Noise...

Noise has been a constant on this trip. And I have become more aware of different layers of noise and my response to them. 

For example, in my little room in Allen Hall, London, with the window open because of the heat, the noise was constant - loud traffic hum all night, frequent police and ambulance sirens, planes and helicopters overhead, rubbish trucks... To my surprise I was able to treat this night-time noise as wallpaper and sleep despite it. It is a part of the very heart and buzz of a big city.   

In Tavistock, which is a small rural town in a very rural and quite remote part of the UK, I would have expected less noise. However Rebecca's cottage was hard up against the A384(?) that runs along the western fringe of Dartmoor and the traffic noise was constant and penetrating. I found it more difficult to deal with in Tavistock than in London. London I expect to be noisy, Tavistock I don't. The only way to avoid the noise at the cottage was to shut all the windows. 

In Rijswijk there is also a constant, though slightly more distant and less intense traffic hum, penetrated regularly by the sound of the passing trams. The 'noise' in Rijswijk is more local. The last few days have been very hot which means all windows open at night. Terraced or tenement housing means you have lots of very near neighbours and the balmy nights bring them outside to eat and chat. There was a bunch of maybe Turkish men in the little courtyard next door whose voices and laughter continued late into last night. (As an aside, in this warm weather you also get all the cooking smells mingling in the air and that is rather nice).

Then there are other noises. Loud shop music, as prevalent here in Holland as anywhere. It drives me OUT of shops.  Tired children screaming - a pitch designed to gain attention! Loud conversations on trams and trains. Loud cell phone conversations. The distinction between public and private seems to have diminished. The private is public and loudly so. 

I don't mean this to be a moan - though I suppose it is - so much as an observation from someone with very acute hearing who, from childhood, has hated noise. It is a form of pollution that we have come to take for-granted. However I have never taken for-granted the comparative silence of Governors Bay - and I shall treasure it all the more on return. 

Leiden...

Spent yesterday in Leiden, only 15 minutes on the train from Holland Spoor. Just the loveliest old town, surrounded and bisected by canals. And it was sunny!!! Leiden has the oldest university in The Netherlands and heaps of young people riding bikes. I think the best thing I can do is post a selection of photos to try and give a sense of Leiden's character. (Most of these photos were taken in the morning when the streets were still quite quiet).

Very close to where Rembrandt was born and grew up

Date on door, 1612

Car parks, bike parks, boat parks...

Rapenburg - the most prestigious area in 17th century Leiden for the textile merchants

Pieterskerk

Many similar gravestones in Pieterskerk

Very thin, very sad...

Hooglandsekerk from Burcht

Keys are Leiden's city symbol

Weighing station

Stained glass in Museum De Lakenhal

At the train station - quadruple this number...

Back in Den Haag...

Yesterday a return to Den Haag city centre for a lunchtime organ concert, an art film installation and a visit to the Escher Museum.  The organ concert (Bach) was in the Kloosterkerk, just off Het Lange Voorhout, the organist Eric Quist. Sadly (and amazingly given the volume) I disgraced myself by dozing through much of the performance - no reflection on the composer or the organist, probably just an indication of my weariness!! Next week I am going to another lunchtime concert with a friend of Lauren and Merel's (Raymond) from just down the road. So I'd better be on my best, alert behaviour.

Another church - Grote Kerk Den Haag - was the venue for three 'multi-screen' films by Julian Rosefeldt, collectively named the Trilogy of Failure. There was something quite mesmerising about these films and their soundtrack/s - impossible to describe, just something to experience.

Great that these churches are being used for such cultural events. 

I also went to Escher in Het Palais (Het Palais being the former Winter Palace of Queen Mother Emma of the Netherlands). I nearly didn't go because the entry cost wasn't covered by my museumcard, but I was pleased that I did. Escher suffers, I think, from over-exposure - we all know his work, and its originality and intent has been dulled by this familiarity. What this excellently curated exhibition did was put Escher in a social and geographical context and show how the constant themes in his work (eg. infinity, transformation, relativity, dimensionality...) developed over time. I was very taken with his early work, probably because it wasn't familiar and it also because it alerted me to the superb command he had of his print-making medium. Excuse my poor photos. I still feel bad about photographing art works :-(

Woodcut of Escher's wife Jetta, 1925

Jetta - I think she has a fascinating face

Escher made copies of tiles at the Alhambra. You can certainly see the influence in his work

Design for wrapping paper for Den Bijenkorf (a large Den Haag Department store)

Random observations: City centres...

