The Long Arc of History

In 1947, Charles Coulson was awarded a Chair in Theoretical Physics at King's College, London. Among Coulson's many Ph.D. students was Norman March.

Some time after receiving his Ph.D., March was appointed as a lecturer (later professor) in physics at the University of Sheffield.   In due course, March acquired his own Ph.D students, who included Ken Banyard.

After completing his Ph.D., Ken joined the Department of Physics at the University of Leicester.  Over time, Ken built up his own research group, and before his retirement in 1997, supervised many Ph.D. students – including this author.

Following his time at Kings College London, in 1952, Coulson was appointed Rouse Ball Professor of Mathematics at the University of Oxford; over the next 20+ years, he blurred the boundaries between applied mathematics, physics and theoretical chemistry to the extent that in 1972 he was appointed to Oxford's newly created Chair of Theoretical Chemistry.

During Coulson's tenure at Oxford he set up a series of annual 'summer schools' in theoretical chemistry, to which postgraduate students or junior lecturers from across the world could apply to attend.

Following Coulson's untimely death in 1974 the tradition of the summer school - by now renamed in his honour as the "Charles Coulson Summer School in Theoretical Chemistry" - was maintained by colleagues in the department.  By 1976 these colleagues included Norman March, who was, that year, the first person to be appointed to Oxford's "Charles Coulson Chair of Theoretical Chemistry".

Applicants to the summer school did so by responding to adverts such as this one in the back of the 19th January 1978 edition of New Scientist:

And so it was that, in September 1978, as a young postgraduate student, I found myself spending two weeks in Oxford in the somewhat august company illustrated below.  Norman March is ringed; it is left to the interested reader to identify the author.  The smile I am wearing belies the double sense of being an impostor, afraid of being found out at any moment: not only was I in the company of individuals who were, for the most part, considerably more knowledgeable than me, but I was also one of only a handful of theoretical physicists in a significantly larger group of chemists...

Aside: The group photo has been an integral part of each year's School.  During my time there I was able to flick through the archives of documents relating to earlier schools, and suddenly found myself looking at a photo of my sister's late father-in-law, who had attended the school some 10-15 years earlier (and whose exhortation to "go for a walk - it's too late to worry now" had done much to calm my nerves the afternoon before my Maths A Level).

Our timetable during the two weeks of the school:

shows that on Thursday, 22nd September, 1978 we went to Stratford to see "Love's Labour's Lost"; here is my programme, showing that the part of Berowne was played by Michael Pennington:

Fast forward to Christmas 2016, and one of my presents from Amanda was Pennington's latest book, describing his experiences in performing King Lear in New York:

Fast forward again to this evening, and Amanda and I found ourselves in the University of Leicester's Peter Williams Lecture Theatre, attending a lecture organised under the auspices of Literary Leicester:

Who was this vaguely familiar figure sitting in the front row?

Yes, it was Michael Pennington - there to present extracts from his book, to perform speeches from Lear and to engage in a Q&A.

We were treated to an hour of spellbinding interest.  On numerous occasions, and each time within the space of just a second or two, Michael changed from his conversational voice to that of Lear, and with no costume, no props, simply became him.

All too soon it was over, and we all retired to the Lecture Theatre foyer, where Michael graciously signed autographs - and so it was that, 39 years after I saw his performance, he signed my programme:

and we both expressed regret at the passing of so many of the other actors listed.  

He also signed my copy of his book:

Had I only searched a little harder in the loft before heading out I could have located, and then got him to sign, my RSC Hamlet programme, acquired in 1980 when I was attending a later "Advanced" Summer School - but that, as they say, is another story:

Visiting the Littlies - 3

To South Yorkshire, to visit friends G & S and their three Littlies.

We arrived to much excitement and, as soon as we crossed the threshold, the assertion from LBD that he could "smell the Jaffa Cakes" in our bag - I suspect we will rue the day that we ever arrive without a stock. After these had been duly opened and distributed I was pressed into reading a number of Mr Men books to LBD and LLA:

but after this and some time spent putting all 50-odd volumes into their slip-case it was time for more laughing and giggling:

Although quite under the weather with an infection, LMT remained cheerful as long as he wasn't too far from Mummy or Daddy:

After an excellent roast chicken lunch, energy was burned off outside:

We then returned inside to warm up and LBD entertained us with an excellent reading of the first half of Stick Man:

- after which he and LLA climbed onto my lap and handed over the reading duties for me to finish:

At last, time to take our leave after a happy day of laughter and fun.

