25th August, “Resurrection.”
Last night, Sir Simon Rattle realised his life long ambition to conduct the London Symphony Orchestra in a performance of Mahler’s Symphony No 2 in C minor The Resurrection. This would be the first concert, post-pandemic with massed choirs, which, in this performance totalled 297, not including the soloists. If I remember rightly, according to the Radio 3 announcer, Sir Simon Rattle first heard this work as an eleven (or twelve) year old at a concert in Liverpool. That event inspired his entire future and in a previous century, he would be up there with Sir Thomas Beecham, Sir Adrian Boult, et-al. I had been looking forward to this concert for a number of days; I had first heard this symphony while still figuring life out at primary school, possibly aged 10. At that time, a Mahler symphony offered “good value.” Usually well over an hour with plenty of melody, noise, quietness, gorgeous harmony, singing, and in the case of Symphonies 2 and 8, huge choirs. And at 73 years of age, Mahler’s Resurrection still clogs up my throat with a huge lump, especially at the finale during which one cannot fail to believe in God.
You couldn’t make it up! I had spent the day at home, nursing my gammy knee, preparing food, doing bits of paperwork here and there, and spending “short” periods in front of the telly. When the ads came on, I would flick over to ad-free YouTube. Then miss the start of the next part of the programme I was watching originally. Yesterday evening, it was time to do my accounts, a four weekly exercise I carry out when my pension has been received. I looked at my watch…”Gosh and darn it!” (This is a family blog!) “It’s nearly 8 o’clock; I’ve missed the beginning of the Mahler.” I leaned over from what was my father’s desk to the Hacker radio/record player which, again, my father had purchased new in 1972, along with small Wharfdale speakers. It still works, 50 years later! I had finished my accounts and could plunge my room into darkness and enjoy what remained of the Mahler symphony; I had just caught the closing bars of the second movement, and one fear was that, as I settled down in the darkness of my archive-strewn bedroom…the phone would ring! That didn’t happen and I was able to indulge in the welter of sound, that is Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony, in the purposely pessimistic key of C minor!
Blog 828A. London revisited.
William Cowper penned the famous hymn, God Moves in Mysterious Ways His Wonders do Perform (I think that’s correct) apparently following a fit of deep depression during which he decided to “end it all.” More than one person has told me the account of his hiring a horse and carriage to take him to the River Thames into which he would jump, presumably from London Bridge. A pea-souper of a mist descended, the cab driver became disorientated and hopelessly lost, telling William Cowper “I cannot do any more for you.” and dropped him off somewhere in the thick swirling fog. Perhaps the eminent poet and hymnwriter breathed a sigh of relief. By some strange coincidence, he had been dropped off right opposite where he lived, inspiring the famous hymn whose first line is often quoted when something out of the ordinary occurs.
Quite why I awoke at 3am this morning only to lie awake until it was time to get up, only Him upstairs knows! My trip to London had to be rearranged twice not only because of industrial unrest, but also severe staff shortages as a result of the pandemic. Being a Bank Holiday weekend, heavy engineering work meant no trains from Macclesfield. No problem; I could drive to Chesterfield or even Crewe. Huge roadworks at Baslow, on the way to Chesterfield, meant possible heavy delays to an already fairly long drive. I did decide that I would set off uncharacteristically (for me) early to avoid or negate any delay. When I did get up at around 06.40, having eyes like housebricks, I felt that driving, perhaps 90 minutes to Chesterfield to be rather unwise. Surely the 07.34 train from Buxton would connect reasonably with a southbound service. It did, and although still feeling heavy-eyed, and wondering whether I would last the day, I decided not to cancel for a third time. That the train, being diverted via Crewe and Alsager would take three hours to get to London instead of two, and while not actually sleeping on the journey, a strong coffee and a wrap sandwich would revive me sufficiently to enjoy my first trip to London in well over 2 and a half years. And I would see attractive parts of London that I had never seen in my life. The river walks around Paddington were beyond magnificent. From being a child, I have always liked London. The Capital remains as exciting, today, as it did when my parents would take me as a small boy, usually to visit relatives. But Father did make a point of taking me to some of the important sights, even St. Paul’s Cathedral where I had to forego a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Hymn to the Trinity, being sung at Evensong, just when the train home was due to leave! I must have been almost in my teens; I had only become familiar with that work during my very unsuccessful stint in the church choir, before my voice broke. I’m not there yet, but I now see no cause or just impediment why I shouldn’t be home at a civilised hour, hopefully before the Prom ends on Radio 3. Yep, God does Move in Weird and Mysterious Ways, but as we draw into Stoke on Trent, I’m hoping for continued Wonders to Perform so that I can get home in reasonable time!
19.30 hrs. On the diversionary route between Stoke on Trent and Crewe.
Somewhere beyond the trees, a magnificent sunset is occurring. And already, we have passed Crewe, and are hurtling towards Wilmslow and Stockport.
05.24 hrs Back safely at home.
There was half hour at Stockport before the final leg of my journey back to Buxton. Outside the station in some recently built and unfamiliar complex, Sainsbury’s was open and had a reasonable selection of sandwiches on offer. It was well past 8pm, and apart from a home-made muffin, the sustaining effects of that magnificent lunch in Kensington had more less worn off, and I was feeling quite hungry. I purchased just enough to keep me going, and enjoyed the ham and cheese roll. I couldn’t have needed much else; inadvertently, I left on the train at Buxton, a pasta dish and small pot of fruit salad which I intended to enjoy at home while listening to the final offerings of the night’s Promenade Concert on Radio 3. A bowl of porridge with fruit and yoghurt stood in for what I left behind on the train.
I do hope that waking up in the middle of the night for a second time, and not being able to get back to sleep again isn’t going to become the new “new norm” as in days past. I did enjoy my long awaited return to London, especially seeing areas of which I was completely unfamiliar. I’m sure I could live there quite happily and enjoy the continual choice of world class arts and entertainments almost on the doorstep. But I still feel as if I have the best of both worlds, especially when the trains are running normally. Whether that will be the case post-pandemic remains to be seen. I had travelled down (or up) to London on an Avanti West Coast refurbished Pendolino in the recently introduced Premium Standard Class, which is First Class without the catering. I was impressed. Catering, which has to be paid for, can be ordered via an app on your phone; this saves walking perhaps eight coaches to the Shop in Coach C. There is ample table space, and sockets in which to plug phones and laptops. It never occurred to me to bring a spare lead so that I could charge my phone battery. Standard Class remains as claustrophobic as when the Pendolinos first entered service, but the new winged seats appear to be a little more comfortable. I have at least two more trips to London before the end of the year. In October, I shall be taken to Kensington Palace. We couldn’t go yesterday because it turned out there were no facilities for leaving wheeled bags. I had brought one just in case I needed to stay overnight. The return from London was in an unrefurbished Pendolino, and looked “very tired.” Nevertheless, although three hours instead of two, the journey felt extremely efficient, and yes, I enjoyed the detour going back. Avanti have come in for some harsh criticism especially with major cutback in services. I imagine that such (hopefully) temporary cuts would have been inevitable whoever was running the Train Operating Company. Covid-19 still has much to answer for.
It is now 06.19 hrs, and I feel wide awake. I shall, however, try for another hour’s kip, and then get up at my preferred time of 10am!
The next thing I knew, it was after 9 o’clock, and now, I feel rejuvenated.
Many thanks for reading, David, 10.03hrs in my untidy bedroom.
David's Cruise 
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