Category Archives: About Dorothy

Memories of Elektra

About Dorothy

Nowhere in my life is the way we lay down memories more apparent than in my role as a member of the London Symphony Chorus. For with 120 members of the choir singing in any one concert, we lay down 120 versions of our experience. Different members of the chorus notice different things about the experience. Different members of the chorus respond to those different things in different ways. Years later, when we compare notes, these differences are highly apparent. Were we at the same concert?

Talking with my friend and former chorus member Jenny Tomlinson in the run up to last week’s two performances of Elektra, it’s clear that Jenny laid down a few memories I had forgotten about our performance in 1989. She reminds me how one of our fellow sopranos, Eileen Fox, stood in for Christa Ludwig to do her scream in the role of Clytemnestra. Now, it isn’t normally seen as a compliment to describe someone as a ‘screamer’ in the context of the London Symphony Chorus, but hey! When you’ve deputised for Christa Ludwig, well, that’s an altogether different matter.

Once again, in 2010, Eileen is asked to offer her scream and draws the admiration and respect of fellow Chorus members. The stage staff who open the door for her make jokes after her first attempt (“honest! We could barely hear you!”) and are spotted wearing ear plugs next time round.

Helen Palmer, whose sister Felicity is utterly magnificent in the role of Clytemnestra, will no doubt lay down a few memories of the way eager audience members asked her for her autograph and Valerie Gergiev, too, did a quick double-take before realising that no, this was not Felicity Palmer.

James Mallinson laid down a particular kind of memory, laying down the tracks that will become the LSO Live recording to be issued in a few months time. The critics laid down a variety of highly positive memories in their reviews (not one of them about the chorus – though what can you expect when we only have a handful of bars to sing?). I would add my own “quite right, too!” as I think of the fine array of soloists and the orchestra’s exciting performance. The chorus as a whole may well lay down a memory of the various places we were instructed to sing from before finally gathering near the stage door.

Personally, I lay down one memory amongst the others which is personal to me. Standing at the back of the little group of “servant wenches” by the stage door I have barely enough light to see my music. Noticing this, one of the stage door staff takes out his mobile phone to shine the light over my music, following my finger as I highlight where the light needs to go. A small act of kindness which I treasure.

Continuing the big freeze

About Dorothy

The big freeze continues. In SE13 our snow fall has been modest compared to many parts of the country, perhaps three or four inches. In Haslemere, my friend Jenny tells me they have had a foot of snow and have been unable to use their car. This week my appointments have been postponed, one by one, as my snow-bound colleagues and clients let me know they can’t get into London.

My road is close to Lewisham’s centre and used by many people who park their cars to go shopping. The pavements, ungritted, quickly turned from untrodden snow to thick ice. On Thursday, I decided to clear the ice on the pavement in front of my house. This was not an entirely straightforward decision. On the one hand, I felt sure the pavement would be safer without the ice and on the other hand I heard rumours that the liability would suddenly be mine if I cleared the ice and someone fell. Who wants to be sued?

On Thursday, I cleared a small path in the midst of the ice. On Friday I cleared a little bit more. Today I decided to go the whole hog, clearing the full width of the pavement of ice before going upstairs and admiring my tidy patch from above.

I sit down with a cup of tea (the pink, herbal variety rather than the strong stuff – rasberry and echinacea of I remember rightly) and finish my book. And then, looking up, I watch the snow begin to fall.

Hey, ho!

The Massolit Bookshop and Cafe

About Dorothy

When the Nesbit family arranges “secret Santa” for our Christmas trip to Krakow it is easy to predict that Santa might brings at least a book or two by way of presents. So there’s no surprise, when I text my brother and sister-in-law to let them know of delays to our journey, that they reply from a bookshop.

The bookshop they describe when we arrive sounds like a veritable tardis. Stepping into a confined area it seems at first sight that this English language bookshop has very few books. Until, that is, it becomes apparent that beyond the initial entrance there’s another part of the bookshop – through some doors, across a corridor and through another set of doors. In addition, the books shop offers coffee and American cakes to eat in the cafe area or amongst the books.

I go to the bookshop, the Massolit Books and Cafe, with my brother and my nephew the day before we leave. Following our visit to Auschwitz and Birkenau we are interested to read and learn more – an interest twinged with the pain and sadness that comes with knowing about the Holocaust. We all come away with books.

And since my mother and I have an afternoon flight the next day we make the bookshop our final stop before leaving, for a browse, a drink and cake.

A visit to Auschwitz

About Dorothy

The term “Holocaust denier” is used with great contempt by many in modern Western society and still, visiting Auschwitz for the first time, I am reminded of Elisabeth Kubler Ross’s work on grieving and the spotlight it shines on denial. For even with the weight of history – with all the evidence we have already seen and are about to see during our visit – it is hard to believe the acts of violence that were perpetrated against men, women and children at Auschwitz, Birkenau and other camps during the Second World War.

