Board Games

December 1, 2025 / aggiemurch / 1 Comment

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side.

A blast of cold weather pressure from the Atlantic swept in November and sent the temperature below freezing. There were snow drifts in the Scottish Highlands, sending trucks and traffic of all sorts off the roads. The snow swirled down over the Pennines, into the West Country and the Home Counties.

“It’s a winter morning,” I said and moments later the snow began to fall in our corner of London. It didn’t lay on the ground but just shook some warning flurries at the city, ‘Be careful’ the full clouds seemed to say. ‘We are just up the road, out of the bright lights that heat your city, but we could stay here if we chose to.’ Our little bird bath froze over and the remaining plants on the terrace did not move, as if afraid they might crack in the cold. November’s hit was just the forerunner of December’s offerings. These are winter days, errands are done quickly before we come home, almost grateful to have to stay indoors and rummage in the cupboards. These are days for soup and to bring out the boardgames to play with families as the American Thanksgiving holiday reaches us wherever we are. And we will be in Utrecht with that little family for the weekend of Cluedo and gratitude.

Can you guess correctly – Clue or Cluedo? (Photo by Beatrice Murch)

But board games of a far more serious nature are being invented and played in Geneva. The Presidents of America and Russia are staying out of the fray, lobbing spit balls of scrunched old ideas across telephone lines as their hatchet men of the moment re-write the rules of this game. The Ukrainian President keeps Europe and the rest of the world focused with repeated stark reminders of the underlying truth of this conflict, rejecting Putin’s demands for “legal recognition to what he has stolen”. So the chess board – if it is a chess game – remains open – leaving the bishops and knights to battle in the castle while the pawns fall and fail to return. Rules are being made up as this game unfolds. Scrappy bits of paper with early notes are tapped out on keyboards and folded into the games with the first language of the rules appearing in Russian then transcribed into American. All of Europe see this is an uneven match with the French President Macron clear that without deterrence in the Ukraine plan, ‘Russia will come back’. The first blue print was not so much who did what to whom but who gets to take this land and who has to give it up and forfeit its army, land and alliances. Its a crippling squeeze and is played out for real as ruthlessly as any child takes over Mayfair or Park Avenue on the Monopoly board. As I write, there are moves and counter-moves reported with the US and Ukraine continuing to create an “updated and refined peace framework” to end the war while the European countries proposed their own radical alternatives. Thanksgiving and Christmas will come and go before the drone-dropped bombs cease to fall on The Ukraine. The American President is practicing his TACO moves tweeting that ‘Great progress is being made’ while the Russian one lowers his bear head and continues to charge, bombing civilian targets in the Ukraine.

Monopoly Money (photo by Beatrice Murch)

While Europe carries much of the financial burden of Ukraine’s continued resistance the US can’t find the keys to its conscience and continues to hold back resources. It seems that papa Putin still has a firm hand grasped around the collar of that naughty US president. But every time when we watch this three-party card trick, we miss where it has gone. Who holds the cards as Russia the United States and Europe play, moving the ace that is the Ukraine with its oil and wheat. President Zelensky repeats for anyone who needs to hear it again that “The crux of the entire diplomatic situation is that it was Russia, and only Russia, that started this war, and it is Russia, and only Russia, that has been refusing to end it.” We learn all we can each day while at the same time knowing that bombing has not stopped in any of the squabbles and wars around the world.

A map of the Ukraine with Russian infiltration

It is pear season. There are fresh pears in the market and the ones I chose from the grocer are the perfect ripeness for today’s desert of poached pears in wine with cardamon and saffron. I sit at the table peeling them and two have long stalks – so long that I can imagine them just plucked from the tree as the twig with leaves say goodbye.

Ten years ago we bought a Living Christmas tree for a Christmas here in The Cottage. And then – as one tries to do after Christmas – we planted it out in a little corner of the pavement at the end of the parking lot and to our amazement it took hold, the roots going down and finding hidden nourishment, reminding us all that London – like every city – is only as deep as a cement paving stone.

On Sunday, we went out again and put lights and cheap shiny ornaments on it – and it is happy. As the nights begin to close in by tea time the little tree shines, bringing a smile to every passerby.

