The Quiet That Is Christmas

It is Christmas morning, once again. One of those days when every other Christmas seems to join with this one, making one continuous whole back to the beginning of time.

I seem always to wake early on Christmas day, perhaps a habit from childhood.

And the first thought to pass my mind is the quiet of the world.

Even the wind this morning is notable for its absence.

A blanket of quiet warming, and yet like snow holding the world in thrall.

Of course there is reason for the quiet, in many cases people have gravitated to family, it is after all almost the purpose of Christmas Eve to be the time when everyone is busy with last minute shopping.

And then, the quiet. The pause of much bustle. When even our thoughts can cease to think of too much beyond the moment, the significance of this day. And what it has meant in our culture for so many centuries.

It is perhaps the only day when such quiet blankets the world. Or at least, our world.

The absence of traffic, of people in the streets, it is almost as if should it be
Spring, we should hear the unfurling of leaves from their buds.

But it is not Spring, not in this hemisphere, and we are comfortable in our warm homes. And thoughtful for once about those that may not have the comforta that we can afford.

And so it is a time for consideration, for thoughtfulness, and for celebration of what we have and why we have it.

I am humbled at the quiet of the morning, so present, though it must be like this each day.  Although I do not perceive it such.

Perhaps it is that much more important that we should not be so aware of every day as if it were like this, for then it should not seem so special, when it is this day.

And we have had the opportunity to think all of our thoughts for this moment in time, when it is what it is.

For some of us the centre of our spiritual selves, for many simply a festival of shopping.

But for all, a time when time itself seems to stop, and then to start again. Something the poet TS Eliot called the still point of the turning world.

My Best Ever Christmas Present

Everyone will have their own answer to this question.

My answer came just the other day, courtesy of Kindle.

It is a simple fact that publishing has been transformed by the Internet, and self publishing no longer carries the same stigma that it might once have carried.

Although doubtless much that is published without the intervention of a professional publisher will be in serious need of some proper editing. And certainly could do with the marketing expertise that comes with the territory.

I for one am at one with the majority of people, that still foresee that genuine books, made of paper, and often smelling of age, will never be superseded by the electronic book.

Although it certainly does democratize the whole process of publishing.

Before I discovered the world of publishing for the Kindle, I had discovered the world of publishing using the Internet, and the technology that enables books to be printed when purchased.

There are disadvantages of this, not least of all the fact that the printing of such books has much to learn from the crispness of old  fashioned typesetting.

As someone that in a previous life did learn how to operate an old offset lithographic printing press, I speak from personal experience of the joy to be gained from that magical process, whereby ink is transferred from a metal plate to paper.

However, the Kindle exists, and a new market for words, and for the reading of them, which is a skill that should be encouraged in every possible way.

And so, it is possible these days to download an application that enables most computers and no doubt any other kind of handheld device that operates in the same way that a computer does.

So that they can read this kind of book, which is really no more than the capacity to read a PDF document.

And of course, such devices make it possible for large numbers of written works to be portable, and therefore read, in those moments in busy lives when it is possible to stick one’s head in a book. However unlike a book the device on which the written word is carried.

The Christmas present that I referred to earlier was my first ever payment in respect of a Kindle version of my own writings.

It’s not the kind of money that will suddenly transform my life, and in any case, I am not in a position to earn income, as I am severely disabled, and therefore supported through benefits.

I am therefore precluded from personally benefiting from the industry of my pen, which is how I still imagine my writing to be generated, even though the truth is far from this.

For some time now, I have been unable to hold a pen, nor even use a typewriter or a computer keyboard.

But as this is the age of the Internet, it is also the age of assistive technology, and I am able to type much faster than I ever could, through the use of voice activated software.

About five years ago, I received a small award from the Arts Council of England, in respect of my poetry.

And thus any income earned from my poetry, will be gifted to a local charity, the Queen Alexandra Hospital Home for soldiers, in Worthing.

One of my six or seven books is a special edition of my first collection of poetry, entitled 50 x 50: Useful Poetry For Troubled Times.

Although paper copies of this collection can be purchased direct from the Hospital, Kindle versions can also be purchased.

And as it is Christmas, it is not too late for this kind of present to be downloaded from the Internet, with payment being made in any of the usual ways.

As I have only just completed the complicated Google tax information, so that my Kindle bookshelf is now available for sale across the world of the Internet, any purchases can be made at just a moment’s notice.
I dare say that all that will be required is to search the Kindle store for my name, Stephen Page, and to find the correct person that is me.

The title of my first collection of poetry should be unique enough to enable my books to be identified. The other volume that I will mention by name is my collection of short stories, Mother And Child With other stories.

