Our current fractious world needs – indeed, yearns – for more harmony, more togetherness, more joy. On the 20th of June, at All Saints Church in Maidstone, we had all those qualities in abundance. Our spirits were encouraged to soar in a concert by Maidstone Wind Symphony and The Maidstone Singers Extended Choir on a gloriously balmy evening.
A Buddhist meditation by David Maslanka opened the concert sensitively conducted by Roger Graham with the Maidstone Wind Symphony (all talented amateur musicians) drawing us into a state of calm reflection as the music drifted around this stunning grand church. This piece, entitled ‘Give Us This Day’, set the spiritual tone for the evening.
‘O Magnum Mysterium’ by Morton Lauridsen is a “quiet song of profound inner joy”. The Wind Symphony was led gently and precisely by Roger Graham through this popular piece.
The first half closed with the surging, uplifting ‘Alleluia Laudamus Te’ by Alfred Reed, raising spirits to the ornate gilded roof – a triumphant recitation leaving us in need of interval refreshment to feed the body after the soul had been sated.
And what a second half! Karl Jenkins’ ‘The Armed Man’ was sung with passion by The Maidstone Singers. The piece is almost a musical documentary which traces both the bravery of soldiers and the utter futility of war. The choir marching on the spot set the tone. It is not simply an anti-war diatribe. It is much more subtle and, therefore, persuasive. Jenkins composed the piece as he daily watched the unfolding genocide in Kosovo. This Muslim-majority now independent country no doubt inspired him to include ‘The Call to Prayers’. This was a particularly poignant moment as Adi Usmani took to the pulpit to sing the Call in Arabic. A Call to Prayers in an Anglican church – what better message of tolerance, mutual understanding could there be rather than blind, ignorant hatred? Fly a flag for that alone.
The ‘Kyrie eleison’ was sung with great feeling by the Maidstone Singers with all eyes on their conductor, Kathryn Ridgeway, who did seem to live every nuance, every twist and turn. Her direction of the percussionists as they created an ambience of hope and horror was masterful.
We are then with the soldiers (helped by war images projected on a screen) as they prepare to go over the top almost certainty to their deaths. This is the slow, brutal horror of All Quiet on the Western Front as in the film a twisted bloodied hand in the mud slowly stills of life.
The ‘Agnus Dei’ was sensitively sung with strident dignity and we are with the soldiers who have survived staring at their dead mates. Has there ever been a more beautifully composed cor anglais solo for the Benedictus? Jenkins was himself a skilled oboist (listen to Soft Machine Six) and this solo is played beautifully.
A panoply for peace closes ‘The Armed Man’ with Tennyson’s words “Ring out the thousand wars of old, ring in the thousand years of peace”. As we all headed home in the warm evening air with hope renewed by this performance maybe we could see a new light in these dark times. Music matters more than ever. Thank you to all the performers.
My Auntie Audrey used to cut the edges of her lawn with scissors. The grass was bowling green standard and a source of great pride, labour and constant concern. Her garden reflected her personality – meticulous attention to detail and a capacity to work endlessly to maintain her own high standards. I cannot remember her actually sitting in her garden, taking in the scents and views. The esteemed editor of this magazine takes a different view. Let nature do its magnificent work whilst I lounge with a glass of something refreshing. Both approaches to gardening were to some extent on display at this year’s Chelsea Flower Show. The event has become a high societal event akin to strawberries at Wimbledon and flags at the Proms.
The best show garden this year was judged to be Sarah Eberle’s ‘On the Edge’ garden for the Council for the Protection of Rural England (see picture above). “Some of the best landscapes are where people and nature coexist in harmony…It’s about how it makes you feel. It’s almost a homecoming, an embrace, a hug.” A central feature of this extraordinary garden is a fallen tree sculpted into the guardian figure of Gaia or Mother Nature. Her willow hair forms the top of a dry- stonewall that weaves through the copious, verdant planting. Weeds are reimagined celebrating our native flowing plants. There is a rusty corrugated tin fence suggesting a barn or tumbling warehouse where the countryside and development meet. Sarah Eberle’s guiding philosophy is for all gardeners to work with what they have. A boulder or tree stump can become a feature rather than a problem. She advises that we browse second-hand shops for weathered metal or wooden furniture. Beauty, she reminds us, can exist in the ordinary. The design encourages us to sit and ponder and do nothing.