This has been A Letter From. A Broad Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side and as always supported by Beatrice from MurchStudio

The Limit

March 18, 2025 / aggiemurch / 2 Comments

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side.

When Winifred Forsyte’s husband, Montague Dartie, stole the pearl necklace that her father had given her for her wedding and then gave it to his mistress before setting sail to South America, she said to her brother: “It’s the limit!” And now, across the country, Americans reacting to the nine weeks of this new government administration, are reaching the same conclusion, with all the bombastic fireworks and scrawled penmanship erupting from the Oval Office at the same time. At first it was hard to see where to focus – which was the point of the mass display of bogus authority. As we each tried to settle on something that meant America to us: immigration, freedom from persecution, a land of opportunity, many people returned to The National Parks that display the majesty of all that this country can offer.

Protest at the Bear Valley Visitors Center in Pt Reyes, California

The Parks belong to the people of America and the people who work in them, coming from all walks and persuasions of life, work for the American people. The wild actions of the President and his puppeteer Elon Musk are enraging ordinary folks from the Rockies to the Mid-West plains and the rivers that join them. The limit may not yet have been reached but it is getting close. The forests and parks are the American Jewels, beloved by peoples of all parties, persuasions, income levels, rural and city dwellers alike. And they – we the people – are coming together, supporting where we can the rangers and Park personal dismissed out of hand by the playboys in Washington.

What are they thinking, strutting around the corridors, cruising into conference and press rooms, wandering along halls leading to nowhere in particular? They are plucking what seems like easy pickings off of the laden fruit of America. Things that they don’t use. When was the last time Elon drove a Tesla into Yosemite National Park? Was there even a first time? It is more than doubtful. Up one aisle and down another he trolls with his shopping cart, as if in a giant supermarket of cheap value. The park service here, an unforgivable rudeness to another nation there, a Palestinian immigrant kidnapped. It is enough to shake up America to join together in saying ‘This is the limit’ But when and how will that be reached? The display of bad manners – the politest words I can find – shown in the Oval Office last week for President Zelensky’s visit was another limit reached.

And this one – that one – has left lasting damage to how North America, not Central or Southern America, is seen across the world. ‘No taxes to Kings’ was the battle cry of the first republic but now this America is being ravaged by a despot and his henchmen.

Sunflower Seeds at an event for guests to take and spread in support of the Ukraine.
Photo by WSM

Meanwhile across the Atlantic, on the boarders of Europe, a real King is welcoming President Zelensky as he should be welcomed, with good manners and concern for his well-being, reminding us all it’s not the title – it’s the person. King Charles III is joined by his Prime Minister and the leaders of a still free and Democratic Europe. Which is poised – understanding that the rise of fascism starts with a slow simmer before reaching a boil. And then it can boil over, like an unwatched pot of soup to be mopped up – or not – by those left in the kitchen that is Europe. The Ukraine, sits boiling on the stove rising to a boil in the kitchen that is Europe, the heart-beat of any home. And America is a home to those who were here before the rest of us who arrived – in free will or slavery. For we all came as immigrants, some in fear, struggling from persecution, some in greed seeking opportunities and some with good heart looking for a better life without the need to hurt another.

As we live, around the block, up the street, in the cul-de-sac or along the lonely highway that weaves from farm to farm our families grow together in community. We celebrate, mourn and disagree together. These times make us who we are. And when some outside force threatens the community – disease, natural disasters, governmental bureaucracy and corruption – then we put aside our differences and come together, clustering like bees to protect our queen, in this case the integrity and sanity of North America who is in danger. The people know that a killer wasp has entered the Bee hive and is threatening all that work there.

It is beginning, the gathering of small groups leading to larger ones, coming together forming bigger and stronger communities and blessed Bernie Sanders out there stomping around in the midwest states. So far it has the smell of “We’re right behind you,” not too many daring to stand along side or step up to the lead. Sanders is a Truth Bomber. He has nothing to lose by speaking out. And as Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, said of Sanders’ efforts. “You look around — who else is doing it? No one. My hope is that the dam will break in terms of Democrats going on the offense … We need to take the argument directly to the people.” “It’s not about whether Bernie should or shouldn’t be doing this. It’s about that we all should,” she said. “He is unique in this country, and so long as we are blessed to have that capacity on our side, I think we should be thankful for it.” Ocasio-Cortez said she will join him on the road in the coming weeks planning solo appearances in Republican-held congressional districts in Pennsylvania and New York — as now local House Republicans are reluctant to face the angry questions coming at them in their Town hall meetings. Rather than blame the chap sitting in the swirling chair in the Oval office they are turning on Elon Musk and that is a good start.

