classic Tories by trade but now make common cause with the extremists of Jeremy Corbyn’s Momentum-driven Marxist Labour Party to derail Brexit at all turns. The UK electorate is sick to death with Brexit and have turned off from the nuances of the debate. It just wants Brexit to happen soon and irrevocably with Brussels, Germany and France removed from disturbing our front parlours. If that means a UK walk-out without an agreement, so be it. The first post-Brexit election will see a blood-bath of the smug Remainers, fully deserved.

In Europe itself radical discontent with European policies has spawned many odd populist alliances. Loony-left Greek Syriza works with nationalistic Independent Greeks: Hard right La Lega gets into bed with soft left Five-Star Movement in Italy: in Spain new Socialist Premier Sanchez will have to steer a course acceptable to anti-austerity Podemos, though Spain remains loyally European. Hostility towards EU immigrant quotas has animated cooperation between Poland’s Jaroslav Kaczynski and Hungary’s Victor Orban who resent what they see as the EU’s political meddling and instead advocate the classic Gaullist Europe des Patries as opposed to further unification. In truth ideologies have lost their magnetism, wider matters are sidelined and domestic issues set the agenda.

I suppose we should not be surprised if the certainties of 20 years ago fade away and new relationships take their place.  Politics evolve – the terms Left and Right no longer mean much while always in Yeats’ words “Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold”.


SMD
16.06.18 Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2018

Sunday, June 10, 2018

A POLITE "NO, THANK YOU"




In my crotchety old age, I am taken aback by how uncivil people have become. I am now in Greece for the summer and in my innocent way, attired in casual summer clothes and a dashing safari hat, I go for my daily constitutional walk in suburban Athens. I greet the locals with a friendly “Kali mera!” and I touch the rim of my hat in the time-honoured fashion. The reaction varies from completely ignoring me (mainly that’s the men) to a goggle-eyed look of horror and, very rarely, a muffled grunt. The Greeks are normally cheerful enough; I freely admit I am not the answer to every maiden’s prayer but I am not (yet) hideously sinister. Maybe the old convention of polite formal exchanges is withering on the modern vine.


I read too that the Moscow authorities are giving lessons to the Russian people on how to smile in anticipation of the influx of soccer World Cup supporters. I suppose we have got used to stone-faced Russians - think of dismal Kosygin, Gromyko and Lavrov, as unwelcoming a trio as you can imagine! I suppose the Russians have not had much to smile about for about a century but “Lighten up, Tovarich!”

Kosygin
Gromyko

Lavrov

Another rum encounter will take place in Singapore on 12 June, the much-hyped summit between Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un. This is a meeting of madmen and a meeting of minds is highly unlikely. Kim is a dynasty-obsessed oddball, wholly indifferent to world peace, with a horrendous human rights record. The chances of Kim relinquishing nuclear weapons are minimal. Donald Trump will behave like a fairground huckster, lie blatantly about his deal, and treat Kim as a dumb supplicant in a Trump property whizz. Trump is empty-headed, with no presidential qualities; the FBI head he fired, James Comey, described Trump as “…an unhappy person with a bottomless craving for affirmation”. He is hopelessly unrepresentative of true American values and traditions. His election was a disaster, made possible by the ineptitude of Hillary.


Talking of disastrous elections and inept lady leadership brings us to Theresa May and the Brexit negotiations. Her snap election on 8 June 2017 failed completely. The thin Tory majority was lost leaving the government dependent on the decidedly iffy Democratic Unionists, heirs to bigot Ian Paisley. Laughable Jeremy Corbyn gained seats and spurious credibility. A feebly-led government impregnated by wet Remainers, with only a handful of gallant dedicated Brexiteers is making a mess of Brexit with our country out-manoeuvred by Barnier for the EU and the Irish Republic tail wagging the UK dog. Efforts are being made to create Tory unity but progress is crab-like.


We long for a UK politician to tell the EU to start facilitating Brexit and stop interfering in our democratic processes. Otherwise we will leave unilaterally and withhold every penny of our £39bn exit fee. Running amok is not really the British style but the provocations are intense. Our No, Thank you (aka “get lost”) message to the EU is best delivered by a gentleman like Jacob Rees-Mogg, polite to a fault, intellectually focussed on the issues and as firm as English oak.

Barnier
Rees-Mogg

 Examples of British values and merits were lavishly illustrated yesterday as we revelled in matchless Trooping the Colour on TV. Military precision, pageantry, colour, style, evocative music, tradition within a modern Army, presided over by HM the Queen at 92 and supported by a fine line of princes and princesses. It enriched all viewers and quite simply make us proud to be citizens of this great and modern country.

