Random Jottings

Katherine

Bluestalking Reader has recently read Katherine by Anya Seton as one of her books in the From the Bookstacks Challenge and this brought back happy memories of this book which I first read when I was 14 and which totally enthralled me. The description of John of Gaunt with his 'red gold hair' and 'leonine grace' just thrilled me to the marrow. Along with Gone with the Wind, it was one of those books you read when a teenager which you may never read again, but which stay with you for ever. It was not till years later that I found out that Katherine Swynford really existed. Her husband, Hugh Swynford, is made out to be a bit of a country bumpkin in the book, but as he was an English Knight with his own manor, he cannot have been quite as portrayed by Anya Seton. Katherine was only 16 when she married him and this marriage was regarded as a great step up for her.

Hugh died in the European wars and Katherine became governess to the children of John of Gaunt, though of course in reality she was his official mistress.  Her eventual marriage to the Duke, after giving him four children (the 'Beauforts'), legitimised her offspring and placed her in the very centre of royal life and influence. By this marriage we see that her son John became the great-grandfather of Henry VII of England and her daughter Joan, was the grandmother of Edward IV and Richard III who Henry defeated to take the throne (my horse! My horse!  My kingdom for a horse!  Sorry thought I would just show off a bit and throw that quote in......) Katherine Swynford thus became the founder of a distinguished royal line, after starting out as an insignificant and lowly member of the royal court who just happened to catch the eye of the mighty Duke of Lancaster.

I have often wished that somebody would write a biography of Katherine but have never found one and then, by the usual serendipity that always happens, one has just popped up.  I did a Google search and found that Sutton Publishing have a book in their catalogue by Jeanette Lucraft, and it had literally just been published the week before I started looking for it.  It goes without saying this is now in my possession and I am going to add this to my From the Bookstacks Challenge in order to stop it even reaching and staying on my To be Read Pile.  Medieval history is not my period so it will be interesting as well as educational, to learn a little more of this time.

Oh and by the way:  Katherine's coat of arms displayed three gold "Catherine Wheels" on a gold background.  So now you know where they originated.  And she also had Chaucer for a brother-in-law.....

Divas and Donnas (Prima)

I have just watched a programme I taped last night on operatic divas.  The definition of a diva, according to the shorter Oxford Dictionary is a 'famous female singer of operatic or popular music'.  This is a very bland definition but the giveaway is in its origin, 19th century from the Italian, meaning 'goddess' which is how great female opera stars seem to be viewed.  This is all very gratifying and delightful, but most people view the word 'diva' as not a particularly flattering one, and tend to think that divas behave badly. 

A better description of certain lady opera singers would be 'prima donna' where the meaning is much more descriptive 'a very temperamental and self-important person' and those of us who love opera are no strangers to this sort of artiste.

The greatest Diva/Donna of them all was, of course, Maria Callas.  According to many reports she was hell to work with and, as I have blogged recently in my mention of Dame Joan Sutherland, her private life certainly enhanced her diva status.  Yet why should it be the norm that Divas = Difficult?  It is not necessary surely.  Dame Joan is living proof that this is not so.

On the programme I have just watched Frederica von Stade, Kiri te Kanawa, Renee Fleming, Deborah Voight and Angela Gheorgiou were interviewed (AG was given the lion's share of it however, quelle surprise).  Frederica von Stade first came to prominence in the 1970s and has always struck me as being a thoroughly nice person and I cannot recall any instances of her behaving badly.  She was sitting next to Kiri te Kanawa on the communal sofa chatting about a concert they were going to give at Glyndbourne (in which they both looked and sounded great) and I had to gasp when Dame Kiri said she certainly hadn't been a diva and did not even know what it meant.  My ex-husband, a trained opera singer, did work at the Royal Opera House during the Kiri period and the stories that we used to hear about her behaviour would make your hair curl, but I will be charitable and say this was a long time ago and perhaps she has forgotten.

Renee Fleming, who has one of the most ravishing voices around, also seems a perfectly decent, friendly and charming person and, though I am sure she must have her odd moments, I have never read anything unpleasant or difficult about her either.  Deborah Voight told a story about Covent Garden not honouring a contract with her because she was rather large, shall we say, with great humour and style and seemed to me to be the kind of person you could sit down and have a latte and Danish with quite easily.