Pat Metheny - Barbican - London

Down to London for the first night of the 2017 EFG London Jazz festival.

Our final destination was the Barbican, but we timed things to allow us to wander through Bloomsbury and check out a few shops first.

After a quick trawl through Judd Books (and resisting temptation) we proceeded to Skoob Books:

Out, and further through Bloomsbury until we hit High Holburn, where we availed ourselves of the services of one of the three branches of Pret A Manger that we encountered in less than a mile.

Refuelled, we grabbed a cab for the last part of the journey, arriving at the Barbican to find the Free Stage occupied by the Estonian Weekend Guitar Trio:

Much that they played reminded me of the solo work of Robert Fripp, so it was no surprise to later read that founding member Robert Jürjendal had studied under Fripp in the 1990s.

The view from our seats in Row E of the balcony:

The fact that these were the best I could get was a testament to the popularity of the man we had come to see - American guitarist Pat Metheny.

Obligatory selfie:

After a few minutes we were joined by what appeared to be a family group that included Fredrik Ferrier of Made in Chelsea fame:

Yes, it's appalling - I don't smoke, drink or gamble, but a man must have his vices and I do watch MIC...

So what of the concert?

Some background:

I first became familiar with Metheny in 1985, when my birthday presents from Amanda included a cassette of his American Garage album. Since then I have accumulated around ten CDs released under his name, and many more on which he plays a significant role. I like his music, but would not describe myself as a fanboy (in contradistinction to a number of others in the audience, who either were, or who had been hitting the plonko blanco a little too hard).

We had seen Metheny twice before, and I personally had had two very different reactions to him on those occasions.

In 2009, we had seen him at the Barbican as a member of the Gary Burton Quartet. Metheny had played in Burton's group earlier in his career when he was 'coming up', and this was effectively a recreation of an earlier band. The concert was superb, and the honours were evenly divided by all four musicians, each giving the others equal space to shine. However, I don't think that anyone was under any doubt that this was Burton's group.

Almost exactly a year later, also at the Barbican, we went to see the "Pat Metheny Group" - and I personally felt that this was a different beast altogether. Practically every jazz concert I have been to in major concert halls in London has been introduced by a member of the house staff, or the promoting organisation, or a Festival organiser, coming on stage and giving a brief introduction to the evening's proceedings. On this occasion, however, a disembodied and 'shouty' American voice (almost certainly a member of the road crew) exhorted us in no uncertain terms to 'give a warm welcome to the PMG', whereupon Metheny took to the stage to be greeted by adulation more usually experienced at a rock concert.

And so it was this night. Absent was the down beat, almost apologetic introduction, mentioning other concerts in the festival, and again we had the disembodied shouty voice and the fanboy reaction from the audience. Metheny himself seems unassuming, is an outstanding musician, and deserves the kudos that heads his way - so perhaps it's that different fans are drawn to different types of concert.

On piano and keyboards, Gwilym Simcock was clearly undermiked for a good proportion of the concert (in fact, I agreed with a number of reviewers who complained of 'muddy' sound). However, technical difficulties only explain so much - I couldn't help feeling that in Simcock's other principal band, the similarly structured "The Impossible Gentlemen", guitarist Mike Walker and he share the front-line responsibilities more equally, and the music is the better for it. Drummer Antonio Sanchez was as excellent as expected, and bassist Linda Oh was, for me, an exciting discovery - lyrical, sympathetic and supportive.

In summary, we were treated to more than two and a half hours of superb musicianship, but sadly the concert never once threatened to enter my top ten - and I think the lesson for me is that in future I'd be more than happy to see Metheny in a more equal band setting, but that as a leader, he just doesn't do it for me.

The following reviews are all worth a look:

Black Country Rock
Jazz Journal
Jazzwise
London Jazz News
The Arts Desk

Out, and a brisk walk to the Barbican underground station, for a quick Tube ride back to St Pancras, where the generous length of the concert meant that we had slightly less time to kill than anticipated.

Onto the train, where we were surprised and pleased to find that the train manager was serving refreshments in First Class (on the last train of the night, many find excuses not to).

Amanda checks that it is indeed some time past 01.00:



An uneventful journey, arriving home around 02.30.

North East - Day 4

Up and out, walking north along the promenade (together, it appeared, with practically every dog-owner and dog-walker in Whitley Bay).