The Mall, 9 June 2018


SMD
10.06.18
Text copyright © Sidney Donald 2018

Monday, May 28, 2018

THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'




It was as long ago as 1964 that Bob Dylan made this plea:


Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.


In the last few weeks several events have signalled an end to the comfortable status quo within whose cushioned ease many have happily existed.


The first event was not in itself one to shake the world order or bother the chancelleries of the Great Powers but it warmed the hearts of all Britain – The Royal Wedding, between Prince Harry, lively scion of the House of Windsor and Meghan Markle, elegantly poised TV actress and equality campaigner of mixed Afro-American origin. The wedding itself was perfection, bright sunshine, St George’s Chapel, Windsor stunningly decorated, moving music, a rousing American episcopal address, Prince Charles earning Brownie points with his genial tact, a warmly enthusiastic crowd of guests and spectators and the bride and groom clearly much in love.

Delightful Harry and Meghan

The more profound hope released by this wedding was that the monarchy, normally the most conservative of institutions, was truly embracing a multi-racial UK recognising the full rights of her many-faceted UK citizens. This delivers a morale-boost to left-behind groups of people who suffered the horrors of the Grenfell Tower Fire and the bureaucratic injustices meted out to some of the Windrush generation by an unimaginative Home Office. Meghan joining the royal family is a powerfully symbolic reassurance to our immigrant population and to the Commonwealth. With over 2bn people watching the wedding on TV, it was a triumphant “soft power” winner for the UK. Long may the happy couple flourish!


The second ground-shifting event was the developing crisis in Italy, which has thrown the EU into disarray. The Italian economy has misfired since 2008 and 10 years of EU-imposed austerity has tried the patience of the Italian voter beyond all limits. A hung election has left the politicians scratching around to create an effective coalition and the two populist parties The 5-Star Movement (centre-left) and The League (hard-right) looked to be making progress. But the President of Italy, Sergio Mattarella, vetoed the proposed Economy Minister Paolo Savona, who has talked disparagingly about the EU and the euro. Mattarella is constitutionally within his rights but if new elections are triggered, euro membership is debated and rejected and the populists win again, the euro and indeed the EU could start to unravel, as the populist programme runs a coach and horses through the EU’s fiscal rules. Savona called the euro “a German cage” (echoing Nick Ridley’s 1990 remark that the euro was “all a German racket to dominate Europe”).


Personally, my focus is on a quick Brexit and I would regret the end of the EU. Yet diplomacy from Brussels has been cack-handed where it has not been coldly aggressive. We are a tolerant people but I suspect the Italians, the Spanish and the French are less willing to suffer provocations from the EU’s political “elites”, whose visibly slipping hold on power can be observed with much satisfaction.


Times are also changing in the Irish Republic, once a priest-ridden backwater, then a “Celtic Tiger” until corruption and financial crisis overshadowed all. A referendum on abortion and on the notorious 8th Amendment has given a two-thirds majority for repeal. Irish women feel liberated (asserting the right to choose) and certainly it is a social revolution with Ireland joining the EU mainstream. Agitation for liberalisation in Northern Ireland will mount but early progress is unlikely with no autonomous government yet formed there, opposition from crucial Tory allies the DUP, and a reluctance for Westminster to become involved in a devolved matter.

Celebrations on the referendum result in the Irish Republic

A much more tentative earth-shaker is the on-off diplomacy between America and North Korea, supposedly leading to a summit in Singapore on 12 June. Kim Jong-Un head of the dynastic and brutal regime in the North, put out peace feelers after a series of rocket tests. America wants to de-nuclearize the Korean peninsula and Kim has already destroyed his test-sites (which may have been inoperable anyway). The North suffers under draconian sanctions. A deal is possible and uncharacteristically Kim has jovially bear-hugged President Moon of South Korea (twice). Trump, not surprisingly, is not sure how to read Kim and called off the talks only to revive them soon afterwards. Trump has now earned the epithet of the Inscrutable to add to the Insufferable. We will see if any good comes of all this.

Kim and a bemused Moon

Trump is suspicious

So, our little world toddles on. I had a few days last week in civilised Normandy and visited the splendidly colourful House and Garden created by Claude Monet (1840-1926) at Giverny.

Spring Bulbs at Giverny
















 


The Water-lily Garden

Our times they are a-changin’ but some scenes are timeless.