The Tokonoma Garden
Contrast all this with the Tokonoma Garden designed by Kazuyuki Ishihara where Auntie Audrey’s scissors would definitely come in handy. Everything is finely honed, brushed, choreographed. Everything has its defined and delicate space. It is the garden almost as a film set guided by well-defined Japanese traditions of harmony and beauty. Weeds and corrugated iron are not welcome here. Nature has been squeezed and shaped into exquisite arrangements. The effect is stunning for very different reasons. In the CPRE garden you take off your shoes and socks and stretch out languorously. In the Tokonoma Garden you straighten your tie or adjust your fascinator. Two styles, two approaches, two designs that are different in almost every aspect in that one embraces nature and the other shapes it.
The Garden for Every Parkinson’s Journey
There are also show gardens with an explicit narrative, a message to convey. Such as the Garden for Every Parkinson’s Journey. We will ignore the overuse of the word ‘journey’ in current human experience. This garden is wonderful. A smoothly carved handrail weaves through the planting, offering stability and sensory experience for those afflicted by Parkinson’s. Its designer, Arit Anderson, has a sister who lives with the disease. The garden offers a safe space to relax for a moment or two away from the constant challenges of living with Parkinson’s. It is also a soothing night garden as many people with the disease have difficulty sleeping. One can see so clearly that Arit Anderson has designed the space for her sister. It is personal, empathetic, emotional. It underlines the immense beneficial impact that our gardens can have on both our mental and physical health. This has become a common topic for discussion: our garden ‘journey’ for mental wellbeing. And whilst being sometimes overblown, it is not new. For centuries we have known that being in nature is good for us even if it is well trimmed and intensely weeded.
My own garden journey was interrupted by an overheard remark: “Well, I must say that is the neatest lady garden I have ever seen.” Gardens never fail to surprise. I was now in front of the Lady Garden Foundation show garden. The information leaflet informed me that 21 women die every day from gynaecological cancers most people cannot even name. This ‘Silent No More’ garden was designed, somewhat disappointedly, by a man, Darren Hughes. It contains five sculptures to signify the different cancers – ovarian, uterine, cervical, vaginal and vulval. It is an unashamedly propaganda garden with a clear, vital message. At first, I was a little uneasy with the idea but slowly as I took in the planting and the message, I understood. Two ladies were chatting about a hysterectomy one had and the discovery of an undiagnosed cancer. It had got people to talk although its underlying message was skipped over by the BBC in their filming of their evening show. The idea for the garden came from Lady Garden Foundation ambassador Emily Plane who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at the age of 23 and died five years later. A highlight for me was the contrasting ideas of planting to encourage both private and group conversations. The garden will be dismantled and rebuilt across multiple sites in Jersey and Cornwall.
With an equally therapeutic ambition is the Breathing Space Garden from Asthma + Lung UK. The design of the garden by Angus Thompson draws on the Japanese aesthetic of yohaku no bi – the beauty of empty space and ma – the beauty of empty time. He was giving an impromptu talk as I arrived. The aim was to create a tranquil woodland-edge retreat to help visitors to slow down, breathe more deeply and reconnect with the restorative qualities of nature. Despite visiting on a day when 30,000 others crowded across the site, I stared at the space and felt transported to a quieter place.
That is the power of gardens. Ultimately it is not about skilled design, strong messaging, striking architecture but discovering a space where you can breathe deeply and relax profoundly. And if you are lucky enough to have Gaia carved out of a fallen tree then all the better. One hopes that given these circumstances even my industrious Auntie Audrey (who now gardens in a higher place) would put down her scissors.
Wenguang Shao, Newsstand, distributed by 300tangpoems.newsstand.co.uk
RICHARD DOVE can hear classical China in his garden
Maybe it was the gentle splutter of rain on the greenhouse roof and the weak rays of sunlight squeezing through the clouds that focused my attention on the Tang poetry book. Perched on a stool that had probably never seen better days, I took a break from gardening to read Inked Echoes: Tang verse for Young Readers by Wenguang Shao. This beautifully produced large format book seemed, at first, to be a little out of place in my well worn greenhouse. But the poetry did not.
“On a quiet night, with no neighbour in sight.
A yellow-leafed tree in the cold steady rain,
Or a lamp’s dying glow, with grey hairs that remain.”
