The Proms are back

The ‘Proms’ are back! And what a delight, the First Night at the Royal Albert Hall. At last, after many lockdown months, orchestra and singers performing before a packed audience.

The Proms have given me great pleasure over the years, and appreciation of the brilliant organisation and presentation of the world’s largest and most prestigious music festival.

I am no musician, have never had a music lesson and could not even play the recorder, but I have been a music addict for eighty years.

It began when, as a 14-year-old at a Boys Brigade camp in Porthcawl, I heard  a recording of Danse Macabre - Dance of Death -by Saint-Saens. It frightened and fascinated me - and still does.

It was my introduction to classical music, the first orchestral record I bought, and over the years my collection grew into many hundreds, from ‘78’s to tapes, and CDs and now, with an almost limitless choice on the internet, I can have music every day.

As with so many other aspects of my life I have been lucky to enjoy music at leisure and work. My time with BBC Wales and the Welsh Symphony Orchestra, now the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, has taken me around the world - Europe, Canada, the USA and Japan - and on holiday I have been to concerts in famous concert halls.

One of my most vivid musical memories is of a bitterly cold winter evening when stationed at the magnificent Yorkshire mansion, Wentworth Woodhouse. Not in the house - in the damp, cold stables.

I went, packed into the back of a truck, to Sheffield city hall to hear the Hallé Orchestra. It was magical, a different world.The warmth, comfort and excitement of  Wagner’s Tannhäuser overture is unforgettable. The evening ended with a memorable supper, despite the rationing, at a city restaurant. That whole night out cost one shilling and sixpence.

What a difference to my experience of the Proms many years later. I took young Beverley to my first one and my most recent were with the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra, with the added pleasure of lavish receptions.

Now I look forward to six weeks of magnificent evenings, from the comfort of my armchair.

Looking to the future

There is more reason to be optimistic than for many months. Apparently the tide has turned, we are coming, steaming out of a tunnel as acrid and black as the Severn Tunnel. 

International travel is opening up, even if hesitantly, cruise ships are setting sail again, staycation is crowding our resorts and shop tills are tinkling again.

I have been an optimist from the beginning, even if a shadow of doubt occasionally crossed my mind in the darkest days of 2020 and early 2021. Being old and having experienced historically bad years has taught me to be positive, to feel sure that better years would follow.

But what exactly lies ahead? I am not so sure. After these months of restricted lives freedom is an elusive prize. Uncertainty still reigns,

Governments of whatever political colour will surely struggle to solve unprecedented problems; health, the economy, the environment, global climate change. The next 50 years will probably be the most critical national and international era for centuries.

On a personal level, individual life will certainly be different. More settled in some ways but, to use an overused word, challenging.

People of my age have seen vast, unexpected changes in life style, with historic development, innovations and discoveries, and no doubt  this trend will continue.

People must be able to define their own future, to have the wherewithal, opportunity and the ability to enjoy life in a more equal community, local, national or international. 

The pandemic has thrown into relief the need for universal cooperation and less self serving nationalism.

My generation and probably our children will not see it. The onus is on our grandchildren.

Memories of Rosemary

Rosemary in Palma, Majorca

It would have been Rosemary’s 93rd birthday today.

I have been going through the files I have kept since I left Windsor Court, sad that I got rid of so much of my life and family history. I still have much to remember and treasure, in words and pictures,

Among the mementoes that have survived I found two that I had forgotten. One was the first letter I wrote to Rosemary.

It was 1946 and I was home on leave. Our first date -  the Olympia  cinema in Queen Street Cardiff. It was The Little Foxes with Bette Davis, not my sort of film but that did not matter.

Next day I had to go back to Aldershot for an appointment with a consultant about my injured leg that was causing me a lot of trouble. 

In that first letter I thanked her for a lovely evening and we’ve arranged to meet when I got home again.