Then, of course, we came to the current Diva/Donna Numero Uno, Angela Gheorgiou, who dominated the programme.  We had an awful lot of her floating around various theatres, halls, dressed in low cut flowing summer gowns, dripping with diamonds (chosen from a frightfully grovelling jewellers), signing autographs, posing for pictures and finally, rehearsing (with the Mighty Bryn) for the new production of Tosca which I saw this year and which I have blogged about. 

Angela G has a quite lovely voice and I am sure in quiet moments if you sat down with her when she was out of the public eye, one would find she was perfectly normal.  Not sure I quite believe this but I am giving her the benefit of the doubt as it is very easy for mortals like myself who lead ordinary every day lives, not to totally appreciate the sheer hard work, terror and artistry involved in being an opera singer.  Everyone is waiting for you to crash, to miss the top note, to crack at the wrong place, in short, opera is  a spectator sport with all the risks involved. And I, as a viewer, sit back and dare them to get it right.  I couldn't do it, so perhaps I should not be so critical of bad behaviour under stress.

I saw Callas do Tosca some forty years ago and I was extremely irritated by the Is Angela Going to Outdo Maria as Tosca bit that was in the papers back in July, and echoed on this programme tonight.  Nobody, but nobody, can do Tosca like Maria Callas.  That does not mean that nobody else cannot be as good, but they are not Callas, they are themselves and bring their own interpretation to the role.  Having this Callas v Gheorgiou argument was probably excellent publicity for Covent Garden but it was totally misguided and stupid and the question should not have been raised at all.  In a portentious voice over we heard Alan Yentob say 'will Gheorgiou finally lay the ghost of Callas'.  Well, no she did not and if you read my earlier review of this particular Tosca, you will see why.  But why do we need these comparisons at all?

Fascinating programme and this Friday on BBC4 we have a portrait of Dame Joan Sutherland: the reluctant Prima Donna, which I shall watch with huge interest. One of the nicest Divas around, no diamonds, no tantrums, no bad behavior, just a glorious glorious voice.  I will report back.....

And here is another one...

It looks as if I have found yet another detective series to get stuck into and before anyone starts wailing and gnashing their teeth and saying there should be a credit card warning on my blog etc etc can I just say, get a grip and show a little self restraint.....or not.

This series was recommended to me somewhere on my blog in a comment posted by one of you lovely visitors out there.  I shall have to exercise the little grey cells and find out who recommended the Lydmouth Series by Andrew Taylor to me.  I am just a third way through the first one,  An Air that Kills.  These books are set in Lydmouth in Cambridgeshire, in the 1950's and it is clear from the first few chapters that we are in the dreary drab atmosphere of these times when, as the blurb puts it 'surface respectability masked nasty social and sexual undercurrents'.  Oo-er I thought, this sounds interesting.  There appear to be another six in the series, so by the time I have read the rest of the Janeaway books, carried on with Lord Peter Wimsey, started Margery Allingham and finished with my re-reading of the entire Ngaio Marsh oeuvre, it seems as if 2007 will be The Year of the Detective Mark 2. 

Of course, I am hoping that it will not be long before the next Simon Serrailer is with us, and then of course, Donna Leon will do another Venice based book?  She will, won't she.....?

It is all too much to bear.

Strictly Come Dancing

OK all X Factor fans looks away now as I am going to blog about Strictly Come Dancing.  I know there are some cross overs out there, but on the whole, the world seems to be divided into two camps Dancing v X Factor.  Each has its devotees.

Saturday night saw the back of Claire and Brendon after a truly awful Samba where they seemed to totally lose the plot and Claire got the giggles.  She has a terrific personality and seems to have been the only celebrity who has managed to keep Brendon in his place since the series started.  It would be nice if he learned a little humility, but cannot see it happening somehow.

Louisa and Vincent continue to shine and I have a feeling they could end up in the final.  Vincent has this 'I am an Italian macho male and I am wonderful' persona, but we know it is all a front (well I hope it is) and I do like his protective big brother attitude to Louisa, he seems to take great care of her and they have a delightful relationship.