Tang poetry is widely regarded as China’s golden age of cultural achievement. The poems were composed during the Tang Dynasty (619-907 AD) when poets were revered and occupied lofty status. In this time of immense political and artistic endeavour, we could do with poets in Parliament now more than ever, I reflected. I had been listening to Radio 4 and needed to escape from Epstein and Mandelson: “Human affairs endure vicissitudes, with turns and twists: / Events, betwixt centuries, emerge like sudden mists. / On sites of history, words of insight are soberly chiselled.”
We need far more words of insight in these turbulent times. This poem by Men Haoran tells me that “fierce winds take their toll”. Clearly, politically and physically – Prime Minister Keir Starmer facing calls for his resignation, and this greenhouse has been reassembled two or three times after fierce winds.
Tang poetry embraces what nature offers us and more generally, our emotional response to the world around us. Being both a Mandarin and English scholar, Dr. Shao captures the nuances in the translation. A flock of noisy Canadian geese has just flown overhead and what do I read: “Falling leaves compel wild geese to southward flight; / The rivers chill beneath the northern wind’s bite.”
A van pulls up in a lane near the greenhouse and I hear pop music blaring and shouted greetings. I read on: “The music dances, echoing on tranquil streams, / Carried by sad winds across the Lake of Light. / The final strains dissolve, the player gone in a dream, / Only a few green peaks remain, spellbound in sight.”
Am I reading an account of the here and now? Tang poetry is clearly both ancient and modern. It whispers great truths across the centuries. This book is written primarily for young readers but the young at heart should not feel excluded. I loiter over the elegant calligraphy of the poems (Dr. Shao’s own hand here) and the gardening is set aside for another day. This is a book for regular dipping and diving. Take in two or three poems every day and the world will shift a little into the light.
I will leave the last words with Liu Changqing: “The dying sun descends, and dazzles men’s pride. / Birds roam unaware of hills and vales estranged, / Returning at dawn and dusk o’er streams unchanged.”
I close up the greenhouse and head down the garden path. The garden can wait, the poet told me so.
RICHARD DOVE lets the train take the strain in Mumbai
Eyes go skywards and there are a few loud gasps when I tell my lunching companions that I have been travelling around Mumbai by train. They are all locals who seem to regard the car – despite the horrendous traffic delays – as infinitely more preferable. Their eyes widen as I tell them about my first train travel experience. – a journey from north Mumbai to the southern tip. Two smiling teenagers give up their seat and I am now comfortably placed in the far corner of a relatively empty carriage. They move nearer to the ever open door. At the next station I witness an astonishing surge of humanity as a huge crowd pours into the carriage. I am now comfortable and marooned. Another station and another surge. More get on and at the same time a huge crowd gets off. One crowd does not wait for the other. I know I’m not going to be able to get off.
India’s trains carry around 23 million passengers every day. Mumbai’s local trains are the most crowded with around seven million people using them to get to and from work.
I decide to do a recce to pick up some tips from daily users at Chhatrapati Shivaji station – Mumbai central – by reputation the busiest railway station in the world. There are some who avoid the crowd surges altogether by reaching into the carriage, grabbing a pole and then waiting on the platform. As the train pulls out they lever themselves onto the ledge and simply hang there. A leather jacket seems to be their required uniform.
I try again. A relatively empty carriage and I stay by the open door. A man gets on with a gloriously dyed orange beard and immediately remonstrates aggressively with a young woman sitting cross-legged on the floor. I move over a little protectively. He stares at me and starts pointing and shouting. I gesture my non-comprehension and he sits down and scowls at me. When I get off I notice the carriage is reserved for the elderly and, rather wonderfully, cancer patients.
That same day I join the peak hour home time crush. I surge on with the crowd – meeting head on the other crowd getting off. A scramble but I am on the train and I stay close to the door. There are a few ledge hangers. They step off whilst the train is pulling into the station with supreme, smooth agility. One of them is texting whilst he completes the manoeuvre. There is a sign pointing out that we should allow ticket inspectors to do their work. What work, I reflect. Imagine working your way through these carriages. There’s another sign saying the capacity of the carriage is 148 passengers. We’re over that by quite a multiple. I slide behind a very large man who is eating throughout the journey and use him as a buffer to get off.
Mumbai’s metropolitan railway is spread over 240 miles and began operating in 1853. 170 years of carrying around 2 billion people annually. It’s showing its age and now there’s a new kid in town – the Mumbai Metro. Eight lines are planned and so far three are operational. It was due to be completed this year but it won’t be. Costs are astronomical but it will transform this congested city. What the final bill with be is anyone’s guess. Construction is evident everywhere adding to the traffic chaos.