If my motives were simply to line my own pockets, I don’t think I would be so brazen in my suggestion that people reading this blog might consider purchasing any of my publications.

It is fortunate that the Kindle bookshelf offers the fraternity to read significant parts of any volume offered for sale, and anyone that is a member of Google Prime can borrow before purchasing free of charge in any case.

And so, this is my challenge. I have already had that first moment of excitement at receiving a portion of the purchase price, which I shall be passing on as I will any other payments from this source.

But it is nevertheless truly exciting to earn money in this way, and it would be most exciting for me to have others reading my work across the world.

First Steps

It is already that time of the year when our lives begin as it were to flash before our minds eye.

It is as if we are caught on an escalator, raising inexorably upwards, and no matter how fast we walk, we cannot return to the place from where we set off.

It is now just a week before Christmas, and inevitably, the holiday season will have us in its thrall.

For many people, this is the time of the year when we will feel most alone, although for many of us, we will be surrounded by people. Friends and family.

But nevertheless, Christmas inevitably leads to the close of one year, and the beginning of another.

And no matter how good or bad this year has been, we will certainly harbour thoughts about the coming year.

It has even been the case that one of the most successful stocking filler presents over recent years has been that which can be purchased as a last minute thought whilst standing in a queue waiting to pay for Christmas presents purchased in that store.

Whatever it has been called, more often than not, it has been a short reminder not to panic.

And panic is probably what most of us will be doing at some point over the next few weeks.

But most of us will find a way through, and we will confront those things that are sometimes at the forefront of our minds, mostly pushed firmly to the back of them.

In some respects, this has been exercising me as the last few days, and I have been reminded of how each year I have somehow managed to survive. Most of us will.

But this year, perhaps more consciously than ever, I am entering the fray with some semblance of a peaceful countenance.

I think the only way in which I can explain this is that I have paused to think, and given myself time to think a little about all those moments when I have most stressed myself.

And of course, survive I have, but we are capable of learning, and perhaps, under pressure, developing strategies for survival, just when it seems as if all is lost.

One simple phrase has been repeating itself to me, and I am not sure exactly how to translate it so that it becomes relevant to this period of time.

And I am not even sure where the original of my memory comes from, but most people will be familiar with it.

It is simply that a journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, and I suppose I have been wondering how this might be expressed as a measure of time.

Something like a year will begin with a single day, or with a single moment of resolution.

However this either confronts you, or however you will find a means of surviving, the problem is an ancient one, requiring that we can reinvent ourselves again, to continue the lives we have made for ourselves, or at least adjusting the one that we have made so that it fits us more comfortably.

And so, good luck and my heartfelt good wishes for the Christmas season, whatever it means to you, and however it finds you.

Feed The Birds

Like so many people, I love the Mary Poppins film.

Not so the original author of the Mary Poppins books, PL Travers.

I am looking forward to seeing the recently released film that is based upon the differences between Walt Disney and PL Travers, Saving Mr Banks.

Having viewed a recent short documentary from the BBC about this forthcoming film, it has reminded me how much I love the section in the film where the old woman feeds the birds outside St Paul’s Cathedral.

This is a haunting song, and perhaps few people will realize exactly who it is playing the role of the Old Woman.

At the time of filming, she had been retired for a couple of years, and was living in a retirement home for actresses.

It seems that this was one of the few scenes in the film that PL Travers approved of, and Jane Darwell, the daughter of a railway president, born in 1879, began making films only when she was in her 30s.

Her name was changed from Woodward, perhaps because her family so disapproved of her working as an actress.

Walt Disney so wanted to cast her in this role that he personally visited her in the nursing home where she was living, and she was ferried backwards and forwards to filming in a limousine, just to sweeten the deal.

It is of course her last film role, and although we might not remember many of her numerous other roles, she was the winner of an Oscar for an Actress in a Supporting Role in 1941, In The Grapes of Wrath.

She also had a part in Gone with the Wind, in 1939, and her full list of films is very lengthy.

She has a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and though her part in the film is a small one, I cannot help feel that it is a pivotal one, providing a real sense of what Mr Banks, the father of the two children at the heart of Mary Poppins, fails to see right in front of his nose.

Although it is a lullaby, in the film, and perhaps could easily be simply passed over and forgotten, it is for me one of the most memorable tunes from this extraordinary film.

At the time of its release, in 1964, it became the most successful Disney film at the Oscar ceremony, scooping five Oscars.

It has been one of the most successful films financially for the Disney Corporation, so that they have named one of their technical companies after it, MAPO - in other words, Mary Poppins.

Strange how one small element in the story of a single film can link to serve many other films.

But then, I suppose that is the nature of Hollywood, that it is ultimately a small community in California, albeit with the capacity to encompass the world.

