Thomas Gray the poet was born in London in 1716 and died in 1771. He was one of 12 children, and incredibly he was the only one who survived infancy. He was educated at Eton and then at Cambridge where he later became a Professor.

Quite a number of common English phrases have their origin in Gray’s poetry:-
“Ignorance is bliss” comes from his “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College,” and “kindred spirit,” “celestial fire,” “paths of glory” and “far from the madding crowd” can be found in “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.”

Here are the first three verses of the Elegy -

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

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A few years ago, when visiting Painswick in Gloucestershire, I took this photograph of part of the churchyard.

St. Mary’s church was built during the 15th and 16th centuries, with the spire being added in 1632.

The 99 yew trees in the churchyard are the great attraction for visitors. They were planted in 1792 and it’s said that there can be no more than 99, for if a hundredth tree were to grow the devil would pull it up.

However, I understand that some time ago a count was made and the total came to 103.

If that‘s the case, then that’s not good news for the young men of the district, for an old rhyme says -

“Painswick maidens shall be true
Till there grows the hundredth yew.”

Yew trees were sacred in pre-Christian times. They were associated with the three stages of a woman's life - maiden, mother and crone, and also with death and rebirth. The wood of the yew was used for making all sorts of tools and utensils, and the magical properties of the tree was important in the making of lutes.

So to finish, I’ve found some magical lute music from Venice -



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“At the Seaside” by William Merritt Chase 1849-1916

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It is nine o’clock.

There is still light on the sky.

Father and mother, basking in one another’s love, are sitting in chairs on the steps of the boarding-house; behind the front door peeps the inevitable castor oil plant in its china pot. Beside them sit the younger children, unnaturally good and quiet for fear they shall be sent up to bed while it is still light and while the moon rises huge and yellow above the purple bay.

The elder children, grown up now, are off to the dance halls. Only a few rejected young men sit sadly on the steps among the ancients and the infants.

The girls wear white dancing shoes and that is how you know whither they are bound. Two shillings or four-and-six, somewhere round that, is the cost of a ticket to dance.

I like the Palace dance hall best. It has a parquet floor of sixteen thousand square feet and room for five thousand people. It is in a gay baroque style, cream and pink inside, and from the graceful roof hang Japanese lanterns out of a dangling forest of flags.

A small and perfect dance band strikes up - ah, the dance bands of the Isle of Man! Soon a thousand couples are moving beautifully, the cotton dresses of the girls like vivid tulips in all this pale cream and pink, the sports coats and dark suits of the men a background to so much airy colour. The rhythmic dance is almost tribal, so that even a middle-aged spectator like me is caught up in mass excitement, pure and thrilling and profound.
[Extract from “The Isle of Man” by John Betjeman 1906-1984, published by Penguin Modern Classics in “The Best of Betjeman.”]

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Continuing the nostalgic theme, some seaside images from the past -

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And finally, this is probably the kind of music they would be dancing to at John Betjeman’s Palace in the Isle of Man.





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THE NEXT POST HERE will be on TUESDAY 24th AUGUST

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Thanks to FreeFoto.com for this view of Crummock Water, Cumbria

Thinking about silence . . .

I think the first virtue is to restrain the tongue; he approaches nearest to gods who knows how to be silent. (Cato the Elder)

My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music and silence. (Edith Sitwell)

Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute. (Josh Billings)

‘Tis better to be silent and thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. (Abraham Lincoln)

Silence is golden, when you can’t think of a good answer. (Mohamed Ali)

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A rather sad poem by Thomas Hardy -

WHERE THE PICNIC WAS

Where we made the fire
In the summer time
Of branch and briar
On the hill to the sea,
I slowly climb
Through winter mire,
And scan and trace
The forsaken place
Quite readily.

Now a cold wind blows,
And the grass is grey,
But the spot still shows
As a burnt circle - aye,
And stick-ends, charred,
Still strew the sward
Whereon I stand,
Last relic of the band
Who came that day!

Yes, I am here
Just as last year,
And the sea breathes brine
From its strange straight line
Up hither, the same
As when we four came,
- But two have wandered far
From this grassy rise
Into urban roar
Where no picnics are,
And one - has shut her eyes
For evermore.

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I like this - The Orchard, by the English painter Thomas Cooper Gotch

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Finally, this is the Waltz from the ballet Coppélia by Léo Delibes, with some marvellous pictures to accompany the music.

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapours are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! (Stephen Foster 1826-1864)

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This painting “Flora” is the work of Titian (1477?-1576)

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The singer here is Chloe Agnew.



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After an interval of four months my EIGHTY PLUS blog begins again this week end at -
http://80plus.blogspot.com

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