SMD.
28.05.18
Text copyright © Sidney Donald 2018.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018


THE GROTESQUE AND THE FANTASTIC


Scotland has many merits, too extensive to enumerate here, but one of them is her production of Scotland’s second national drink, iconic Irn-Bru a fizzy soft drink, coloured a lurid orange with a distinctive flavour like, one imagines, sweet metal filings. It outsells mighty Coca Cola in Scotland and is wildly popular enriching its manufacturer, A G Barr, over many generations. To the horror of all Caledonia, Irn-Bru has been banned from the palatial Ayrshire golfing hotel Turnberry owned by eccentric Donald Trump. It is alleged that upset Irn-Bru leaves an indelible stain and that replacing Turnberry carpets cost £500k a time. I smell some fantasy “fake news” here, as the truth may be that the Donald secretly shampoos his amazing barnet of hair in our famous concoction to enhance its hue. In any event, who cares about Kim Jong Un or the Iranian Agreement – the Trump-Turnberry ban on Irn-Bru must immediately be lifted to prevent huge demonstrations of irate soft-drinkers from menacing Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow.

Scotland's fizzy pride

To move from the lightly fantastic to the reliably grotesque it will not have escaped my readers that last Saturday saw the annual camp gala a.k.a. The Eurovision Song Contest. I am now a fading fan, my predictions never blossoming, and I watched the first round of heats but was defeated by the second. The final is however unmissable. As usual the UK entry was nowhere, our gallant songstress having been assaulted on-stage by a so-called “activist” who grabbed her mike. It transpired he was just an attention-seeking Corbynista – our world is replete with “activists” – I am reading an appalling manifesto called The 21st Century Revolution, whose author has swallowed every weary nostrum about climate change, inequality, the evils of neo-liberalism and so on; he describes himself as “a veteran change agent”, not a profession I recognise nor admire.


There were one or two bearable euro-performances, I rather liked the Estonian pop-opera singer Elina Nechayeva who had a strong voice and whose huge dress changed colour spectacularly at regular intervals or even the noisy Cyprus pop song performed by sexily energetic Eleni Fouriena. In the event the grotesque won the day and the winner, Toy, came from Israel. The singer, Netta, with Mickey Mouse hair-buns, dressed in a mini-kimono, sang this bizarre number cross-eyed while prancing around imitating a demented chicken. The Lisbon crowd loved it – it was fun but far removed from music, harmony or culture. OMG, Next year in Jerusalem!

Netta wows them in Lisbon

A more sinisterly grotesque event was played out last week on the comfy red benches of the once august House of Lords. Their lordships inflicted 12 voting defeats on the government in the debate on the Withdrawal from the European Union Bill. The convention is (and “conventions” oil the wheels of political business in the UK) that the Lords do not reject bills upon which the electorate has already made a decision but confine themselves to a revising role. But it is quite clear that the Lords are hell-bent on destroying Brexit legislation, defying the verdict of the 2016 referendum and the 2017 general election that the voters want out of the EU. The Lords, believing in their Divine Right of entitlement and wallowing in their contempt for the views of the majority of ordinary people, have chosen to fight to the last ditch. Well, they are merely committing political suicide, not before time.


These Lords are not the old hereditary peers (there are only about 100 of them left, “hereditary pains in the backside” as depicted by cartoonist Matt) but the more than 600 life peers created promiscuously by Blair, Brown, Major, Cameron and Clegg. These life peers are mainly Establishment figures, burnt-out civil servants, now-extinct volcanic ministers, superannuated ambassadors and retired judges; in the way of old fools, most bear some grudge against the powers -that- be who pushed them “upstairs” despite their highly enviable and comfortable billets. Many receive absurdly high pensions (undeclared) from the EU or her agencies. To attend the Lords, they receive a £300 daily allowance and can claim travelling expenses, often abused.


Nemesis is at hand for this motley crew. It is the work of a busy morning to swamp them by the creation of 800 new pro-government Lords appointees followed swiftly by the passing of a Lords Abolition Act, reforming the Upper House comprehensively and bringing finally to an end the world of titles, ermine robes and boundless arrogance. Theresa May is too indecisive and Jeremy Corbyn too wet to push through such a measure but Boris or Moggie have the required cojones. Let them loose!



SMD
15.05.18.  
Text copyright © Sidney Donald 2018

Saturday, April 28, 2018

DO IT YOURSELF, MATE!




One of the many illusions we live under is that today’s Briton has an easy life compared to that of his parents’ and grandparents’ generation. There is some truth in this – certainly communications have been markedly improved, dire poverty greatly alleviated, labour-saving gadgets introduced and distances radically shortened. But there are downsides to progress which may give us pause - not all is perfect in our little garden.