And Mark and Karen were back on top form tonight with a simply stunning performance of the Viennese Waltz so it was a good evening.  I am attaching a link which I have come across asking  Why do Cricketers Make Good Dancers which I thought was such fun reading I thought you might like to see it.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6132706.stm?ls

I have been up to Yorkshire for a few days and on the long journey back on the A1 stuck in jams and roadworks, I relieved the tedium by trying to think of celebrities for Series Five next year.  I came up with another Spice Girl, Geri Halliwell, then after his appearance on Strictly 2, Tony Blackburn, from the football arena, Gary Lineker or Alan Hansen and then I came to a halt.  We really need a newsreader or a presenter (how about Paxman - now there's a thought!!), and a comedian (Paul Merton?) and how about Ian Hislop?  Oh, I could go on for ages.

Anybody else got any ideas....we could send them to the Beeb and see what they think.....

Cliff Janeway

Well, another crime writer to add to my list of those I must read.  This writer, John Dunning, has been recommended to me by fellow bloggers Patternings and Ex Libris whose opinion I value highly, so ever eager to find more Crime and Detection books, I ordered Booked to Die and it arrived a couple of days ago, and oh dear here I go again.

I initially thought of calling 2006 the Year of the Detective but perhaps it should be The Year of Living Dangerously (think this is a film title, Mel Gibson comes to mind...) as looking through my list of books I have read this year there is a predominance of Crime:  Ruth Rendell, P D James, Agatha Christie, Dorothy L Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, Andrea Camilleri, Donna Leon and now John Dunning. 

Ruth Rendell and P D James have two wonderful detectives in Inspector Wexford and Adam Dalgleish, Agatha Christie has the inimitable Hercule Poirot (they have been repeating all these on TV recently and have caught up on them all) and Miss Marple, Ngaio Marsh has the gorgeous Roderick Alleyn, Donna Leon has the sexy Italian, Guido Brunetti, who loves his wife and his pasta, and Andrea Camilleri has - who?  I cannot remember.  This writer impressed me the least out of all those I read this year.

Now I come to John Dunning with his hardbitten detective Cliff Janeway.  The books are set in Denver which surprised me somewhat until I thought why?  Denver is just as likely to have a detective as any other big American city, just somehow one expects American detective stories to be set in New York, which is totally illogical.  Of course, I know why.  Over the last 20 years I have read the 87th Precinct novels by Ed McBain, all of which are set in a thinly disguised Big Apple and very good they are too.  Ed McBain is, of course, the pen name of Evan Hunter who sprang to fame in the late 1950s with his then shocking novel, Blackboard Jungle.  Sadly, he died recently.  Over the years we have all grown very fond of the major characters in this precinct, Steve Carella and his beautiful deaf mute wife, Bert Kling with the tragic murder of his fiance, Meyer Meyer and all the other assorted members of the station.  They were gritty and realistic, sexy and also sardonically funny and I shall miss them.

John Dunning's creation is Cliff Janeway, a cop who loves books.  Well, what more do you want from a detective novel? (OK in Death at La Fenice by Donna Leon we had murder, the opera and Venice, things don't get much better than that but this one runs it close). In Booked to Die Cliff decides to take revenge on a vicious thug, probably a killer but one who is avoiding the law, and deliberately throws his career away.  He then decides to do what he has always wanted to do, become a bookseller.  The first murder is that of a book scout who has got himself mixed up in a book scam and got too greedy and wanted a cut for himself.  So we have Death among the Bookstacks and two people wind up dead in the back of the bookshop.  Involved is a mysterious wealthy, glamorous woman who lives in a house at the top of a hill and emerges to hit the bookshops in town and buy up first editions.  Who is she?  does she have anything to do with the murders?

When the book first started I was not sure I was going to like it, it felt a bit too self-consciously gritty and super slick but as the story got going and the books began to take centre stage, I found myself slowly drawn in until I could not put it down until I had finished it.  It is clear that Cliff Janeway is going to become an American Lord Peter Wimsey, somebody who will keep investigating as a sideline while doing other things, in this case, selling books.

The author was himself a former rare-book dealer so he obviously knows what he is talking about and I now fear I am going to have to go and buy the rest of this series (there would appear to be about 8) and off I go on another binge.