We start our visit at the main gate to Auschwitz with its sign (recently stolen and replaced) which carries the legend “Arbeit macht frei” (“work will make you free”). A number of the camp’s buildings have been made into displays so that, over time, it is possible to build up a picture of the 1.5 million men, women and children (of whom 90% were Jews) who lost their lives at Auschwitz and Birkenau at the hands of the Nazis.

Amongst the displays that strike home I am particularly touched by an expanse of human hair and a roll of the cloth into which it was woven as just one way of exploiting the Jews. In another, my mother notices a suitcase which bears the maiden name of my great grandmother. In a third, the focus of which is women in the camp, there are photos of naked women after four months of intensive treatment following the end of the war. The narrative gives their bodyweight: one woman weighs as little as a third of her pre-war weight.

We go to Birkenau and visit the gas chambers which the Nazis sought to destroy at the end of the war. At the main gate we see the railway lines by which so many thousands of people were transported to the camps. Throughout our visit to Birkenau I am struck by the number of signs of remembrance – flowers, candles and other items have been lain on the ground or attached to pictures. Somehow, they evoke a sense of connection with those people whose lives were so cruelly taken.

For my mother, who grew up in Cornwall whilst the war was waging across Europe, our brief visit is long enough and more. For all of us it raises many questions. My mother asks: “How could men have done something so evil?” As a rhetorical question, this question is at risk of being – in itself – a form of denial. At the same time, for academics and scolars it signals a primary area of study since the war.

The Jews in Krakow

About Dorothy

When my friend Mark hears that I spent Christmas in Krakow his first reference is to the Second World War, when Nazi forces established Krakow as a centre for their attempts to eradicate Jews as part of the so-called “Final Solution”.

Prior to the war, the Jewish population in Krakow was in the region of 68,000. Whilst estimates vary, this population constituted between a quarter and a third of the city’s population. Reading from her guidebook during our visit Judy, my sister-in-law, shares an estimate of just 300 Jews living in Krakow today.

The most limited research suggests a mixed history for the city’s Jews. On the one hand, it’s clear that they contributed significantly to establishing Krakow as a wealthy city. On the other hand there are reports over a number of centuries of tensions between Jews and non-Jews in the city. One report suggests that even today there are up to 1,000 Jews living in the city of whom about 800 choose not to identify themselves as part of the Jewish community.

We visit the Jewish quarter of the City on Saturday, 26th December. The main square is quiet though we catch glimpses of a number of boys playing outside one of the synagogues. We leave my nephew Edward in a cafe to read, returning to join him for lunch after walking round and visiting a former synagogue which has been turned into a museum. The factory owned by Schindler and at which “Schindler’s List” was filmed is not far away.

The cafe is next to the former bath house in the main square. Formerly three shops it is furnished with reminders of its history. One part of the cafe has two sturdy woodworking benches as tables, another has a sewing machine, a third has musical instruments.

My mother’s presence with us is a reminder that the events of the Second World War are within living memory – at least for some. I wonder what it must be like to be a Jewish resident of the city. I wonder what it must be like to be a non-Jewish resident who grew up in the midst of World War Two.

Christmas at Greg and Tom’s

About Dorothy

Recommendation is a wonderful thing. Months before our visit to Krakow Judy, my sister-in-law, receives a recommendation for Greg and Tom’s Hostel and this is where we stay.

The staff have gone to great lengths for us, allocating rooms in an apartment away from the main hostel. We join our fellow guests for breakfast and at other times enjoy our own family space.

In mainland Europe Christmas is often celebrated on Christmas Eve with a family meal followed by Midnight Mass. Poland is no exception. Along with other guests we are invited to join staff at the hostel on Christmas Eve for supper “on the house”.

The kitchen and lounge are full. We are about twenty-five guests in total. We range in age from the early twenties to the late seventies. Guests are from Europe, the Americas and Asia. The curiosity of the traveller is such that we make easy contact and share stories and information about our visit here to Krakow and our lives back home.

The staff have prepared a variety of traditional Polish dishes and we eat abundantly. After supper Peter prepares vodka shots and I can’t quite believe it when my mother is persuaded to down a shot in one.

Rebecca, my niece, yearns for some traditional carols and my mother, nephew and I agree to sing a few in the kitchen. The room quickly fills with guests as we sing and, in time, other guests coyly agree to share something in their own mother tongue. Christmas is portable, after all.

At 10 o’clock we leave in haste and make our way to see the nativity story played out in the open air. We may not understand Polish but we enjoy the story with which we are amply familiar.

A first visit to Krakow

About Dorothy

After a longer journey than we had planned to reach our destination, my mother and I reach Krakow where we join other members of the family.

Alan, my brother, Judy, his wife, and Edward, their son have already had the chance to do a ‘reccy’ and to experience the cold. Since their arrival the temperature has increased dramatically and the virgin snow is increasingly grey and beginning to melt.

Walking from our hostel we quickly arrive at the city’s main square. Throughout our stay we return to the square again and again and enjoy its festive offerings as well as its physical beauty. St. Mary’s Church towers over the square and every hour on the hour a lone trumpet player marks history, reminding the city of an attack by the Mongols in the 13th Century.