This time around I have seen major Dutch and UK cities through the lens of the Christchurch earthquakes' experience. I haven't found it strange to be in intact, fully functioning cities, nor have I ever felt apprehensive as I walked close to high-rise buildings, new or old. However I have found myself thinking about what works and what doesn't in terms of urban architecture.

In Glasgow, Buchanan St is one of the main, pedestrianised shopping streets. It slopes downhill from Sauchiehall St to the St Enoch Centre. The latter (which I hadn't visited before) is a huge, multi-storied mall. Even in the rain, Buchanan St was buzzing with people. The St Enoch Centre, on the other hand, seemed strangely quiet. It had that rather predictable, mall layout culminating in a large children's play area - but where were the children, families? ... it was drearily uninhabited. I don't know the history and perhaps I just struck the mall at the wrong time, but it kind of confirmed my already well-established prejudice (!) that outdoor shopping areas with quirky side-streets and that typical mixture of new and old buildings are much more fun and characterful than homogenised malls.

Space is another interesting issue. In the centre of The Hague, just near the Stadthuis, there is a large, open, paved square surrounded by newish, cultural buildings. It's always empty. People occasionally use it to cross from one side to the other but that seems to be all. It cries out for activity, buskers, perhaps a little bit of green space where people can sit on grass, under a tree. In the summer sun there is no shelter and so people are not encouraged to linger. (I guess it is good for concerts). In contrast, Het Lange Voorhout, about which I wrote previously, attracts lots of people, locals and tourists. It is green and shady, features sculptures along its length and strategically placed benches which invite you to relax and linger.

I think one of the most appealing aspects of central London is its many leafy squares. It isn't just the green space but the interesting contrast between the green space and the built-environment, the unexpectedness of happening across something different. It is this sort of quirky contrast that malls lack.

Buchanan St, Glasgow

On the move...

My goodness, a busy few days...

I left Tavistock just after 7.00am Saturday on the bus to Plymouth. From there a whole day on the train, changing at Birmingham, to arrive in Glasgow late afternoon. Up to Margaret McDonald House (Glasgow School of Art student accommodation) in Bucleugh St where I had a room for two nights. Not the most welcoming accommodation but there we are, it was 'cheap' (comparatively).

Sunday I caught the train to Dalmuir station to spend the day with Aunt Christine and Marjorie at Ramsay St. Also ANGUS. 

The man in charge...

Aunt Christine and Marjorie

Cups of tea, chat, lunch out, walks for Angus and late afternoon train back to Glasgow before leaving the following morning to train down to London then underground helter-skelter to catch a train from Liverpool St to Harwich in order to get the overnight ferry to Hoek van Holland. All a bit rushed, this leg, but its purpose was to see Christine and Marjorie and it was lovely to do that.

I loved my compact little cabin on the Stena Hollandica and being up on deck early to watch our entry on a calm, fine morning into the Hoek van Holland. From there train to Rotterdam (chatting to a young Canadian lass) another train to Den Haag, tram to Rijswijk and who should I see, coming towards me on bikes along Bilderdijklaan, but Lauren and Merel. Like coming 'home'. After lunch L & M left to catch the day ferry to Harwich (!) and I went into the village to do some food shopping and get my hair cut (the relief!!). Nina and Lasse have become Nina, Lasse and Benjamin (for at least part of the time).

Nice to be back :-)

Inbetween...

Sitting in Cafe Antipasti in Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow - I'm getting good at finding places with free internet access! Wandering the streets of Glasgow tonight after a day in Clydebank/Dalmuir with Aunt Christine, Marjorie and ANGUS!! A wee bit too tired to write coherently. Tomorrow is train from Glasgow to London then another train to Harwich and night ferry to Hook of Holland. Will post again, coherently, when I am back in the Hague.

Slàinte mhath!

Uncle Tom Cobley and all...

Thanks to Lily for inspiring this post :-)  I hadn't really ever paid much attention to the lyrics of the song - even thought I knew the refrain, as everyone does. Now I have a context for the words.

Wooden carving in the Widecombe Church

UNCLE TOM COBLEY

"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare,

All along, down along, out along, lee,

For I want for to go to Widecombe Fair,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

"And when shall I see again my grey mare?"

All along, down along, out along, lee,

"By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

So they harnessed and bridled the old grey mare

All along, down along, out along, lee,

And off they drove to Widecombe fair,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,

All along, down along, out along, lee,

But Tom Pearces old mare hath not trotted home,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill

All along, down along, out along, lee,

And he seed his old mare down a-making her will,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.

"So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died,

All along, down along, out along, lee,

And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair,

All along, down along, out along, lee,

Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career

Of Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

When the wind whistles cold on the moor of the night

All along, down along, out along, lee,

Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear gashly white,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

And all the long night he heard skirling and groans,

All along, down along, out along, lee,

From Tom Pearce's old mare in her rattling bones,

With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,

Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all,

Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

Poor old grey mare.