At this time we feel the threats coming at us nationally and globally and cluster even closer. Each national park is holding rallies that are growing each week and beginning to unite in mass gatherings. Citizens march and protest outside of Tesla Dealerships. Decals are stuck on parked Telsas in America and Europe. They are saying no – and at some point that no could overflow into a protest that will rise from a simmer to boiling point giving this government the excuse to bring in the national guard, pitting Americans agains Americans.

It is called Civil War.

This has been A Letter from A. Broad. Written and read for you by Muriel Murch.

And as always supported by https://www.murchstudio.com

Harvesting History

March 1, 2025March 3, 2025 / aggiemurch / 3 Comments

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side

The sun was shining as I finished refreshing the chicken house. Blue, the rooster, led his ladies milling around, happy as they checked out the new straw and shavings. And then, out of the silent sky came the roar and rumble. Looking up, I saw nothing, but heard and felt it deep in my body. I know that sound, it was a fighter jet, flying low overhead and I thought – the war has begun.

Breakfast in the safety of the Hen house

The news media bombards us and, like the chickens scratching in the orchard, we are half-primed for the pounce of a predator coming from the surrounding underbrush. For the moment, the chickens are safe from a resident bobcat on the hill as I will not let them into the orchard, but we may not be so lucky.

With each item of news about the shenanigans happening in the Happy House in Washington DC, everything we treasure about the Constitution is under attack and it takes more strength than I have not to be afraid of, and for, America. We can hardly glance at Gaza, the Sudan, and the world. But Europe, though teetering on waves of militant bravado has woken up. Germany has just elected a Conservative government – but the seemingly strong right-wing factor is licking its electoral wounds. Even Nigel Farage has toned down his bombastic spittle. A beloved friend in England who was beginning her new life in Scotland now thinks that her old home in the Australian Outback looks safer.

Thinking back into European and American History of less that a hundred years ago is like turning the pages on an old photo album. History, behaviour, and human nature mixes and re-emerges as a sea thrusting the waves of an ocean storm circling us again.

I’m thinking of young Vladimir Putin as a keen and dedicated KGB officer, committed to keeping all the surrounding principalities herded into the USSR and then, under Putin’s watch, for it all to be upset by Mikhail Gorbachev giving back Ukraine and breaking up the Union of Russia so tightly bound by Stalin. An attempted coup – here is that word again – led to the dissolution of the Communist party in Russia and the USSR four months later. Heady and searing times for a young, ambitious KGB officer. At the same time another ambitious yet nervous young New York business want-to-be was struggling with paternal authority issues. Slipping into real estate with a million dollars, and the advice, “you’ve got to be a killer”, from his father Fred, he began. Among his successes were failures, both moral and financial but he kept playing the part until he became the business man he wanted to be. But this smiling blustering crook took more than one serious tumble and that was captured and understood by an equally ruthless and ambitious, but more serious President across the continent of enemies. While Putin’s early bruising was from Gorbachev, and remembered for the rest of his life, the US President’s crushing bruising came later, in 2011 when an African-American president, Barak Obama, returned his fire at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner – these personal insults were never forgotten and maybe this was the night that redemption and revenge became the main drive of Donald Trump to rule the universe he knew.

Now these two men are playing on the world stage, ruthless killers and unrepentant deal makers. It is not a good combination for democracy. Ukraine’s President Zelenskyy may be bold, clever, quick and right but crushing him and regaining Ukraine to Mother Russia remains an objective, with the candy cane of minerals and wheat for the taking. We who are older and watching what is playing out see a repeat cycle on the world stage and know that deep down all of this dog-fighting is personal. There are other young European leaders taking up the helm for Zelenskyy and Ukraine. Emmanuel Macron flies to Washington DC, sits at the right hand of the Emperor and gently laughs, humors and says ‘Ah but no no, it was like this’. The Emperor laps it up, enjoying the adulation of the younger man but will probably pay no heed to his words. Next will come the British Prime Minister, Chief Prosecutor for the Labour Party, Sir Keir Starmer, as devoid of humor and charm as Macron is full of it. He will play another hand, appearing to be ‘taking the President seriously’ while – maybe – we can never be sure with Sir Keir – again trying to guide the US president away from his deal making with Russia.

