Here, there and everywhere.

I can play that on the piano!

I dont think I have ever mentioned that I can play the piano.  Have I?

Well, perhaps I should be honest and say I can read music.  Like anything else in life practise is required and I do not do enough of it.  

I learned to play the piano when I was about eight.  I remember going on the bus from our village to the nearest town, Barnsley.  In the evening after school, must have been a good half hour on the bus, then a fair walk to the piano teacher.  All on my own.  Horrible man, who breathed bad breath all over me, and then the trip in reverse.  Any wonder I was put off the piano?  But like learning Latin, which I did for one year at High School, some of it stayed with my brain.  So I can read music.

I had an upright, brown wood effort first.  In later life after leaving home I managed to get hold of another upright, which was promptly painted purple, so that must have been the 70s.  

When I began to produce children, the younger two went for piano lessons and by then we had another upright piano.  Which I do not remember painting....  And then, oh boy, we came into some money and I was able to purchase this electronic effort.  Press a button and you get the full choir joining in, another, in come the string section of the orchestra.  It is wonderful! 

I should say here that my four daughters continued their musical education through the schools they attended.  All four = recorders.  (I HATE recorders) then Eldest, clarinet, Second, trombone, (I am not too sure about this one, but remember it being difficult), Third, Saxophone, which I love, and Fourth flute. 

None of them have continued.  

Anyway, back to the present.  The last week I have indeed been Here, There, and Everywhere.  Which has tired me out.  Brain unable to blog anything I felt that would be of the least bit interesting to you.

The Dawn Patroller was silenced.  Tuesday evening we went to the Fraserburgh Photographic Society's annual knees up.  This consists of a HIGH TEA, at the Leisure Centre.  I will do another post on what consists of a High Tea. For now, suffice it to say that the first course is toast.  
As with anything I attend there were copious amounts of red wine, so that's alright then.
  
Cups and awards are presented.  The DP knew nothing of the fact he had accumulated top points in the Society's two photographic  challenges of the year, Natural History and Weather.  So he shut up for a while, and won the above two cups, one is to keep, on the left, t'other has been put back in its box - and we hope we can remember where we put it for next years winner.

Thursday the DP left me for Edinburgh, a daughter to move flats, the ex flautist, and the RSPB Bird Fair, Saturday and Sunday, along with which he would be seeing the ex clarinet player and her tribe.

Most of my week has been spent at the Museum of Scottish Lighthouses, sorting out problems, a board meeting, having lunch so I dont have to cook while the DP is away.  And once all that was done, some painting.

We did pen and ink at art group.

A couple of baby seals.  Not pen and ink, watercolour.  May need a bit of tweaking having seen and thought.....

and work in progress.

And finally, chilling out down the shed a man arrived and set about removing the DP's attempt at a wildflower meadow, which didnt work, 

So - the wasteland, like hay, you can see, which is indeed, now hay, has to be raked after cutting, then the man will return and do a second cut, following which we may have a half decent garden.  Which when the big four by fours drive past will have a better view from their car windows.  But!  the top pic, see that corner?  Well I want a wildlife pond.  Anyone have a jcb?

Lonmay Public Hall.

This photograph was taken last year.  Some may remember we came third in a quiz there, which was the start of raising money to keep the hall going.  Since then the windows have been replaced, and a lot of work done to the place.  All thanks to various organisations, including Shell, Aberdeenshire Council, etc.(And the quiz night).

 Work continues.

Last night was the first concert to be held there in fifty years!  The Scottish Accordion Music Group no less.

The place was packed, we were on the back row. 

As you can see, everyone enjoyed the evening.  Not just music but stories, very funny ones, if you could understand the Doric, which they were related in.  (I just laughed when everyone else did).  

Also unaccompanied singing in Gaelic.  Or as I have now been told its pronounced Garlic.

Now, as you have gazed on these photographs, you may well have come to the realisation that this lot are not in their first youth.

Please now look at this chap in the middle, the drummer no less, 91 years old and never missed a beat.

Now I am not very good at this video lark, so, put your head on one side, ok.  Then press play.

 When the interval came and the 91 year old drummer had to be lifted bodily by four people as he had siezed in the sitting at the drums position, carried off the stage, and out of the hall, the Dawn Patroller had to sit on me, stuff my mouth with my scarf, as I  commenced my hysterical laughing.  This does not happen very often, thank goodness, but when it does, I just cannot stop.  (Think of the noise a donkey makes.)

I had been watching him closely throughout the first half and I have never ever seen anything like it.  Just fantastic, unbelievable.

When he was brought back in for the second session I turned my eyes to other performers in case I set off again and was thrown out.

Unfortunately I was past the sensible stage and when this fantastic voice came out, from a lady way past Susan Boyle's age I was gone.  Singing about her Grandmother, sadly there is no hope for me, as all I could think about was years ago in Yates's Wine Bar.  Now you have to have been there in the 60s to know what I am on about.  

All this was after a week I would rather forget about, so yesterday evening was the best antidote ever I could have wished for.