Defence of the Ashes - Part Deux

After the glorious summer of 2005 and the Winning of the Ashes, we were asked by the MCC (Marylebone Cricket Club) to register the Ashes Urn as a trademark. Therefore, the Urn (not the original that is too fragile but the one that was given to the England team and was taken on their celebration ride through London) was couriered round to our office by special delivery and lo and behold, there it was and the excitement of everyone here had to be seen to be believed.

I started receiving phone calls from all over the building checking that this rumour that it was in the office was true and when I said yes, an endless stream of partners, lawyers, assistants, post room boys, cleaners etc etc appeared in our department.  Thank goodness for mobile phones with cameras as I lost count of the number of people who had their photo taken with the precious urn.

Of course, I succumbed also and had my photo taken and here it is.  Not very good quality because of the phone being used, but I shall treasure it.

The End - Part Deux

I refer to my earlier posting on THE END and my mention of Michael Bolton and his excruciatingly embarrassing CD of operatic arias.

By that serendipity which happens over and over again, the aforementioned Michael B was a guest on last Saturday's Strictly Come Dancing.  There he was, looking most fetching, sans hair, fronting a great band and turning in a terrific performance.  I had plenty of comments on my posting and in response I made clear that my main moan was why did artists who are so good in their own genre, want to be so bad in another one?  By performing so well on Saturday, Michael Bolton proved my point.

And in case anyone thinks I am having a go only at the rock/opera crossover could I just say that another CD which I think is awful, is one of Elly Ameling, a very distinguished soprano, singing Gershwin and other songs of that ilk.  They are over sung, precious and quite embarrassing to listen to.  Give these songs to Billie Holiday, Fred Astaire, Peggy Lee and sit back and listen to sheer artistry.  Have to say that Meatloaf does Gershwin wonderfully well also.

Anyway, I have banged on enough about this subject which I freely admit is a bete noire of mine but will cease to inflict it on any readers any further.

I hope....

Oh and don't you think Michael looks much better with his new hair cut?

Midsomer Murders

It is now ten years since this completely batty series started and it is still as popular as ever, showing once again that there is no end to the capacity of the English viewing public for murders set in genteel villages.   The doyenne of this kind of story is of course, Agatha Christie, with Miss Marple the quintessential spinster of this parish who never misses a trick and whose detective skills always find the murderer.

Caroline Graham wrote only seven Midsomer books which were rapidly used up by the television series and then the scriptwriters took over. The body count has rocketed in villages with names such as Badgers Drift, Midsomer Mallow and Midsomer Worthy, with the death count reaching at least four bodies per episode.  Victimes were impaled on a pitchfork, shot with a bow and arrow, decapitated and in one bizarre episode, an obnoxious wine buff was bombarded with bottles of his expensive wines being hurled at him by a home made trebuchet while he lay helpless, pinned to the ground. Not a pretty sight as bottle after bottle of Chateau Neuf bounced off his head.  New viewers should take note: if ever a village fair is taking place on a sunny Sunday afternoon, you can guarantee that a body will soon be found at the back of the coconut shy or fall out of the Punch and Judy tent. This sort of event always, but always ends with a gruesome death.

The list of actors who have taken part reads like a Who's Who of English Character Actors with well know names such as Timothy West, Simon Callow, Elizabeth Spriggs, Prunella Scales, Richard Briers, Hannah Gordon, George Baker all risking their lives to appear. The list is endless.  A very young Orlando Bloom who sprang to fame as Legolas in Lord of the Rings, made an appearance as a cocky young lout in an early episode (he came to grief impaled on the aforementioned pitchfork).

Throughout all this murder and mayhem, calm, dependable and resolute, is DCI Tom Barnaby.  In some ways he is rather similar to Ruth Rendell's creation, Inspector Wexford.  They are both family men with long happy marriages which makes a change from the usual divorced, nerve wracked, maverick cops so often portrayed on TV.  I have to say that his wife, Joyce, strikes me as being one of the most boring and mundane characters ever created and the actress who plays her, Jane Wymark, must surely get a bit fed up at times with the inane lines she is given (incidentally, Jane Wymark was at school with me so if she looks a  but hunted at times I put that down to the effects of our convent educaction).  Things do seem to happen to her though.  In one episode she was buried under a rock fall when an old tunnel collapsed, another time witnessed a fellow actor in an am dram production having his throat cut, and while taking a painting class on the village green saw one of her her fellow pupils murdered.   Though she gets very upset about all these dreadful events, a cup of tea seems to set her straight.