Zelenskyy, Macron, and Starmer are young men, hard working and dedicated to Democracy and a Free Europe but they may not be strong enough to turn the US President away from the skull crushing grasp of the Russian bear Vladimir Putin.

We watch the world stage from our rural corner of California, while looking at the effects of the games played by the boys in the Oval Office. What affects us close to home? What are the things we care about? Hard working families in fear of being torn apart, rangers from the National Parks fired, books banned from Libraries and Schools.

We are older and need to tidy up our lives. We are not cleaning out the cupboards and barn stalls as we should be, instead have been writing of our work, our lives and worlds together and apart. There are family stories to repeat, cinematic history and community evolution to record. And for some lucky reason both Walter and I are managing in our own ways to remember, to write and to share our lives. Walter’s new book ‘Suddenly Something Clicked’ from Faber & Faber will be on bookstore shelves and Amazon in the UK in May and the US in July. My ‘Harvesting History while Farming the Flats’ will be scrolling out in a digital format for your Kindle in March, followed with a print version a week later. And even an Audio – as soon as I can get to it. Here is a little glimpse in the prologue of our life stories as they moved separately through the decades of our existence together.

After my husband delivered a lecture to a group of Danish Film makers and students Philip calls out, “The last question please,” and a young man stands up.

“Mr. Murch, with your work schedule and the traveling, how do you manage a home life?” then he sits down. Suddenly there is a deeper quiet in the room. Philip nods and raises his eyebrows, which always look striking with his large, round, smooth bald head. He nods as if to say, “yes this is a good question” and looks over at Walter. Walter pauses, not rushing, as he can, to answer with overflowing ideas. Then he responded.

“Truth be told I don’t. I am often on a project for a year, maybe longer, sometimes eighteen months, even two years – and in that time I may not know where I will be six weeks ahead. You will have to ask Aggie that question.” He smiles and looks up briefly before Philip calls out, “Lunch. We will reconvene in an hour.”

‘Harvesting History while Farming the Flats’ is my answer.

Available March 7 2025
as an ebook ISBN 9781960573544
Print ISBN 9781960573698
www.sibyllinepress.com

This has been A Letter From A. Broad, written and read for you by Muriel Murch.

As always supported by https://www.murchstudio.com

Somber June

June 18, 2024 / aggiemurch

Written and Produced for you by Muriel Murch with WSM by my side.

Grey skies and the London skyline over Primrose Hill by Beatrice Murch

The grey sky is pouting – there is no sun – just a half-hearted threat of rain. The London season is muted; the Chelsea Flower Show and Royal Ascot Race week do not shine as brightly in splashing colour across the weekly magazines. Even Queen Mary’s Rose garden in Regent’s Park – that in June is usually overwhelming with the attar of roses and a wild palette of colour – is subdued, while beds of favourite roses have been grubbed up and new adolescent bushes planted in their stead. On our little terrace the roses and geraniums that should be bursting with cheerful reds and yellows remain shy and closed, while the potted tomato plants stand nakedly to attention, seemingly condemned to a fruitless life. It is sobering.

Rainy London from the top of a double decker red London bus by Beatrice Murch

At the bus stop on Thursday morning I join a small crowd waiting to catch the 31 that has gone missing from the Chalk Farm stop, “Not stopping here mate, you have to go back into Camden”. But I walked forward to Swiss Cottage – on past the road works overlooking the railway line that have been in progress for at least a year’s duration – and settled in to wait – looking as one does – for the big bright red bus to come around the corner. But it was hearing a sound I had not heard for years that had me turn my head. Sharp, fast hoofbeats and the King’s Household Cavalry came trotting smartly down the road from Primrose Hill on their way through North London to Hampstead. The traffic was stopped in all directions as the horses took over the streets – trotting in tandem, one rider with two horses. Keeping the Household Cavalry horses fit and quiet is only a part of the weeks of preparation that comes before next Saturday’s Trooping of the Colours which marks the Sovereign’s official birthday as it has for over 260 years. In April there was an ‘incident’ in London when a construction site’s sudden dumping of rubble down a roadside shaft spooked the horses and several bolted and soldiers were unceremoniously dumped on the road. It must have been quite a ruckus, as five horses were injured along with three soldiers. Camera phones were clicking as the horses took off – galloping along the streets with blood streaming down their bodies. The incident was admirably ‘contained’ and progress information – first the horses and then the soldiers – was metered out in the best British understated tradition.