Getting out of the car park, and manoeuvring  round fifty four by fours was yet another hysterical experience, the hall is in the middle of nowhere, narrow country lanes and the cemetery, a church that is now a house, a school that is now a house, all in complete darkness, no street lights out here, it was total mayhem.

So finally  I went to bed, only to be told by my friend Lesley,this morning  that five minutes later, this happened.

Nae so bad having nae lichts after all.

Monday Meander.

It works!  Now it is becoming much cooler, and the day becomes shorter, it is wonderful to set up the stove.  It takes minutes to get going, and from then on radiates heat throughout the downstairs of the house.  The picture above shows the wood 'catching', but once that has happened everything gets turned down and one, two, maximum three lumps of wood have us feeling cosy, all evening.

Minerva McGonagall is comfortable in the bedroom.  So all is well with the world.

Soon it will be time to pack away the garden furniture.  Once the strong winds come I do not want to see the odd chair heading for the North Sea, or the neighbours.

Whoops, naughty birds.  Fear not, they never flower, which as I understand the cultivation  is such that it needs to before you can start making money.  Its a shame to be illegal to grow it, as it is quite bonny, but to be on the safe side, best pull it up.  But then again....

East Rathen Church.  This church is up the road from us and to the right a bit, its a few miles from actual Rathen.  But the way churches were built way back is fascinating.  Or should I say why and where they were built.

Gothic church of 1842 with subsequent alterations and extensions. T-plan with later octagonal spirelet. Squared rubble with pinnings typical of the area. Fixed pews in the gallery and moveable seating in the nave.

The parish of Rathen is said to be one of the most ancient in the county of Aberdeen, and at one time contained within its limits the greater part of the parish of Strichen, and a part of the parish of Fraserburgh. The church and teinds, it is said, were at an early period appropriated to the Cathedral of the diocese, the incumbent of the benefice becoming the stipendiary of that establishment, till its dissolution at the Reformation.

' there was about the tyme of morneing prayer for diverse dayes togithir, hard in the church a queire of musicke, both of woces, organes, and other instruementes, and with such a ravisheing sweetnes that they ware transported which, in numbers, resorted to heire it with unspeakable pleasure and never wiried delight. The preacher on day being much takin with the harmonie, went with diverse of his parisheners in to the church, to try if there eyes could beare witnes to what there eares had hard, but they ware no sooner entred when, lo, the musicke ceassed with a long not, or stroke of a wioll de gambo; and the sound came from ane upper lofte where the people used to heare service, but they could see nothing.' 

This report is from the church prior to it being re-built in 1842.  Spooky! 

And here is a close encounter with a couple of deer.

Meandering on a Monday.

Winter in Summer and Rubbish on the tele.

At the end of the day one does want to relax and possibly watch the television.  No sex, no violence, no inane game shows, definitely no 'reality ' super tanned robots from darn Sarth.


The Dawn Patroller scrolled through what was on offer and suddenly said, "Ah ah."


We then watched well over an hour of absolutely fantastic entertainment.


You may have seen some weird advert for this chap, Andre Rieu.  His CD for sale.  At which I remember snorting.

But boy, oh boy, his concerts are something else.

The audience filled the town, there were hundreds and hundreds in the audience.  They were enjoying themselves.

As were the soloists, singers and the orchestra.

Brass musicians from miles around joined in and lined the streets.

The audience stood up and danced together.

The best night on t.v. I have experienced for a long, long time.

I thoroughly recommend it.  So if you are not interested in the Olympics, have a trawl through for Andre Rieu and enjoy.

He who would valiant be....

Let him come hither.


I was brought up in the Methodist Church.  Tried a few more along the way. Catholic, Church of England, Bahai, etc.  My experiences will remain unprinted as I do not want to upset anyone.  As a Methodist I signed the pledge when I was seven, not to drink.  Forgot completely by the time I was 17.  (or quite possibly earlier).


Suffice it to say what I do miss from visiting a church is that awesome sound from the organ and then the voices belting out such hymns as the above.  One of my favourites, but surprisingly not in my Dad's Methodist hymn book.  Possibly Church of England then?

My Dad's Hymn Book has on the flyleaf, 


Providence Methodist Church, Mapplewell.
Presented to
Sydney Robinson
at a Welcome Home Celebration, in thanksgiving for his safe return from H.M. Forces


March 1948.


(March 1949 I was born. )


Every year there was a performance of the Messiah at Providence Methodist Church (I didnt know it was a Church as everyone called it Chapel).  And my Dad was one of the leading tenors.  Every Christmas Day my family is inflicted with the full performance of the Huddersfield Choral Society cd.  (And me singing along to it.)


I do think that song is a very powerful part of our whole being.


I am fortunate that I can hear songs, can join in the singing, my lungs are shot, so sometimes its a whisper, but singing can be so moving, and despite my religious hang ups I still think that some of the old hymns are just fantastic.


Indeed, my lovely keyboard, pretend piano whatever has an organ button!  As soon as the Dawn Patroller goes off to be the hunter gatherer at Tescos I plan to be in there.


Because my Dad's Methodist Hymn Book has the music as well as the words!


He who would valiant be , well She actually, is about to shake the rafters.