I travelled on line 1 that connects the eastern and western suburbs. It’s double the cost of the trains and many locals see it as too expensive – 40p as compared to 20p. But for some, old habits remain. They surge even though there is plenty of space and for those agile ledge hoppers – the doors close so their skills are redundant. There are still sections for ladies. Metro line 2A-7 recently celebrated taking 8 million passengers daily. It’s punctual, efficient and clean but many still prefer the rattling trains.
I am back on a packed train heading northwards – a backpack (worn at the front, of course) pressing into my chest. A young man grins at me and asks if I like cricket. He pulls out a well worn cricket ball and suddenly the packed carriage is transformed. We talk cricket. It’s like an edition of Question Time packed into a lift. Why do you think of Rohit? Good captain? Who is your favourite player? How old is Jimmy? I announce my stop and something miraculous occurs – a sort of parting of the Red Sea and I am gently pushed out of the carriage. A man in a brown leather jacket shakes my hand and then leaps back on as the train gathers speed, his sunglasses glinting in the evening sun.
On my first listen to Kenneth Hesketh’s Hände Music for Piano (Paladino Music) I could not get the image of a river out of my mind. Not just any river, but the River Dove as it winds through Dovedale in Derbyshire. There are fast flowing torrents, shallow rapids, gently flowing over rocks and around stepping-stones. On consulting the excellent sleeve notes, I see that Hesketh has composed Uncoiling the River. Clearly, flowing water is an influence on his compositional style. It rumbles, splashes, ebbs and flows. The pieces are performed by Hesketh’s friend and collaborator, Clare Hammond. There is both virtuosity and empathy evident in the playing, with subtle use of pedals and piano strings to add to the palette of sounds.
I listened with my study windows open, and birdsong floated into the pauses sand silences. Chorales and Kolam is a particular highlight with composer and performer seemingly merged in harmonic unison.
“Both Hesketh and I share a certain frenetic mental energy,” says Hammond. Quite so, but there are profound contemplations amidst the frenzy. Hesketh and Hammond are a formidable pairing. A symbiotic, sonic experience.
Map of South America in 1593, by Gerard de Jode
In contrast to the fast flows and gentle streams is Vibrant Rhythms, with Bolivian pianist Jose Navarro-Silberstein demonstrating the full range of South American rhymes and rhythms. Argentinian composer Alberto Ginastera’s Suite de Danzas Criollas sets us on a South American journey making extravagant use of zamba, chacarera and malambo folk dances alongside Bartok and Stravinsky. An exciting mix of cultures and styles. The playing is assured without being flamboyant.
We travel across regions of Brazil in Heitor Villa-Lobos’ Cicolo brasileiro. If one can imagine Debussy playing a samba you get the sense of this particular sonic landscape. Tiny rhythms seem to dance in the sultry air in these virtuosic movements.
The real highlight for me is the interpretations of fellow Bolivian composer Marvin Sandi, where folk tunes meet polytonality. These four short pieces seem to belong to a sound world of their own. Sandi gave up music for philosophy eventually. On the evidence of these pieces he really could have combined both disciplines to great and lasting effect.
The CD closes with the precise waltzes of Robert Schumann, where wild and impulsive pieces give way to dreamy singing. There is a balletic tonality which encouraged me to go en pointe in my well-worn slippers.
‘West Coast of Ireland’ by Robert Henri West, 1913
The Devil’s Dream is a new release on the Metier label by Irish composer Sean Doherty. It is an outstanding work exploring Donegal fiddle traditions where “the tunes are as stark as the bogland and the bowing as jagged as the cliffs,” according to the accompanying notes. This is vast, swirling music for a dense and dowdy landscape – the music of quiet resistance and brutal victory. Somehow there is both defiance and acceptance. It is both uncomfortable and deeply inspiring. Do yourself a favour and spend an hour immersed in this stunning performance by the Sonoro Quartet and the wonderful soprano, Dr. Sylvia O’Brien.
Kenneth Hesketh, Hände – Music for Piano, Clare Hammond, Paladino Music, PMR0137
Vibrant Rhythms, Works by Ginastera, Villa-Lobos, Sandi and Schumann, Jose Navaroo-Silberstein, Genuin, GEN23845
The Devil’s Dream, Chamber music by Sean Doherty, Sonoro Quartet, Metier, Mex 77135
It has been described as the most influential photograph ever. It was taken by astronaut William Anders during the Apollo 8 mission on Christmas Eve, 1968. It shows the moon’s surface and the earth rising from the darkness of space. Previous photographs were taken by robotic probes. But this has a human being behind the lens. It is a perfect visual metaphor for the awe and emotion encapsulated in this rich recording by the adventurous Musici Ireland ensemble led by violist Beth McNinch.