Prince William in procession photo by Getty

And so, on this upcoming Saturday the King will take the colours – not on horseback as he did last year – his first year as Monarch – but in a carriage befitting his health and doctor’s advice. And Princess Kate, the Duchess of Cornwall and the Colonel in Chief of the Irish Guards, whose honour it is this year to lead the trooping, was missing from this past week’s dress rehearsal. In a heartfelt letter to the regiment, she apologised and wished them all well and luck. As the nation does her. The silence around the princess’s illness is more sobering than the intermittent news of her father-in-law’s health, and underlines the rest of the news the country has to hear.

Not least is the snap election on July 4th called by Rishi Sunak. Standing at his podium outside of #10 Downing Street in a downpour of rain and unsuitable suit, the question of whether to raise an umbrella or not must have been a snap one, and as Sunak turned to retreat back inside – water dripping from his coat tail, he did truly look like a drowning rat, and one could not but help feeling just a little bit sorry for him. This week he was followed by the French President Emmanuel Macron dissolving the French parliament and calling for a snap election to be held within the next 30 days. The French president said the decision was a “serious and heavy” one, but that he could not resign himself to the fact that “far-right parties … are progressing everywhere on the continent”. He described it as “an act of confidence”, saying he had faith in France’s voters and “in the capacity of the French people to make the best choice for themselves and for future generations”. This is confusing to both the French people and the governing European bodies based in Brussels. How will it play out? Is it truly a bid for gathering up and solidifying a democracy that is crumbling over much of Europe and the world.

Presidents Zelensky & Macron in France June 2024 – photo courtesy of Macron Instagram

But before Macron called for his snap election – along with the leaders of the allied nations – among the Canadian, British and US, he attended the D-Day commemorations on Omaha Beach. This 80th remembrance brought together for maybe the last time, the mostly 100-year-old Veterans from all the Allied countries. A heavy dose of British royalties were also present to pay homage and show gratitude. This was also a time when the Ukrainian President Zelensky could say thank you while meeting and greeting and hopefully gathering more support for his country’s war. The Soviet Union lost more than 25 million lives in World War II and – though there have been Russian officials attending those ceremonies in the past – there were no invitations sent – or representatives present – in France this year. These wartime commemorations always bring a special pause in all countries – there are a lot of them and they do go on a bit, as they need to, because there is much that can happen there, in front of a camera or behind a closed door. President Zelensky has a lot of hustle to get through gathering the spoken, moral and physical support that he needs for Ukraine. Like chess pieces moved by an unseen magnet under the board, the world leaders who are present pick and choose which meetings and photo calls to attend. They circle each other, and the wars that they are fighting or funding. It is ironic that this commemoration, ending this war, is taking place as another war is embedded in the land that was to hold and heal the displaced people from 80 years ago. Each day – while Ukraine fights on – there is more news from the Middle East. After the carnage that killed 270 Palestinians to release four Israeli hostages, there is another US backed peace offering on the table endorsed by the UN security council – between Hamas and Israel. But there is little word of the others – refugees – otherwise known as Palestinians.

This has been A letter from A. Broad. written and read for you by Muriel Murch with support by WSM and as always overseen by – beatrice @ murchstudio.com

Shutting up Shop

November 5, 2020February 12, 2021 / aggiemurch / 2 Comments

Recorded and Knit together by WSM

Factory workers and university students have now joined the rota of protests in Belarus now working in daily shifts, slowing the country’s economy down hour by hour, adding their voices to the opposition of President Lukashenko.

In Poland too, the women have had enough. The latest change in the abortion laws – stating that even when the fetus is diagnosed with a serious and irreversible defect – abortion is now illegal, is seen as the last tightening knot against democracy, and there is a growing anger at the Church’s complicity in this ruling. The strikes are led by women in the work force, housewives will no longer keep house, and more women than are counted have ‘Shut up Shop’ – completely.