The Blyth offshore wind farm was not here the last time we came:

After a brisk walk in biting winds we arrived at the Links Art Gallery. In addition to being a gallery, it is also an extremely pleasant cafe - though its origins appear to have been far from smooth.

While waiting for our breakfast (sausage ciabattas and tea) we were able to peruse the artwork for sale, and generally take in the atmosphere:

We were careful to leave room for a caramel slice (Amanda) and Red Velvet cheesecake (me):

before heading out and braving the winds once more as we set off to L & P's.

P was out preaching somewhere south of the Tyne, but we drank tea and set the world to rights with L before saying our goodbyes and leaving her to her packing, as she would be heading south for a few days before we did.

The view on the way back:

I had guessed that this yellow 'blob' in the sea was a buoy of some kind, and using the zoom on the camera confirmed as much:

Later research revealed that it is in fact an EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Buoy - if local trawlers dredge up a mine or other explosive device they are supposed to release it close to the buoy, so that the appropriate disposal team can then locate and deal with it more easily - as described here.

Explosives of another kind were being set up here, in preparation for the Whitley Bay Firework Display, scheduled for 19.30 that night:

Past the hotel and, on a recommendation from L, on to the fantastic Cafe 19 for lunch - a Caesar salad for Amanda and a sausage and cheese panini with chips for me (rest assured that my non-holiday diet is somewhat healthier than this):

The meal was finished off with hot chocolate for Amanda and a slice of lemon cheesecake for yours truly, before we returned to the hotel to doze, read or watch TV as was our wont.

Just before 19.30, along with the entire population of Whitley Bay, we headed out to watch the firework display:

Although about a mile from the display, the paved piazza in front of the hotel was a popular gathering spot and we had an excellent view:

Time for a quick 'artsy' shot of the moon reflected off the sea:

and we hurried back to the warmth of the hotel room, yet another cup of tea and a relatively early night, ready for tomorrow's drive home:

North East - Day 3

Up and out for another quick stroll around the area (and to check on the car, parked some 400m away).

Spanish City is undergoing a major refurbishment and, as usual, my eye was drawn to workmen perched half way up the 75-foot dome:

Back to the promenade, from where we could see (and, courtesy of the FindShip app on my phone, identify) the Ikan Luding, which remained there at anchor all the time we were in Whitley Bay, and was still there 10 days later:

At 09.30 we were picked up by L & P, and headed north to Alnwick for our second visit to Barter Books.

Almost as soon as I was inside, the book by Lynch caught my eye and was retrieved and purchased just before we left.

I almost passed on the Gielgud letters, but opened the book randomly and found the following entry [comments inserted by me]:

8th November 1958

To Paul Anstee [One of the three great loves of Gielgud's life]

"Lovely day in New York – glorious weather, no overcoats – met Miss [Greta] Garbo on Park Avenue looking like a displaced charwoman. I'm sure she cuts her own hair with nail scissors."

I was immediately hooked and had to buy it.

Back into the car and heading further north, where we picked up L & P's youngest daughter, R, and headed on to Eyemouth.

The "girls" were intent on visiting St Abbs Wool Festival; P and I, not having drunk the Kool-Aid, went for a walk around Eyemouth:

We made our way back to the Festival, where we were assured by our various partners / daughters that our savings remained largely intact, and then back to the car to move on to St Abbs, where we met up with R's husband, A, and their three little ones, Nemo, Pebble and Pip.

To the reknowned Ebb Carr's Cafe, where nine of us squeezed around a couple of tables and worked our way through the menu.

Pebble and Nemo enjoyed a shared cake:

After a stroll around St Abbs Harbour it was time to head back to R & A's for an evening meal - prepared, transported in the boot of the car, and cooked by L.

Before we ate, there was time for games. This particular version of 'Hide & Seek' involved Nemo and Pebble removing from their toy basket every single toy and item of dressing-up clothing, demanding that I close my eyes for various lengths of time - "count to 14! - no - 17!!" (Nemo is practising larger numbers), both of them climbing into the basket and me then pretending to look for them and acting surprised each time I found them, with Pebble demanding "Again, again!!" each time the lid was raised:

After a while I think it dawned on Nemo that this was perhaps too easy, so he took to hiding separately, behind both his Grandad and the settee:

After ten or so rounds of Hide & Seek there was also time for a cuddle with baby Pip:

and before we left, time for reading. Nemo selected 4 books from the shelves and each was duly read in turn - twice:

An uneventful trip back to Whitley Bay, where we were dropped off at our hotel after another happy and enjoyable day.