Over the following decades I seldom wrote to Owy except in 1971 when, on my three-month trip to Japan, I wrote an airmail almost every one of the 80 days,

Sad to say, I have kept only one of them. Rosemary did not have her own reporting career although she did some part time work, including sub editing at the South Wales Argus. She would have done well, I know.

Another unusual memento is an article she wrote in 1948 when she was a Penarth Times reporter, on journalism as a career for women.

On my frequent trips for work I never rang home and she had messages passed on by my boss, Peter Davey, who rang his wife every day. I had got out of the habit which I now regret.

But as usual, Owy got on with life, looking after Beverley and Robert and running the home

Today, reliving mementoes, those memories - almost all happy ones - I appreciate all the more how marvellous she was.

Writing in the family

Writing is one of the skills, and legacies, of our family.

It started with my Uncle George Dymond in the 1930s with his brilliant book for the the shorthand firm Pitman’s,’How to be. a reporter’. It taught me a lot.

Dr Carmen Dymond, my cousin Dr Don Dymond’s wife, followed with a fascinating book on her experience running a maternity hospital in Africa.

I have weighed in with a couple of books, including ‘Don’t hold the front page’, a light hearted look at my press and public relations experiences, and now, about to be published on Kindle, my blog diary, ‘Pandemic! My Care Home Diary’.

Right up to date, Jim Stokes, my niece Valerie’s  husband. has written a thriller,

There will probably be more authors in the family. Grandson Owen is producing some fine work and is thinking of matching my thoughts on how how old people have fared in the pandemic with the unique experiences of the young generation whose lives have been just as seriously affected. 

Carry on writing, everyone!

Sunrise changes

Upheaval at Sunrise. More than that - Sunrise Cardiff and the whole Sunrise/Gracewell care home group has been taken over by the Care UK group.

Sunrise/Gracewell, based in the USA, has decided to concentrate activities there and are withdrawing from the UK.

The Care UK/Signature group has many homes in England (though none in Wales as far as we can see) and has been developing steadily over the past 15 years.

It seems very similar to Sunrise. There should not be major changes as we are being taken over lock, stock and barrel with all staff and Sara, the Sunrise Cardiff general manager, remaining in charge.

Knowing how takeovers sometimes result in changes it will be interesting to see the developments here; we will know by the end of the year when the new regime will be up and running. 

I hope all goes well. After two years I am very satisfied here and do not want to move.

U-turn chaos

Despite the arrival of so-called freedom day in England, confusion reigns there, as usual, with a bewildered prime minister doing more screeching u-turns.

The latest attempt to defuse the isolation time bomb is to add more people to the excused-duty lists and now, after fervent denials, there are new mandatory rules for attending night clubs and mass events.

All this while there has been a slowing down of the vaccination programme and a worrying number of people ignoring the urge to get jabbed.The reason for the march into normality is that far fewer are dying and hospitals are not - yet - filling up with Covid victims. 

But they are also not filling up with patients desperately waiting for life saving operations.

So how many deaths are acceptable so that we can go to a night club or a football match?  Don’t ask Mr Johnson. Just wait for the next u-turn.

Leadership: advantage Southgate

Life is just one big ball game. Hitting a ball with sticks, over a net or into a hole, passing it or kicking it.

An obsession, a fever almost, that is affecting millions of us.

The absurdity of it. While the pandemic that crept into the world in winter 2019 is threatening to overwhelm us our minds are fixated on fun and games. Not so much fun, either, with the results showing our sporting limitations.

For the government it is a convenient smoke screen for the much bigger, more dangerous game being played - the decisions on freeing Covid restrictions.

Delay, indecision, lack of clarity and poor leadership from the top, at least in England. Gareth Southgate, the England soccer manager’s style and leadership has been in stark contrast to Mr Johnson’s.

The problems mount up by the day. Chaos in transport and travel, test and trace and a whole heap of trouble arising from isolation rules, rising costs and inflation fuelled by Brexit, PM Johnson blithely carries on. 