The old ways had their conveniences. A middle class wife might in say, 1950, drive to the grocer, followed by the baker, fruiterer and butcher and recite her shopping-list. The shop-keeper would be all politeness and attend to her every whim. Smaller items would be wrapped up for the customer to take away and anything bulky would be delivered promptly by van or butcher’s boy bike to the customer’s house and stored away by the cook or housemaid. The whole process could be done by telephone, and often was. A weekly or even monthly invoice would be rendered and paid regularly. Pretty painless for the dutiful wife!

A visit to the grocer in the 1950s


Contrast that with our 2018 shopper. She goes to a vast supermarket – the grocer, baker, fruiterer and butcher long out of business. Aisle upon aisle laden with produce, but you have got to find what you want, select them yourself and fill your wire trolley and push it around. No service, no expert advice, no help, no distinctive atmosphere. The check-out staff know nothing about the products and care even less. You actually have to buy the bags to carry your goods away and no loading help is offered. Their job is to collect your money and your payment card is debited long before you have left the premises. Then the lady has to trudge home and take the purchases out of the car and unaided lug them home (possibly up-stairs) and pack them away. She is exhausted, requiring heroic doses of gin and tonic to revive, and many a husband/partner has to sacrifice his time to lend a hand. The 1950s housewife had it a good deal easier.

The supermarket - convenient but soul-less

Two great revolutions lie at the root of this new situation. The first is the end of domestic service as a significant part of the economy. I had the good fortune to be born into the purple of the Aberdeen commercial classes. My father was a cinema and theatre proprietor and was comfortably prosperous. Like a million other middle-class households we had a live-in housemaid and a cook in the 1940s and 1950s, reducing to a single housemaid in the 1960s, and then nobody. Daily ladies helped to keep the substantial house spotless and an odd-job man washed cars and ran errands. In time better opportunities came along and many could earn a fatter wage elsewhere, leaving the leisured bourgeoisie to cope on their own.


The second revolution was the severe diminution in the supply of tradesmen. Fifty years ago there was an army of painters, joiners, plumbers and electricians ready to do residential work at a fair price. But they became more expensive as more regular and higher value work took centre stage, they became more regulated, less accommodating and much scarcer or degenerated into cowboy outfits. As a consequence the DIY movement took hold and highly competent bankers and lawyers became second-rate wallpaper hangers and lethal amateur electricians.

Wheelie-bin blight

Minor inconveniences still rankle. In earlier days the dustbins were not much handled by the householder and the weekly collection involved the dustman carrying your dustbin to his cart and returning it to its allotted place. Now you are ordered to push the ugly wheelie-bin to the edge of your property where a fortnightly (if you are lucky) collection is made and you do all the bin-moving.  Complex recycling edicts are issued to make your life even more stressful and your acquaintance with bin-contents more intimate. The traditionally comforting clink of milk-bottles delivered on your doorsteps is often a distant memory – supermarket packaged milk somehow does not have the same cachet.  


Not that our forebears were inexperienced at do-it-yourself. “Make do and mend” was a common motto, socks would be darned, hems would be raised, buttons would be sewn. Now we live with a generation impatient of stringing out the life of clothes. My favourite cardigan, worn and aged but much cherished, is consigned to the dustbin. I am a fan of elbow-pads for my sweaters, much disparaged and mocked for my pains. Fancy outfits must have built-in obsolescence as they seem to last 3 years at best, whilst my beady eye would assume a minimum of 10.


The contrasts between Then and Now run deeper. We now live in compact “nuclear” family units, very self-sufficient but in danger of being introverted. We turn our back on the extended family with its occasional kind aunts or wicked uncles. Children must miss their interesting cousins and a broad ready-made circle of acquaintance. The older generation always needs a little cossetting and confused old Granny in her rocking chair can easily be tolerated, if the burden is shared – packing her off to a home is surely a last resort. “No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted” taught Aesop.

A cheerful modern family

May we stop whingeing and make the most of our fascinating lives close to the warmth of family and friends!



SMD
27.04.18
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2018

Monday, April 16, 2018

ARCHITECTURAL JOYS




It was not until I got into my late-20s that I began to appreciate the heady joys of architecture. I had plenty of previous opportunities having already visited the sights of London, Edinburgh, Oxford, Paris, Vienna, Rome, Venice and Athens, but my eye was uneducated and I did not know how to look at and analyse what was in front of my nose. Starting work in the City of London in 1968, my blindness began to be lifted when I bought a booklet on the City Churches by John Betjeman (1906-84), wildly popular Poet Laureate and deeply informed, if eccentric, architectural writer.