Their daughter, Cully (what is that short for?  can anybody enlighten me?), seems to drift around with no particular aim in life and is almost as boring as her mother.  At the beginning of the series she appeared to have aspirations to being an actress, but has also helped out in the local bookshop, driven the library van and worked in the Midsomer museum.  Still, I suppose this was while she was 'resting' between auditions but her storyline appears to have petered out somewhat, though I understand she gets married in series 11.  Who to, I ask myself? 

John Nettles is simply wonderful as Barnaby.  He exudes authority throughout the entire series and is just as charismatic as he was when he starred in Bergerac some twenty years ago.  I was addicted to this series and never missed an episode.  Bergerac was, of course, the maverick, divorced, cop that I have mentioned as being the norm.  Throw in that he was also a recovering alcholic with an ex-wife who, while purporting to hate him, was obviously still in love with him, a whinging girlfried who always seemed to wear jackets with shoulder pads at least two sizes too big for her (she ended up getting murdered eventually), give him a vintage sports car to drive and put him at odds with his superior, and you have the blue print for a successful TV series.  Watching it again a few years ago, courtesy of DVD, it seemed to creak a bit and lacked pace but John Nettles was still gorgeous.

According to a fan's website Midsomer Murders is set to go on for at least another two years with a Christmas special coming up (stabbed to death with a bit of holly perhaps, or poisoned by rum sauce?) so I have plenty to look forward to.

Happy Birthday Dame Joan

When I was twelve I was fortunate enough to be present at the discovery of one of the most celebrated sopranos of the 20th Century - I attended a performance of Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor with Joan Sutherland in the title role.  I am listening as I write to the 1960 recording that she made under the baton of Sir John Pritchard when she was at the peak of her powers and, while she made subsequent recordings conducted by her husband and with co-stars such as Pavarotti, this first issue captures her voice when it is clean, stunning and quite quite breathtakingly beautiful.

This week, La Stupenda or Dame Joan, as she is now, reaches her 80th birthday and on Wednesday Radio 3 are celebrating this occasion with an entire evening devoted to her recordings and performances.  I intend to leave work bang on the dot on that day so I can be at home and listen to every single glorious note.  Dame Joan has had her critics, mainly for her acting ability which was fairly limited and, as she got older, her diction which practically vanished down the tube.  Instead of words  listeners heard a long unbroken sound with nary a vowel in sight, but what a sound!! The sheer beauty of her voice overcame any reservations one might hold.  Her coloratura was simply astounding, her top notes reached with an ease and beauty that defies description.  I am now listening to the first act soprano aria of Lucia - Regnava nil Silencio - and she has reached what I used to call 'the twiddly bits' and it still makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.  When I heard her sing this at Covent Garden the entire opera came to a halt for fifteen minutes while the audience went totally potty.

The opera world used to be split into two camps, Callas v Sutherland.  Still is.  I had a foot in both. While I think Callas is the greatest singing actress who ever graced the operatic stage, Sutherland's was the most beautiful of the two voices.  And yet and yet,  when I listen to the Callas recording of Lucia and the celebrated Mad Scene, while there is no contest for perfection of sound, for me Callas comes out top.  There is one phrase in the middle of this scene when Lucia is remembering her lost love.  It is a sublime phrase and Dame Joan sings it exquisitely. Then Callas sings it, much less beautifully, but on listening to it I am immediately moved to tears.  This happens time and time again with Callas.

The contrast between the two Divas could not have been more marked.  Callas's turbulent life on and off stage was in marked contrast with that of Dame Joan who had a long and happy marriage to the conductor Richard Bonynge.  You never heard of Dame Joan throwing a tantrum or being difficult, everyone loved her.  She has always been a lovely down to earth person, living proof that you do not have to behave badly or be difficult to be thought of as a Diva (Angela Gheorgiou take note).  I met her backstage at the Albert Hall after a sensational prom concert many years ago, and she stayed chatting, signing autographs and generally being delightful to everyone.  Not sure I would ever have dared to approach Maria Callas if I had ever had the chance (which I didn't).

