Death Is Without Scruples

I was reminded this morning of the early death of Anthony Minghella.

That he died so young, at the age of just 54, is one of many tragic early deaths.

The reminder this morning was my receipt of the latest brochure advertising the forthcoming season at English National Opera.

Just a few weeks before his sudden death, I saw his production of Madame Butterfly when it was first staged at English National Opera, which must have been in 2006.

This was not the last opera I was to see at ENO, last year (2012) I saw a matinee performance of The Magic Flute.

The journey has become quite difficult for me as I have become increasingly disabled, although perhaps I should be grateful that death has not become a shadow on my horizon.

It is a fortunate fact that multiple sclerosis does not necessarily mean a shortening of lifespan, although it certainly does mean a change to what is possible.

Anthony Minghella first came to my attention when I heard an early radio play, entitled Cigarettes And Chocolate.

I still remember this, many years after I first heard it, and although I believe it has been repeated on the radio (Radio 3) I cannot remember when I first heard it, nor when it was repeated.

Like his films and indeed his opera, his work has been memorable in so many ways.

Films such as Truly Madly Deeply, and The English Patient.

I believe he was also responsible for the screenplay adaptation of The Talented Mr Ripley, and for directing the television film version of the No1 one Ladies Detective Agency, broadcast by the BBC shortly after his untimely death.

I am always moved to remember people whose lives I feel have in some small way been entwined in my own, although in truth with Anthony Minghella the connection is slight and vague.

My friend Richard is on the music staff at ENO, and he was the pianist for rehearsals that led to casting for the original production.

Also, the writer of the original No1 Ladies Detective Agency story, Alexander McCall Smith, is someone with whom I have worked when I worked in Edinburgh for the Scottish Chamber Orchestra.

As the orchestras’ Development Director, I arranged for players from the orchestra to work alongside the music ensemble that the author was then involved with, as a parent who had begun to play an instrument many years after first having been taught when at school.

The ensemble was called the Really Terrible Orchestra, the RTO, and gave much fun to the children and their friends of those adults that played in it.

It was long before Alexander McCall Smith became a successful writer, and was able to give up his day job as the Prof of Medical Ethics at Edinburgh University.

I felt very privileged to have been involved with such highly skilled musicians whom I could provide opportunities for community engagement with, and I understand that after I had left the orchestra, Alexander McCall Smith has been invited to be the narrator of Peter And The Wolf.

It is a selfish pursuit, to observe the lives and deaths of those that when I was physically active I had some cause to cross paths with.

But it is one of the ways in which I console myself that I have lived a life beyond the world in which I now live.

My life is by no means over, and for that I am grateful.

Indeed, the limitations to my present life have perhaps sharpened my appetite for experiences that remind me of the sweetness of life, as opposed to the bitterness that could so easily be the choice of what tastes I still have.