Doctor Who Regenerates

It has been difficult for anyone in the UK to miss the fact that Doctor Who has just celebrated its 50th anniversary.

It has done so in a quite extraordinary way, and as a child growing up in the 60s, there is no doubt that I am one of those children that cowered behind the sofa when the program showed, and it has been a formative part of my childhood and growing up.

And until very recently, I have been an avid viewer, only tapering off because I do not wish to be obsessive about any television at all these days.

But I have seen the 50th anniversary special, and I have been mightily impressed.

It is not an easy undertaking to tinker with a potentially lengthy future, and as Doctor Who has already racked up 50 years, and a dozen different Doctors, there is no reason to believe that it will not continue into the future.

And what has been achieved with this special edition has been quite remarkable.

Perhaps understandably so because of the unique nature of the series, and the high production values that in more recent years have been applied to it.

But what has been achieved with this special edition has been a rewriting of just about everything that is at the heart of the essential character of the Doctor, and this will doubtless have some impact upon future episodes.

I don’t want to go into the kind of detail that would mean that I would be telling the entire story, because that would be far too complicated.

And in any case, no doubt it will be possible for anyone that cares to do so to see the episode in question for themselves.

But what has been achieved above all is to remove from the personality of The Doctor a deep seated psychological blemish, that occasionally, would become apparent in his portrayal.

And by removing this blemish, he has been given new possibilities for future episodes and his motivations, such as might otherwise never have been possible.

This is a little like an individual undergoing psychoanalysis or counselling, successfully, and becoming a better person for it.

That it has been achieved in the context of a fictional time travelling character, whose popularity with children and adults alike is unrivalled, will no doubt have repercussions such as I cannot foresee.

But it is quite an achievement, and does make me curious as to how future episodes will differ.

But The Doctor has mean made better, in some difficult to summarise way.

Perhaps only echoing that biblical quote, physician heal thyself.

Letters To Juliet

It may be one of those truths which really are the case. Perhaps the story of Romeo and Juliet is known around the world. Everywhere that such a story of love can be told and remembered.

 it is also true that great art translates readily into other forms.

Or that the work of a genius like Shakespeare continues to inspire artists of other cultures and times.

Only recently I have discovered a particularly beautiful film which offers an insight into just this idea.

It is a film, made in about 2010, and starring Amanda Seyfried and Vanessa Redgrave.

At one level, it is a simple story of modern day love, and the tribulations that Amanda experiences when she travels to the town in Italy where Juliet lived, as far as the Shakespeare play is concerned.

Whilst in Verona, her fiance, a chef about to open a new restaurant in New York, becomes obsessive about visiting his potential suppliers.

In the words of his fiancee, he has suddenly become very Italian now that he is in Italy.

And so he disappears off to a wine auction, leaving his fiancee where she has become interested in what she has discovered about the house of Juliet.

Every day, this is visited as a site of pilgrimage, by lovers from across the world, who leave letters to Juliet, pinned to the wall of the house where legend has it that she lived.

The work that she has been doing in New York is as a fact checker for the New Yorker magazine, but she aspires to be a writer.

She has visited the house of Juliet, and watched as lovers of all kinds, some clearly distressed, pin their letters to the wall of the house.

And then, she observes that an Italian woman comes to collect the letters in a small basket every evening, and she follows this woman and discovers that the letters have not simply been removed and destroyed, but rather have been removed so that they can in fact be answered.

She is introduced to the four women who are the secretaries of Juliet, employed by the local authority to answer these letters.

They are fascinating women, dividing letters so that they can be answered by the appropriate person. One of them has been married to the same man for 60 years, one answers any letters that have a medical or some sense of loss connected with them, and is a nurse, and one has the job of deciphering the almost illegible ones, are the ones that are in a sense the most desperate.

A little later on that evening, Amanda’s character is sitting up serving the letters, and assisting one of the secretaries to collect the most recent batch of letters to Juliet.

As she is helping to put the letters into a basket, as is the custom at the end of each day, she happens to remove a loosened break in the wall of the house, and thus revealing a letter that has been hidden for 50 years.

Amanda dutifully brings the letter to the secretaries of Juliet, and reads the letter to them.

It tells of a young girl, that wishes to explain to the man that she loves, a local boy close to where she had been attending an art class in Tuscany 50 years previously.

Though she loved Lorenzo Bartoli deeply, she in effect has run away, after they had agreed to do the same together, because they loved each other.

Amanda asks if she can write the letter herself, to the address on the envelope in London, and she telephones her fiance, who is quite happy to stay and spend more time with his suppliers.

Amanda writes her letter, and posts it off that evening.