While Belarus and Poland protest, France mourns and prays as the attacks by ISIS extremists continue. With night-time curfews in France, Spain and Italy no-one knows when to have dinner.

Most of Europe now recognizes that each country’s initial ‘me-first’ reaction to COVID-19 didn’t help countries individually or Europe collectively. Belgium, Germany, France, Italy and Spain are now opening their borders for any needed treatments of COVID-19 patients. While England goes into Lockdown for four weeks. There is an old adage in medicine, “Timing and Dosage” which applies to everything we try to do. Everyone is struggling and, unlike Asia, no European country has succeed thus far in controlling the virus.

Here on Thursday all non-essential businesses will close for another month. Shutting up Shop has never felt so poignant. We tend to look inward and not venture too far afield. While the first wave of COVID caused a lot of closures and adjustments there were also new beginnings. Now there are six pubs within less than five minutes of our front door: The Pembroke, The Queen’s, The Lansdowne, The Princess, The Engineer, and finally The Albert which has reopened after four years. The opening of The Albert took place on Friday. A handful of locals gathered outside and Andrew Marr, of political inclination, declared The Albert open and joked that this was the most important thing he had done all year. Cheering and clapping on the corner of the street, but it too will close again on Thursday.

The Albert is ‘Declared Open’ by Andrew Marr. Walter Murch, Phil Cowan, Line Copper are among others present. Photo credit unknown. Thank you.

While walking through the modern complex of shops and high-rise apartments at the Tower complex I thought of our friends Hwai-Min LIN and Hsun CHIANG who had been gifted an apartment there for this summer. They arrived in February, and left in March. “The English are crazy, no masks no distance.” They very sensibly fled to the safety of home in Taiwan.

We had been nervous of going to a theater in these COVID Times. And maybe that is what these times will be known as – These COVID Times. But I snagged the last two seats available for a Saturday afternoon matinee at The Bridge Theatre. We were to see a one hour monologue of David Hare’s “Beat the Devil” performed by Ralph Fiennes.

How wonderful it was. And how brave. The Bridge Theater shines as a beacon by the Thames River and is looked down on by Tower Bridge. Across the river stands The Tower of London. Old and New London within a cricket ball toss of each other. The entrance doors of the theater are open, we have a window of time within which to arrive. Masked attendants guide us through the temperature check, check our tickets and show us where to go. The loos are easily accessible. The theater seating looks as if it has been prepared for an orchestra, so many seats are missing and spaced apart.

Getting Settled at the Theatre. Photo by WSM

More staff come by for bar orders, another holds a glowing “Please wear a mask” sign and – if someone leaves their mask down for a chat beyond a sip – gently goes to remind them of their collective responsibility. The mask notice supplanting the ‘please turn off your cell phones’ message. At first I wonder, what on earth is it like to perform to such a sparse house? Does it feel provincial, like stepping out on the boards for the first time, trying to make your way in a flea-bag pit. But this is not that and soon after our ginger-beer drinks arrive the audience buzz begins. It is the same hum of excitement the same music of expectation, as if the audience is indeed in the orchestra pit and tuning up as musicians do. The hum grows, but then – the lights dim – and a hush comes over us all.

Ralph strides onto the stage and loudly places his props on the table, claiming the table and the props as a supporting cast. He is the magician who will hold us in David Hare’s mind with his fears of the disease, his anger at the government’s handling of it all, and his heart’s rage at the treatment of the NHS nurses. He longs for a gentle ‘Platonic disease’ while later realizes that “The Virus is always with me now.” The septuagenarian is there, twisted in Ralph’s body now sinewy as a maturing cockerel.

When the play was over, the applause was wondrous and we left the theater uplifted as art moves us, brings us closer to each other. As the audience goes their separate ways, we share that communion and feeling of belonging within this city.

Under the night lights we walk along the river finding our way back to the little enclave of Primrose Hill. It is time to try out the newly opened Albert pub for a half pint of cider and an elegant Ploughman’s supper bowl. It has been too long since I’ve crunched a pickled onion.

This has been A letter From A. Broad.

Written and read for you by Muriel Murch