It was Beth herself who commissioned Liam Bates’ Earthrise. Surprisingly this piece is the second track on the CD. One can imagine taking the photograph oneself as the music swoops and swirls with dramatic crescendos and contented interludes. As Bates says: “Crafting music that evokes a resonant and emotive experience has always been the compass of my compositional aspirations.”
It is clear that Bates composes music for ballet and contemporary dance. One can almost see dance movements across a moonlight stage as three movement composition shifts from “Majestically” to “Gently and finally to “With Spirit”. The piece showcases Beth McNinch’s soulful virtuosity, with its technical versatility and emotional resonance.
The CD opens with Deirdre Gribbin’s ‘Before the Moon Shattered and Shone Again.’ This takes its inspiration from Celtic mythology as Elathan arrives at night by sea on a silver boat. The shimmering strings evoke the dancing moon on waves. We are now on a beach at dusk rather than the moon’s surface. We are watching daylight turn to dusk as, in the words of the composer, “The moon in this string quartet symbolizes life waxing, waning, renewing and redefining.” The ending to the pieces as blackness descends is exquisite.
We are very much back in Ireland for Ian Wilson’s ‘Her Charms Invited – String Quartet No. 12’ taking its inspiration from ‘Sean-nos’, traditional Irish singing. We are dancing in the grasslands and by mountain streams. We are earthbound but joyous. An evocative account of a spring day by mountain streams.
The Irish composer Linda Buckley takes inspiration from the hardingfele or Norwegian fiddle for her piece ‘Fiol for String Trio.’ Fiol means fiddle in 17th century Norwegian and Danish. A fiol is similar to a violin but has eight or nine strings with four strings resonating as the other four are played. ‘Fiol’ sees Buckley treating the twelve strings of the string trio almost as one instrument rather than three separate voices. It is as if the instruments have their own accompanying choir. It caused this reviewer to pause and stare at the proud host of daffodils in my garden – my choir for the cello, viola and violin.
The final piece on the CD is ‘Mr. Shah’ by Deirdre McKay. Mr. Shah (Peter Shah who lives in a hillside bungalow at Meifod near Welshpool) spends his evenings exploring space through a telescope and a hole in the roof of his garden shed. He photographs star clusters many light years from earth, matching the extraordinary space images provided by the £2.5 billion Hubble telescope. A garden shed, a cup of cocoa and an inexhaustible curiosity. “Night after night, in solitude, staring into vast soundless space,” says the composer. Now Mr Shah has a soundtrack for his astrological activities. The piece uses silence to punctuate the roving discoveries of the garden shed telescope – sometimes vast bursts of scattered light and sometimes deep darkness. The music beautifully envelops this quest to tell the stories of galaxies both known and unknown. Put on your headphones and step outside with a cup of freshly brewed cocoa and a curious eye. Find a new story in the night sky with this intoxicating music.
RICHARD DOVE is an optimist, but even he is cheered by a new book
My Mum is approaching her hundredth birthday. She will often fix me with a stare and say “Richard, what’s going wrong with the world” or “Why are there so many bad people?” She has a very positive approach to life but sometimes can be pulled up sharp by another news headline. It is a situation reflected on in some detail by Sumit Paul-Choudhury in his new book, The Bright Side – Why Optimists Have the Power to Change the World. As a cover quote outlines, the book “transforms optimism from a soft-hearted notion into a hard-headed advantage.”
In an early chapter there is a test to assess one’s own level of optimism or pessimism. My results were off the scale. It appears I am utterly and hopelessly optimistic. My wife scored much lower, a rooted realism very evident. You can see what 40 years of being married to me has done for her!
Sumit Paul-Choudhury starts with philosophy. Gottfried Leibniz was always a sunny side up chap. He recognised that evil was always present in the world, but we could and should do something about it to create the best of all possible worlds.