After divesting himself of his England soccer shirt and, probably, his mask after tomorrow, he sees ‘freedom’ ahead while the world stares, aghast. 

What is happening to the once Great Britain?

It is diminishing before our eyes, soon to be little England.

A stream of visitors

Life is certainly getting better. Apart from the sudden appearance of summer weather I am enjoying a happy parade of visitors, the best since the start of lockdown so many months ago. After recent visits from Robert and Karen, and Ria and ‘the girls’ I am having my busiest week.

Brenda and Ivor took me out to lunch at the Nine Giants, near out first home, Mayflower Avenue, Llanishen, which we left in 1965 to go to London. It was a real treat, with plenty of time for a long chat. Robert, Karen and Owen are calling in on Saturday on their way to Tenby, and Rosie is due to come next week. A lot to catch up with.

I hope it continues and that the visiting will become even easier soon, but there is still some uncertainty.

My friend Jackie tells me that although all the residents at her father’s home have been double vaccinated another positive case has resulted in isolation again. So we just have to hope for the best.

Mixed messages

So the PM says England can get back to work, and play. Something we have all been waiting for. But it is anything but clear: a typical Government mixed message. Indecision and hope. 

Even worse, a shifting of responsibility to the public, business and industry. A gamble with our money and lives.

He has even managed to tone down the  advice from his usually hard headed sombre advisers.

He is putting millions at risk, people like me, waiting years for clinics and, worse, operations for a whole range of illnesses. 

What an abdication of responsibility. What deceitful, dishonest leadership.

If it all goes wrong, Mr Johnson will no doubt blame everyone else for not keeping to his ‘advice’.

What a way to run a country.

Warning: senseless jargon ahead

Sensing a devastating crash ahead, with millions being told to self isolate over the next few weeks, the government has scrambled to avoid the disaster.

The PM, determined to stick to his ‘freedom’ target, has relied on others to change the isolation rules 

Grant Shapps, the transport secretary, announced the changes after vaguely explaining,’We will make sure the app is constantly reviewed so it’s appropriate for the period of time we are living through’.

Dr Jenny Harris, head of the new UK Health Security Agency, adds, ‘I am aware people were not choosing to use the app. Work is ongoing at the moment because it is entirely possible to ensure it is appropriate to the risk’.

Perfect ‘senseless jargon‘.

The government has history in fiddling with figures, manipulating ‘the science’.

It has even managed to get their top health and modelling advisers into line with their thinking but the latest move makes their anxiety to get over the Covid finishing line - impossible anyway - a sign more of desperation than hope.

Mr Hancock must be spluttering over his breakfast cornflakes.

1966 and all that

Like millions more, I have seen more soccer matches lately than ever and am enjoying the experience.

I am amazed by the ball juggling skills, the ability of players to bring it under control, even from a great height, then almost automatically be off, what we used to call dribbling, or passing accurately.

I wish I had had that ability back in the 1940s  as a right winger. I can offer the excuse that the leather, laced-up ball was a handicap, especially on a rainy day when, soaked, it was like a cannonball - I never headed it. 

I could not take corners as I could not kick it far enough.

I am confused by today’s fluid style and the combinations - 3/4/3 4/3/3, whatever. It used to be just 2/3/5 with two of the five the hard working inside forwards.

I used to go with Bert, and sometimes Dad, to watch Fulham and Chelsea when the formation was rigidly adhered to. The full backs hardly ever crossed the half way line. 

One player was an exception, Bacuzzi, the Fulham left back, whose style is now accepted.

I hope England go on from last night’s fine performance when they looked sharper and more confident but think the Danish match will be a big test.

Bob and young Robert with Gabby, our German visitor, July 1966

I would love to see England win the tournament  I remember 1966. We were living in London and I watched on television. Staying with us with was Gabby, the Ludwigsburg Oberburgermeister’s daughter.

She spent most of the game screaming Beckenbauer!  - Franz, the brilliant German player. 

She cried when they lost.