The Okehampton Show...

Trotted off to town early yesterday morning (no need for an umbrella!!!) to catch the #118 bus to Okehampton for the one-day Okehampton Show. Just under an hour on the bus as it wove through little villages - Mary Tavy, Peter Tavy, Brentor, Lydford...  (Peter and Mary were saints, not siblings). The bus driver, in the accommodating way of all these moor drivers, dropped several of us right at the entrance.

What a day! For a smallish Dartmoor town this was a big show. After more than a week of drizzle and rain the sun shone and the crowds turned out. An early highlight for me - I went to watch a falconry display. The man was demonstrating the skills of his bird Jacob. Then what do you know, he headed straight over to me and asked if I would like to put on the glove and let Jacob land for a morsel of meat. Would I??  So I had the pleasure of having Jacob fly in and sit on my outstretched, gloved hand. What a privilege. Sadly I couldn't take a photo but this is Jacob with his handler...

Whether I actually approve of falconry or not I'm not sure - I don't know enough about it and if I knew more I might dislike the controlling nature of the sport - but to hold such a bird for a brief time left me with the biggest smile :-)

After that I visited all the animals...

Cows

Goats...

Pigs...

Sheep...

Feathers...

Horses...

Niki and Geoff, I have so many photos of different breeds to share with you - some especially interesting sheep, goats and pigs.

There was even ferret racing (definitely don't approve of this I have to say)...

I spent some time talking with this lady. The chairs are all old ones that she has restored. I would have walked away with any or all of them if I could.

Just great to be part of such a fantastic local day :-)

Cats too...

Early the other morning I left some (ex-battery hen) eggs at Mozza's door and was accosted by a painfully thin, mewing, black and white cat. The cat worried me all day until I checked with Mozza in the evening. Turns out the cat (TOM) is well cared for, has two homes (his owner's and Mozza's) and is just old. I saw how 'at home' he was last night when I went to Mozza's for a delicious tea! Sadly I forgot to get a photo - of either Tom or the meal.

Very interesting to see inside another of the Westbridge Cottages. They are all the same in layout but quite different in terms of what their owners do with the interior. The 'sheds' at the back of each cottage were originally piggeries - wow, it must have smelt rich :-))

Speaking of which, today's doings (next post) will continue that theme of rich smells...

Random dogs...

I asked if I could snap this wee fellow. I really wanted his elderly owner too but she was reluctant. His food is in the front of the buggy, water underneath. He never took his eyes off his owner.

A walk up to the moor from Tavistock (in the background) yesterday.

On the moor - a Lutyens 3-sided building

Not a one-off; I've seen this sign in a number of different places

Lydford...

The local bus drivers are a rum bunch. Many of them look as though they have just escaped from Dartmoor prison or been on the run for some time! They rattle along on the high moor roads at alarming speeds. In the valleys they negotiate the buses through narrow, sunken lanes scarcely one car-width wide. When two vehicles meet one has to back until it is possible to pass. These Devon lanes were made for feet and hooves not for motors. The local elderly folk use these buses and I love watching them getting on and off with their shopping. The women often have little trolleys. Again it reminds me of how dependent we have become in New Zealand on cars and supermarkets; and how we need to support and advance local as well as central.

Yesterday I caught the #118 bus to Lydford, just north of Tavistock. This is only a few miles from Coryton where Nora was once a nanny to the Miller family and where I stayed with Mrs Miller and Nan - neither sadly still alive. Had the weather been better I would have walked towards Coryton, but it was a persistent thick drizzle and so I remained in Lydford - once an important Saxon town raided by Vikings, now a small, sleepy, village. 

Church of St Petrock

Looking towards castle ruins in distance

In the castle walls

Detail of a stained glass window

Coming down the road and I couldn't resist asking if I could take a photo!

The Castle Inn where I escaped the rain for a Devonshire tea

Plymouth for a day...

Sorry, sorry, sorry Plymouth but I really couldn't take to you as a city. You were blitzed during the war and, like Christchurch, your city centre was demolished and rebuilt. But you have a lot of unforgiving fifties architecture with few redeeming features and a seafront that seems rather forlornly dated. Perhaps on a sunny day...

However I so enjoyed the gentleman in the Church of St Andrew who had just turned 80 and was happily sharing a box of very nice chocolates. I also loved John Piper's stained glass windows.

But my favourite photos are these...

Sounds like something out of James Bond...

One of four on the war memorial - I liked the nonchalantly folded paws :)