Fans of both the Divas tried to make out there was huge rivalry between the two celebrated sopranos but neither would play this game.  Callas slipped into the back of the House to hear the dress rehearsal of Lucia di Lammermoor and was reportedly bowled over the Joan Sutherland's voice, saying to her companions how good she thought she was and visiting her afterward. 

I have now reached the love duet in Act One and I simply have to sit and listen to it without distractions. Happy Birthday Dame Joan and thank you for the many glorious years of stunning singing and enjoyment you have given me.

Defence of the Ashes 2006

Sports Photo of the Year  - Flintoff consoling Brett Lee Ashes 2005

Those of you who think cricket is the most boring game in the world - look away now.  I fully understand your view point because this is how I used to feel before I saw the light and realised that cricket is the most wonderful game in the universe.  I was lucky to have a friend whose father, Bill,  was a member of the Nottingham Cricket Club and when I used to stay with her family, he would take me to one day matches and explain it all to me.  I was soon hooked but found Test Matches slow and boring in comparison.  Yes, well I was young and foolish.....

One day Bill and I were stuck indoors at a time when the pollen count was off the radar and we could not sit in the garden and a test match was in the offing. We, therefore, spent from 11am to close of play at around 6 pm, in front of the TV. Bill was in his element, teaching me about field placings, why a certain field was set for a combination of a particular batsman and bowler, the names of all the positions and initiated me into the mysteries of an inside edge, batting off leg stump, what a yorker was and explained what the commentators meant when they said 'oh he's doing a bit of gardening'  (batsman banging down the pitch with his bat); that is a 'useful innings' (nothing spectacular but keeping the show on the road).  He also explained the role of the Night Watchman (only Night watchman I had come across then was in the second act of Die Meistersinger) so I was enchanted by this.

Thus, an addiction was born that came to full fruition on the occasion of Botham's Ashes in the 80's when I was superglued to the television throughout the Test Series and, perforce, my two daughter who were then about 5 and 7.  I am pretty sure that both my children did well at school as they learned the art of sitting still and concentrating during these Tests and by the time they went to University they could discourse learnedly on the finer points of cricket.  My elder daughter, Kathryn, told me that her street cred rocketed when she was able to sit up all night with a gang of lads in her Hall of Residence watching an Ashes series, and argue the finer points of cricket with them. 

So now we are facing the Old Enemy again this winter and defending the Ashes.  I have to say that the test series last year was, without doubt, the greatest I have ever seen since the Botham tests.  Nail biting was not the word, knuckle gnawing was nearer the mark.  I took a couple of days off work for the last Test as I knew I would not be able to concentrate - as it was I had had the score board in the corner of my computer screen at work for the entire series, and every time we took a wicket I would shoot down the corridor and bash into Allan, one of our cricket loving partners, who was racing down to tell me the same thing!  It just got very silly and nobody could concentrate.

Kathryn was in Greece on holiday for the last Test which she was very annoyed about and I ended up sending her text messages every time we lost a wicket (which was shudderingly often on the last day) or calling her on the beach where she was waiting.  The news I gave her was then broadcast to all around her (beach was full of anxious cricket lovers) and when I finally rang and told her we had won the Ashes I could hear the screams all the way from Paxos.

I have to admit that at one stage on the last day of the last Test, I actually turned the television off and went out for a walk as my nerves were in shreds.  As the wickets fell, I began to think we were not going to do it and from the expressions on the faces of the crowd, they felt the same.  Then of course, on came Kevin Pietersen, with his appalling skunk style hair cut, now happily no longer with us (the hair cut that is not Kevin!), took over, decided to tonk Shane Warne out the ground and the rest is history....

The Test Matches of course have now gone to Sky so people like me who do not have satellite TV, as we do not have coverage in my dip in the ground where I live (makes me sound like a Hobbit does it not?) were left furious and bereft, but at least we have the consolation that the Beeb has managed to come to an agreement to show the highlights each day.  OK so it is at midnight but better than nothing and perhaps it is just as well I cannot sit and watch it all day.  Not sure I would survive.

So next week it begins - at Melbourne.  The Barmy Army are out in force, words of Jerusalem memorised, factor 33 at the ready.

LET BATTLE COMMENCE