Messiah

My wife and I attended a performance of Handel's Messiah at St Nicholas's Church, Kenilworth on Tuesday. What at an exalted experience! I had heard only snatches of the piece before  and can well understand why the composer lost all sense of time and space during its composition. And no wonder the King spontaneously got to his feet during the famous chorus!

We both enjoyed the evening and the wonderful setting and there was an extra bonus at the end. I thought I spied an old friend and colleague in the bass section of the choir. But surely not? It's been nearly 50 years and he lives in Yorkshire. That cannot be the chap who fell off his bike in exhaustion after we had almost completed a round trip from Leeds to Scarborough in 1963. But a quick referral to the programme confirmed that the man was indeed Barrie Leadbeater, one time employee of the Leeds and Holbeck Building Society and distinguished Yorkshire cricketer and coach. 

After the applause, I made myself known and we relived every turn of the pedals up Garrowby Hill. Miraculously, Barrie know lives in Kenilworth so we will meet for a pint... and I'll ask him if he still owns a bike?   

Christmas in the Mountains

For the first time ever, I shall spend Christmas away from home or the home of relatives, the idea of renting a house in the mountains, a neutral venue with no expectancy on me as a host or a guest, being very appealing and liberating. An open invitation has been extended to all the family, the only impostion being 'to bring yourselves' free from all the usual accoutrements of Christmas.

We shall journey to Snowden caring not that Christmas dinner might have to be procured from a tin - what fun! - knowing that good companionship, a roaring log fire, a tumble of precious books and the opportunity - if the sun peeps between the peaks - of a breathless hike is all. 

I travelled to Ireland this summer and tried to climb its highest mountain, the waterfalls and the midges of Tarrantouhill defeating me. Hope it's a little less drenching on Snowden!

Great War - Anniversary 2014

I've just completed a manuscript - Coventry in the Great War - for publication in 2014. The book will commemorate the outbreak of the war on 4th August 1914 and the centenary of the event.

I knew nothing about the war when I began my research. Not a word about the conflict was uttered by teachers at my school. I knew more about Bosworth Field than the Somme, only war memorials in towns and cities prompting interest. 

In carrying out research for the book, I've been captivated and appalled in equal measure, the manipulation of young minds, the hysterical swell of patriotic fervour and the demonisation of the enemy being truly shocking. I've discovered resistant voices in the darkness warning of the dark abyss ahead, one lone MP reminding his braying audience that no war was ever just. One hundred years on, no observer can read the accounts of the wholesale slaughter without shivering with revulsion. Statistics shower the mind like shrapnel. In just one offensive, allied troops gained a few hundred yards, suffering more casualties in a few days than the combined British armies that conquered India and Canada. I found the accounts to be truly upsetting but one awful story really laid me low. Over 100 men were shot at dawn for various misdemeaners, one 14 year old boy who had lied about his age so he could join up being executed because he refused to wear his muddy cap! 

Back home in Coventry, the workforce toiled like slaves, thousands of young girls filling shells with high explosives. Encrusted with explosive yellow powder, they risked not only their complexions, some dying in hideous accidents, others fading away with diseased lungs. 

I've plotted the four and a half years of the conflict, reflecting on the changing mood of the people which is encapsulated in the lyrics of the popular songs of the period, jaunty jingoistic words about king and country giving way to tortured laments describing lonely mothers and widows and mouldering corpses.

I've tried to take a balanced and honest perspective of the conflict, hoping that in some small measure my narrative can contribute to the work of Coventry which is now known throughout the world as the City of Peace and Reconciliation.