Arthur Schopenhauer
Arthur Schopenhauer, on the other hand, was Mr. Gloomster and carried a grey cloud wherever he went. Things, he considered, could never get better, only worse. We can take lessons from both these grand thinkers. When my wife was finally diagnosed with a serious problem with one of her kidneys, I was the one who collapsed in tears. I had assumed that ultimately all would be well. She had decided that something was wrong and had worked her way through the consequences. She was prepared, and I was not. The author underlines the sheer agony he went through when his wife died of breast cancer. He assumed all would be well and when it wasn’t, his life fell apart.
However, he argues, pessimism may have the advantage of being right in many cases, but it does not engender the capacity to change things for the better. Voltaire lampooned Leibniz and his fellow sunny side up thinkers in his novel Candide. Dr Pangloss was probably Leibniz even though written 20 years after the philosopher’s death. “The best of all possible worlds” is now termed Panglossian. But Voltaire dismantled the Leibniz viewpoint without putting any sort of alternative in its place. Paul-Choudhury (a former editor of the New Scientist) presents the case for realistic optimism. We assess the difficulties, deal with the setbacks, but go ahead with initiatives to change both our own world and what we find all round us.
In the author’s view: “Optimism in the face of the unknown future, willingness to accept and confront uncertainty: that’s true moral courage, not the passivity of ‘realism’…We are born optimistic. Some of us stay that way. If we get lost, we should try to make our way back.”
This is a thoroughly absorbing book, prompting the reader to reflect on his or her outlook continually. My Mum, despite her gloomy questions, maintains a sunny disposition and a positive outlook, perhaps going some way towards explaining how and why she confidently expects to hit the 100 mark in November.
“We’ve never done this before”, exclaimed Hannah Gibbons, general manger of the Fish On the Green restaurant in Bearsted, Kent. Well, judging by the smart green aprons of the staff and the delightful welcome glass of sparkling Gusbourne, the event had been meticulously rehearsed and was about to begin. Ahead of us, a multiple course tasting menu to celebrate New Year’s Eve. And an early start at 6pm so we could be home to watch the fireworks from London and elsewhere. There is a wonderful sense of expectation as we await the culinary overture – smoked Applewood beignet, petit ratatouille, Parmesan crisp and basil oil. The restaurant is close to capacity as a parade of plates emerges from the kitchen.
A tasting menu really does take out the jeopardy of menu selection and that primeval desire to have what your neighbour is having. Small parcels and exquisite tastes. Our culinary journey has begun. This is followed by Seared Scottish scallops, squid ink linguine, crispy Maldon oyster with Gusbourne butter sauce. My wife is in seventh heaven. The scallops melt and infuse the mouth. We consume in comfortable silence making appreciative noises. Language unnecessary. We sip and savour.
Can that be topped? Well, no question when lobster thermidor is unleashed. Would it be wrong to pick up the lobster shell and slurp? Yes, it would but the temptation remains. More bottles are being ordered and the chatter is louder, animated, engaging.
Tasting senses in overdrive, we are pacified by Gusbourne sorbet, poached strawberries and sumptuous lime meringue. I make a mental note to try poaching strawberries sometime. We are being set up for a blunderbuss finale and out comes dishes of dark chocolate delice, hazelnut brittle, salted caramel ice cream with chocolate tuile. It’s rich and enveloping. All noises cease as we feed. A bit too rich for Mrs. Dove but I am in a chocolate-induced trance. And there is still to come coffee and homemade truffles. I reflect on the planning, the industry, the skills, the organisation to carry off an evening like this. I pass the kitchen door, the chefs are smiling, they have every right to. Time for you to sample some Fish On the Green piscatorial magic.
RICHARD DOVE takes a nostalgic trip to the Balearics
Tourists Go Home.” It is not the welcome we were expecting but in a back street of Palma’s old town just behind the cathedral, the green painted old billboard message is both blunt and surprising.
Mallorcan nationalists have been marching through the city. They complain that so-called ‘overtourism’ is creating multiple problems from housing and environmental impact to strains on public services. Up to May of this year around 15 million tourists have visited the island. The demonstrators want the tourist tax doubled to eight euros a day, and the use of that money to diversify the economy away from tourism. It is a complex situation for a beautiful holiday island. Whilst sympathising with the consequent housing shortages for young Mallorcans, we were not going to be distracted by local politics. It was our Ruby wedding anniversary and we were on our way to the hotel in Puerto Pollensa where we honeymooned.
Palma Cathedral
But first Palma. The Santa Maria Cathedral is worth queuing for. It occupies a prominent position on the seafront and is a spectacular sight when illuminated at night. We were on our winding way to the Arab Baths in the old town – a remarkably preserved 11th century relic of the Moorish occupation.
