It took two weeks for the leaves on the elm tree that bows over the entrance to Kingstown Street to turn from khaki to golden then crimson before falling. Now the branches are bare, showing their stark beauty with the strength that comes from age. The grass below is now covered in a soft mulch of leaves from which will come the renewal of spring in the new year. Across the street, though, the younger ornamental prunes is in a complete muddle. The first chill of autumn crushed the leaves but then a slight shift brought a warm spell and the buds began to swell. Now there are small pink blossoms peeking through dying yellow leaves.
The second storm of the season – named Bert – pushed into London from Wales but still on Sunday a walk was called for and, wrapped up against the wind, I ventured out. Turning the corner onto Regent’s Park Road a blast of wind hit me and I buckled, tottering like the old lady I have become, before carefully crossing the road. Though it is the first time I have ever seen this, it is no surprise that there is a notice on the closed park gates: ‘The Park is closed today. All being well it will reopen on Monday. We apologize for any disappointment’. Who chose that word? Disappointment rather than the usual ‘sorry for any inconvenience.’ It almost sounds sincere, a touch of kindness and as I walked past the gate a young family came and paused and they were indeed, disappointed. Storm Bert is the second storm to hit these islands. The first was a snowstorm called Ashley while Conall has yet to arrive. Bert hit Wales, Devon and the South West coasts hard, moving into London and the news and, rough as it is, it is nothing compared to the deluge that overtook Valencia in Spain. It was in 1953 that the World Meteorological Organization in the US began giving women’s names to storms and hurricanes. It wasn’t until 1978 that they began to accept that many of the gods of the sea and winds were male and also lose their temper. In 2014 the UK Met Office began to do the same. So here we are at the tail end of Bert, who, like a flat-capped boozer, is weaving about, losing his way going home across the North Sea.
The budget has caused a stir. Well of course it has. Rachael Reeves is the first woman Chancellor of the Exchequer, presenting the first Labour budget in twelve years, and she has gone after the wealthy. Not so much of a problem but she has included the wealthy who do not pay inheritance tax. Through the years of history business men and women have become land owners choosing to pop their pennies into the soil, growing their wealth now along with too much monoculture and wheat, while avoiding their taxes. These are the farmers for whom the land is the investment. Occasionally they can be seen striding about in their Wellington boots pretending they don’t have a bean to rub together. For the small farmers things are different – making a living from mindful farming and husbandry remains as harsh here as in any country. I don’t understand it all and realize that neither I nor the small farmers are supposed to.
This week Kim Leadbeater, the Labour MP for Spen Valley, that follows the river Spen in the West Riding area of Yorkshire is presenting a bill on Assisted Dying. The arrival of Kim as the northern MP was a welcome and resounding relief after some years with Sarah Wood of Reform UK and Laura Evans a Conservative before her. Kim has brought forward a new and improved bill on Assisted Dying for debate. There are activists and protesters on both sides of this issue, they are heartfelt and driven by strong emotions of fear and love – and yet – past Prime Minister Sir Gordon Brown is calling for a commission on end-of-life care. At four days of age, Gordon and Sarah’s baby girl had an immense brain hemorrhage and died a week later. In a recent article for the Guardian Gordon Brown wrote –
“But those days we spent with her remain among the most precious days of my and Sarah’s lives. The experience of sitting with a fatally ill baby girl did not convince me of the case for assisted dying; it convinced me of the value and imperative of good end-of-life care. We were reassured that she was not in pain.”
At this time, as the National Health Service still struggles from the residue effects of the Covid pandemic and twelve years of Tory government what this debate is showing more than ever there remains a huge difference in health care when defined by your post-code address – once again playing wealth against poverty.
As autumn dons a winter cloak and storm Bert takes itself out into the North sea, these days have led us into musical adventures. I think of Herman Hesse’s short story, Old Music, where he ventures from his woodland cabin – first on foot, then by tram into the city center to hear a cathedral concert of Bach and what it means to him.
These last ten days have given us similar adventures but the music we have been led to is new to us, not familiar and yet all absorbing reaching me in a new way. This is exciting as with age I’m getting a little iffy I don’t hear music in the same way – and yet from the first concert – the last of the Rolex Arts Initiative series – with jazz vocalists Diana Reeves and Song Yi Jenn from South Korea and the New Dot drummers, my heart and body responded. A complete switch around took us to Abbey Road and a film screening of ‘Standing on the Shoulders of Kitties’ joyfully full of Rock and Roll and country music.
Gently the week ended at a Musical Salon and an Italian Armenian duet of Viols and Voice from Intesa sharing a musical journey through the stages of love. Each concert was so different yet as the drummers marched onto the stage at the Queen Elizabeth Hall they brought the universal dreams carrying the same searching to be heard and I marvel at the music that speaks to us across the world.
This has been A Letter From A. Broad – Written and Read for you by Muriel Murch
And as always supported by murchstudio.com
Muriel Murch 