Two days in a row I am entranced by three accordion players who, at the entrance to the square’s Cloth Hall, play renditions of classical music which defy any stereotype I bring of the accordionist’s art. Together with the family I stop to listen and enjoy. Perhaps my delight reflects my surprise at the commitment that has gone into shaping Vivaldi for accordion and playing it so well.

It is Christmas and the Christmas market reflects the season. My brother has already discovered the local smoked cheese which is available as a snack – toasted and with cranberry preserve. It goes well with Krakow’s mulled wine which is also available in the market square.

Though I am no fan of the cold, I am delighted that my first visit to Krakow is at Christmas.

Christmas in Krakow

About Dorothy

It’s a number of months now since my niece Rebecca (whose many strengths include great organisation skills) extended the invitation to meet her somewhere in Eastern Europe on her way back from a three-month overland trip to China. Ideas were exchanged and airline timetables consulted before we decided to meet in Poland, in Krakow.

I travel with my mother ready to meet other members of the family. Leaving on Monday, 21st December, we expect to reach the family later the same day and get more than we bargain for, though not as much as Rebecca’s fiance Phil whose flight is cancelled and who is offered 3rd January as the next available date to fly.

After an initial delay we are loaded onto the plane and then off again when, waiting for the use of Heathrow’s de-icing equipment, the aircraft’s crew reaches the legal time limit they are allowed to work before taking a break. By the time we reach Prague we have missed our connection and no alternative arrangements have been made. Even though I decide to play the age card (my mother is 80 and telling us to go find something to eat and come back at 6am to see what’s possible just doesn’t seem enough) it is 4am local time before we get to speak to staff at the transfers desk. Hey, ho! That’s Czech Airlines for you.

Finally we arrive at Krakow in the mid afternoon the next day. My brother Alan meets us at the station having arrived with his wife Judy and son Edward on Sunday. His daughter Rebecca and Suzannah her travelling companion have also arrived.

Christmas starts here.

Namaste, Giuseppe Verdi

About Dorothy

Sitting on the Barbican’s platform ready to sing Verdi’s Otello I realise I have spent almost half my lifetime as a member of the London Symphony Chorus. An announcement is made in celebration of the award of the Queen’s Music Medal 2009 to our beloved – treasured – conductor, Sir Colin Davis. And then the performance begins.

There are some performances that need no words nor desire them. Rather, they evoke a stillness and a sense of presence such that, leaving the platform at the end of the evening I desire no conversation and quietly gather my belongings to leave.

Something about this performance is such that the exquisite beauty of the whole embraces every tiny flaw and transcends it. Something about this performance is such that to want to mention one performer is to want to mention them all. For how could Anne Schwanewilms have given a performance of such beauty without Verdi’s choice towards the end of his life to compose this work? And what of the other soloists? What, indeed, of every musician involved?

As I travel home, wrapped in my own inner stillness, one word is with me: namaste. Just for tonight I take this word to mean

The musician in me bows to the musician in you.

We are the music makers

About Dorothy
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; –
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
Arthur O’Shaughnessy
Our rehearsal schedule has been intense as we prepare to sing some of the best-loved of British music. It is twenty-three years since the London Symphony Chorus last sang Elgar’s Music Makers which we perform this evening alongside Holst’s Hymn of Jesus and Vaughan William’s Towards The Unknown Region.
In our final tutti rehearsal we are tired and it’s hard to imagine that we might invoke the spirit of music making less than two hours after we finish our rehearsal. Thank heavens that, when the time comes, our adrenalin kicks in to supply the physical resources we need to sustain a committed performance.
Our concert this evening is a performance, yes. Perhaps more significantly it is an act of love and devotion as we remember Richard Hickox with whom we worked so closely until his untimely death on 23rd November 2008. It also marks the inauguration of the Richard Hickox Foundation with its aim to cherish and support those interests that were close to Richard’s heart.
Arthur O’Shaughnessy’s words, set to music by Edward Elgar in 1912, remind us of the legacy that the music makers create and leave behind. Can we fail to think of Richard and of his extraordinary legacy – the groups, orchestras and festivals he initiated, the musicians whose careers he sponsored, the composers whose music he cherished, his recordings (more than 280 with Chandos alone)? It is not so much that this legacy consoles us as that it reminds us of the man he was. The time will come when we shall cease to have been separated by death and yet, meantime, our preparations for this concert serve to remind us of our loss and sense of separation.
In rehearsal Elgar’s stirring and somehow quintessentially English music reminds me of my own musical inheritance. For in 1975 at the age of twelve I took part in my first choral concert, singing The Music Makers alongside Rubbra’s Dark Night of the Soul at the Newbury Music Festival. I remember how my mother feared this music might put me off for ever. Singing The Music Makers for the first time since 1975, I am suddenly and deeply aware of the consequences throughout the whole of my life of that early decision to sing. Can there be any gift for which I can feel more grateful to my parents than for this gift of music?
We are the music makers.