Sir John Betjeman "The Nation's battered teddy-bear"

Armed with my Betjeman booklet, I visited all the 39 Anglican City Churches, spread over many a lunch-hour. What an introduction that was – partly Norman St Bartholomew the Great, very near Betjeman’s then house at Cloth Fair, Wren civic grandeur at St Lawrence, Jewry, monumental St Mary Woolnoth, masterpiece of Nicholas Hawksmoor, other gems like St Olave, Hart Street, Great St Helens, St Stephen Walbrook and St Mary Aldermary. American-born poet, TS Eliot, had particularly admired St Magnus the Martyr: Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.


Reading more Betjeman in poetry and prose I came to understand his High Anglican enthusiasms but more widely to admire Betjeman’s power to communicate. He made many architectural programmes for TV, most memorably Metroland and documentaries about his beloved Cornwall. John would sport a summer boater and seduce the camera with a whispered “Let me show you something rather special”.  


Famously Betjeman championed Victorian architects, starting in the 1930s, then much out of fashion, and campaigned against the ruthless demolition of their more prominent buildings. Thus he tried (and failed) to prevent the destruction of Euston Arch but had better luck with George Gilbert Scott’s St Pancras Station and Hotel whose spires and elaborations enliven an often neglected part of London. I am sure many architectural amateurs feel warm gratitude towards Betjeman who was a charismatic figure. The charming statue on his honour at St Pancras Station captures his characteristic spirit.

Statue of Betjeman at St Pancras Station

        
St Pancras station - the epitome of Victoriana

In about 1971, knowing of my ecclesiastical wanderings, my dear wife gave me a copy of The Cathedrals of England by Alec Clifton Taylor (1907-1985). This was truly a life-changer as it described the 26 ancient Anglican cathedrals and galvanised us into visiting them all. Many were relatively close at hand, or were on familiar routes North but I think it was 20 years before we gathered in the last stragglers, Ripon and Exeter. But what a magnificent hook upon which to hang a journey! The choice of book was inspired as Clifton Taylor had a masterly knowledge of building materials and masonry techniques and a sure eye for the true beauties of these amazing buildings. An appendix had a plan and a brief summary of the particular merits of each cathedral. It brought us to visit relatively obscure Ely, Wells, Lichfield, Southwell, Durham and his great favourite, Lincoln.

Alec Clifton Taylor's favourite  Lincoln Cathedral

Another Clifton Taylor volume was acquired, English Parish Churches as Works of Art, embracing hundreds of parish churches from the grand to the intimate with a star-system and invaluable county lists guiding you to the most remote but delightful places – often with a nearby pub and village green, the very essence of England.

Alec Clifton Taylor elucidates
     
Clifton Taylor did not confine himself to church architecture. Three books about English Towns described 18 places and a linked TV series made him a familiar figure as he tottered around amiably in tweeds and an ancient hat passing on his wisdom about oolitic limestone, Flemish bond bricklaying, pargeting and medieval town layouts. He was a joy to read and watch and my journeys to, say, Totnes, Chichester, Saffron Walden or Beverley were much enhanced by some modest prior homework with Clifton Taylor. He disagreed with Betjeman over the Victorians, many of whose efforts he disparaged, and his views were more in tune with those of Nikolaus Pevsner (1902 – 1983), the guru of architectural writers, whose magisterial, if dry, county guides set the bar for his later disciples.

            Some Parish Church! -Beverley Minster exterior and interior


 
                           
The most up-to-date architectural writer is Simon Jenkins (1943-  ) rather a distinguished man of parts. He is a former editor of The Times, chairman of the National Trust and a political commentator, now writing Leftie articles, alas, for The Guardian. He has written voluminously on architecture and his splendid England’s 1,000 Best Churches is a tome to delve into rather than read end to end. I am currently reading his England’s Cathedrals which covers 53 buildings, lavishly illustrated, adding to the ancient 26 all those raised from parish church to cathedral status in the last 120 years and adding several of the better Catholic ones. Jenkins writes with authority and wide sympathies.

Simon Jenkins
Wells Cathedral, his favourite

 
But architecture is not just about ecclesiastical buildings even though some of England’s best fall into that category. Nor is architectural writing a churchy or elitist pastime. Only Betjeman was a (tortured) believer while Clifton Taylor and Jenkins are outside the church. True, all three writers are from Oxbridge and were awarded knighthoods but their audience is a very wide public which yearns to be better informed about our rich heritage.


I am immensely thankful for the architectural education I have acquired and now can appreciate the joys of all that Europe and the Americas can provide.


SMD
16.04.18
Text Copyright © Sidney Donald 2018