The central hall has a hemispherical brick dome with skylights and is surrounded by 12 columns with horseshoe arches. You are transported back in time. There is a screen display with a multilingual presentation. We watched as visitors disappeared through arches and along walkways. It was a play without words – a Samuel Beckett or Pinteresque production. We made up the life stories of people who passed by and almost missed the (fairly indistinct) English explanation. Mrs. Dove’s natural German bent came in most useful. There is a garden sanctuary in the centre of the baths, a perfect place to contemplate the contradictions in the anti-tourism arguments. The peace and tranquillity seems to embrace you, and I recalled a previous visit when a percussionist had made gentle bell sounds amidst the bougainvillea blossom.
The Arab Baths, Palma
Forget your map and just wander through the old town, buy an ice cream and ignore the ‘No Tourists’ graffiti.
Just below the cathedral and along the seafront is the El Pesquero tapas restaurant. It is a Palma institution having been established in 1956 (the year of my birth, but the two events I think are unrelated). That evening, we ate at a table overlooking the harbour. There is an art to ordering tapas. You order a few plates of whitebait, mussels and tumbet [Ed: a traditional Mallorcan dish of fried vegetables in tomato sauce] and then assess what you need next. We ignored that rule and massively over-ordered. The plates kept coming and coming until a tabletop rearrangement was essential. We began to falter around plate eight or nine. The local beer both helped and hindered in equal measure. We paid and left, leaving enough food to pass a pleasant weekend. Mrs. Dove wanted to walk and I wanted a taxi. So we walked. The Hotel Catalonia Majorica is wonderful but unfortunately located at the other end of the sweeping bay of Palma. It is around 3km away from the restaurant and taxis rarely go anywhere near it, it would appear. I was sustained by a dolce leche ice cream, and quite a bit on moaning.
The next morning the sun shone golden and the cruise ships were in harbour. The light sparkled in the gentle waves and I cured my aches and pains with one of the best showers I have ever experienced.
It is easy to hire a car in Palma but our advice is to go by local bus. The Mallorcan government has invested hugely in the bus network with new red and yellow buses, all running on hydrogen. They have also built the Estacio Intermodal, a hub for trains and buses. It rather spoils this multimillion construction that you find it via a scrappy notice on the door of the tourist information office. It is not well signposted. Find the escalators and descend to a transport network. The trains to Soller go from here rather than the quaint little station in the north of the city. You can get a bus to anywhere in Mallorca. And if you pay by plastic (any debit card will do) it is much cheaper than a cash transaction (we only found this out much later). We get the 301 to Puerto Pollensa via Sa Pobla. You get an engaging elevated view of the island as you glide along new EU-funded roads in an EU co-funded bus.
We met in Puerto Pollensa when Sara was doing a spell as a nanny and I was on hols. So it was an obvious location for a honeymoon forty years ago at the Hotel Sis Pins. As we wheel our suitcases from the bus station to the sea front, we wonder how the hotel has endured over four decades. Hopefully a few younger staff have been taken on, otherwise room service could be lengthy.
The Hotel has had a coat of paint or two but is just as we remember it. The rooms are delightfully old-fashioned and we have the luxury of a private terrace – a step up from the room where we stayed all those years ago.
The Doves abroad
Puerto Pollensa is a small town in the north of the island. It is located around a bay and the scenic Boquer Valley (of which more later) that runs north-east of the town. Many years ago, there was a road adjacent to the beach along the bay, but this has now become a pedestrian only zone and is much better for it. The hotel is situated on the wonderful Pine Walk stretching all the way to a military base where the unusual sight of a seaplane is very evident outside the hangar. We watched the seaplane swiftly take off and swoop over the bay on several occasions. Why it remains useful over so many years eluded us.
A few hotels, villa rentals and restaurants align along the Pines. But it is a low-rise development that has been fiercely protected over the years. We can experience that unmatched culinary export, the Full English, if we want to, but our first stop has to be the old bakery shop that my father first visited half a century ago on his bicycle runs from our rented villa. The bakery is still owned by the same family we are told, with the daughter of the grandfather we knew now running the enterprise. It has to be ensaimadas [Ed: a traditional Mallorcan pastry made with pork lard, which can be flavoured in many ways] with fresh cream (although they are always the first to sell out). The bakery remains unchanged, and the smell of the place gives me a Proustian moment. I can almost see my Dad’s bike leaning against the wall.