She spends the next couple of days with the secretaries of Juliet, and imagine her surprise when her letter has been received, the first notice of its having been received being the arrival of Clare’s grandson, who has sought out the secretaries of Juliet, in effect to chide them as to the raised expectations that the letter has excited in his grandmother, with whom he has travelled in response to the letter.

We are not made privy to the contents of the letter at this stage, although we do hear what it contains much later in the film.

And so begins the search by Claire for her long lost love, and Amanda meets Claire after she follows the grandson back to where they are staying.

Claire agrees that Amanda should accompany them, in spite of the protestations at first of the grandson.

Amanda’s background in checking facts, comes into its own when it is realised that they have a huge task ahead of them, in spite of the certainty in Claire’s mind that Lorenzo would not have moved away from the soil that he so loves.

Suffice to say, it is a most romantic quest to find Lorenzo, and I will give nothing further away of the story.

It is a wonderful reworking of the Romeo and Juliet story, in a way that is modern without losing any sense of the romance of the original story.

It is rare that I have been so moved by a film, and impressed by its simplicity.

And of course there is an extraordinary coincidence that makes me write this blog story.

A friend that has taken to regularly visiting me weekly on a Tuesday evening will not be visiting this Tuesday, tonight as I write this story.

Because he is on holiday with his family in Italy.

He did not know to where in Italy he would be travelling, only that he might be travelling to Lake Garda.

What is extraordinary is that in the film Amanda and her fiance are to visit Lake Garda, and I therefore realise that my friend is visiting Tuscany, and I am wondering whether when he arrives back he may have visited the city where Juliet’s house is to be found.

It would be quite extraordinary to discover that he has visited this same location that has provided me with such stimulus whilst he has been away for a short break.

Only time will tell.

My Life On Film

I recorded yesterday a film that I have admired for some time.

It so happens that it is a film shot on location on the island of Hoy in Orkney, the largest of the Orkney islands. It is separated from Orkney proper by Scapa Flow, an area of water that has for much of the 20th century been the location for the Home Fleet, very much the subject of this film, called The Spy In Black. It is an early work of Michael Powell, made in 1939 before he became better known as a filmmaker after he had teamed up with Emeric Pressburger. Powell and Pressburger films have become synonymous with quality British films, and many of their collaborations are considered among the finest of British films of their period.

When Michael Powell worked alone as a filmmaker, he was often fascinated with life in Scotland, and his personal output reflects this fascination.

This film is a good example, as it depicts accurately the life of people living in Orkney during the First World War, and the plot hinges around German attempts at placing a spy on the island.

In the event, this attempt fails miserably, as a counter-espionage plot means that numerous German submarines are sunk as a consequence of this failed attempt.

It is a fascinating film for me, as I am very familiar with the locations for the film, which is perhaps surprising, given that the area depicted is sparsely populated, and not perhaps a place commonly visited by tourists.

But it so happens that it is a part of Scotland with which I am very familiar, because for two years, I was responsible for the International Young Composers course, during which the composer Sir Peter Maxwell Davies invited young composers from across the world to spend a fortnight on his island home, learning from him by completing a composition that was performed by an ensemble of musicians from the Scottish Chamber Orchestra.

It so happened that I was the person responsible for organising that course, and for all of the arrangements that enabled it to take place.

As it was located on Sir Peter’s Island home, and since he lived close to The Old Man of Hoy, which is an important location in the film, this is unusually familiar to me as a location.

In the film, the German spy is intended to be the schoolteacher at Longhope, a small settlement at the eastern end of the island.

A small steamer delivers the schoolteacher to the island close to this settlement, and it is with some irony that I recognise the landing place, as it was the same landing stage at which an audience arrived to listen to the results of the composition course, held during the St Magnus Festival on the island of Orkney, of which Sir Peter was the patron.

And thus I would spend a fortnight or so myself at this end of the island, being hosted by a family that lived only a stones throw from that school house.

It is a fine film, and I am glad to add it to my collection.

Strangely, another film again that collection is a version of the Thomas Hardy novel, Jude.

Whilst I worked for the Scottish chamber Orchestra, I lived in Edinburgh, and it is a strange coincidence that the flat where I lived for three years, placed on the second floor of a block of four period apartments, was used as a location for that film.

In the story, Jude works as an apprentice stonemason, and the yard below my kitchen window, was used as the location for the stonemasons yard in the film.

In reality, it was a simple cobbled yard in which a garage provided services specifically to the owners of Citroen 2CVs, and strangely enough, I had cause to use this garage regularly, since I owned one of these vehicles.

And so, it is most peculiar to see this simple yard transformed into a set for this part of the film, but most gratifying to preserve this memory of my flat in Edinburgh.

I believe other parts of the film used Edinburgh for its locations, as it provides a wonderful period setting for an 18th-century town.