We head to the back streets for our restaurant. There are many and varied restaurants on the seafront but wander away from them and you get real local cuisine at good prices. El Posito is our choice. What about some John Dory with Mallorcan-style vegetables? But first olives, garlic cream and homecooked bread.
The next morning we tackle the Bocquer Valley walk over to Cala San Vicente. We soon leave the town behind and we are clambering up the path of an old stream surrounded by purple-hued mountains. It is steeper and more difficult than we remember. Or is it the effects of age? The mountain limbs don’t leap with the same agility. We descend to the bay and watch ferocious white waves splatter and spray on the rocks. I have carried our swimming gear but the red flags are on display and lifeguards on patrol. Again, in honour of my father, we rest and recuperate at Pepe’s Bar. He had a theory that he could tan from the inside out by drinking the strongest expressos. I order one in deference to the theory.
That night we dine at Ca’an Ferra and have the house speciality, paella. It is served with a flourish and we consume more than we should (a theme for the holiday).
Mrs. Dove has not ridden her bike for over a year, so persuasion has to be employed as we hire bikes for the day and amble around the town and its outskirts. It really is the best way to experience a town or location as you can just about stop and pause anywhere. We find the place where we had a first evening meal together (it’s now a private villa) and I buy a Mallorca Bulletin that has an unusual front page story – the new president of The Restaurants Federation of Mallorca says that the time has come to reduce restaurant prices. Good luck with that.
A bus trip to the ancient fortified town of Alcudia rounds off the holiday. It is a glorious place to wander around and with a walk atop the city walls. I find a shop that has been specializing in anything and everything to do with almonds since 1775. That is the point of this place, it never fails to surprise even after 40 years and frequent visits.
RICHARD DOVE is blown away by an ambitious brass ensemble
A Saturday morning concert always puts a spring in my step, particularly when the sun is shining and the venue is the ancient barn at Pilsdon in West Malling. This is the second day of the ever ambitious annual Music@Malling festival. Cups of coffee and tea and custard creams are being consumed as we listen to the fast-rising young quintet Connaught Brass tune their gleaming instruments. They arrived in the early hours after a trek across the country following a concert in Wales. Despite this they look fresh-faced and eager.
They stand in a semi-circle – tuba, horn, trombone and two trumpets. Elliot Carter’s arrangement of Purcell’s Fantasia on One Note sets the tone for a wonderfully varied repertoire. It is explained that Carter thought the one note was underdone and so this 20th century composer put his own slant on this Baroque piece. Indeed, we bounce between Baroque and the 20th century throughout the programme.
The interplay is stunning as the trumpeters take the lead and the tuba takes the pulse of the piece. After a resonant Vivaldi Concerto in F Major we move to unmistakable Leonard Bernstein and one of his final compositions, Dance Suite. These are brass vignettes with a quirky, bouncing, exuberant character which match the zest and energy of the ensemble.
Then, a surprise; the musicians move to all four corners of the barn to replicate Giovanni Gabrielli’s surround sound textures in St Mark’s, Venice. I stare at the high timbered ceiling as the sound merges and seemingly floats. This is virtuosity with imagination and a dash of daring.
We are transported from Venice to New York with Gershwin’s Three Preludes – a slice of Manhattan in West Malling. With their jazz traditions it is evident that Gershwin and Bernstein relish the sounds of brass and exploit the range of the instruments to the upmost. The mood changes with Dowland’s Flow My Tears, and this glorious melancholy embraces the Barn. How could such a varied programme be concluded? Well, the Connaughts deliver a magnificent finale with trombonist Will Foster’s arrangement of Kurt Weill’s Threepennny Opera. It has spoken interjections, piccolo trumpet, flugelhorn, multiple muted sounds (muting a tuba involves a very elaborate contraption) and even a pause for a custard cream as one trumpeter soloist seemingly gives up the struggle and wanders to the back of the barn. They first performed the piece at the Lucerne Festival where the guiding theme was “Crazy.”
The sheer verve of the playing just makes one smile with wonder and astonishment. It is evident why this chamber group won first prize in the inaugural Philip Jones International Brass Ensemble Competition. After a Gershwin encore they stride purposefully out of the barn as the applause resonates. We have all witnessed something very special and it’s not even lunchtime. As we head out, the musicians are all sitting around a picnic table chatting. Friendship and virtuosity is a winning formula. Do keep a watch out for Connaught Brass.
