Favourite Places - St James' Park

Spring in St James' Park. Click the heading for more photos

Hymn to Dear Japan

Please click the heading for this moving ode written in the late 1970's by singer / songwriter Masashi Sada. The English subtitles will reveal how poignant his words are.

The Scourge of Piracy

I must turn from the mostly peaceful thoughts and scenes depicted in this Journal to a comment on a dreadful man-made scourge that is making the lives of international seafarers in my former profession an increasingly dangerous and fear-filled one.

A new website, Save Our Seaferers, set up by the world's key international shipping bodies, states


Over 800 seafarers are being held hostage by armed gangs of Somali pirates, in appalling conditions, subject to physical and psychological abuse, for up to 8 months. Their ships have been hijacked at sea and they are being held for ransoms of millions of dollars. The human cost to seafarers and their families is enormous.

The website has been set up to help us persuade governments to act more forcefully than they are presently doing against piracy. Wherever you live, you can sign an attached letter which will then be sent your own government.

The problem is actually worse than the website describes, as although initially the pirates rarely killed their seafarer hostages, they are now beginning to torture and kill seafarers in order to hold off counter-attacks and to extract higher and faster ransom payments (Lloyd's List article on 7th Feb 2011)

The only way to stop large-scale piracy is to do what was done in the C19th - declare piracy an international scourge and allow the world's legitimate forces to attack them if they are found at sea. In practice the UN should declare a no-sail area a stated distance off the coast of Somalia and destroy all non-IMO-registered craft found outside it - as well as all hijacked ships being used as motherships by pirates. This would allow fishing and local trade to continue but deny the pirates access to international waters.  

Favourite Places - Bluebell Wood in Wiltshire

Bluebell Wood at East Kennett in May

I've only reposted this to cheer us up in these cold, damp and dark February days

Shop Design

It no doubts attests to a shallow nature, but I love the design of shops, shop windows and their advertisments and take photos of many of the best ones. Click the heading for a selection.

Takeda No Komoriuta

The Lullaby of Takeda

This is probaby Japan's most famous lullaby; the gentle song of a child longing for home. But the underlying story is heartbreaking; in the olden days children were sold by their poor parents into often harsh domestic service and couldn't return home until they were twenty years old, by which time their parents were usually gone. It's a story that crosses Asia.

See also an English Nursery song

Favourite Videos: Dark Side Of The Lens

https://vimeo.com/astrayfilms/darksideofthelens

DARK SIDE OF THE LENS from Astray Films on Vimeo.


One of the best videos on photography I have ever seen.

Hampshire Views - Stocks Farm and Old Winchester Hill

These somewhat blurred images* are of Stocks cottages under Old Winchester Hill, part of Stocks Farm where I was brought up. The land here has been farmed for countless generations and doubtless even sustained the inhabitants of the Iron Age Fort at the top of the hill. From their vantage point, they (and we today) could see the southern coast of England from Chichester Harbour and the Portsdown Hills, to Southampton Water, the Isle of Wight and the New Forest in the west. Below the hill in the valley to the south is Stocks Farm which we came to in 1950 and sold on my father's death in 2002. Stocks Farm expanded to incorporate neighbouring Harvestgate Farm in 1970 and Little Stocks Farm in Meonstoke, the nearest village, in 1980, but the land remained as it has for centuries, with good well-draining chalk-based soil in the valley and lighter land suitable for grain but also for sheep, on the hills. It's an exceptionally beautiful part of Hampshire, secluded and unspoiled. In addition to being used in this television programme, it also appears briefly in a video on Hampshire (at minute 2.11), but is also the subject of countless of my photos, some of which you can see linked from the heading.

Stocks and Harvestgate Farms and the coast beyond from Old Winchester Hill

Stocks Farm Cottages with the Isle of Wight in the distance from Old Winchester Hill (in September)



*These photos are taken from the television - a repeat showing of Midsomer Murders on ITV1. The scenery was supposed to represent Southern Ireland....

Slideshows and the Little Prince

The Powerpoint slideshows that arrive frequently from friends usually contain a series of stunning images backed by a soulful soundtrack, but I'm afraid find them empty unless they are part of someone's story. 

Our screens are increasingly being overrun with photoshopped photographs, but they only touch the heart if the friend took them or if they explain why the images are important to them.

I am reminded always of the Story of the Fox and the truths he so poignantly explains to the Little Prince

Read it again here to understand why we feel as we do about this, and so many things in this age.

Favourite Poetry - Akhmatova

I first came across Akhmatova when reading The Life of Isaiah Berlin by Michael Ignatieff, and was interested in his veneration of her both for her poetry and for keeping alive 'the soul of Russia' through the darkest days of the revolution and the years of Stalin's terror. He wrote: 'The widespread worship of her memory in Soviet Union today, both as an artist and as an unsurrendering human being, has, so far as I know, no parallel. The legend of her life and unyielding passive resistance to what she regarded as unworthy of her country and herself, transformed her into a figure...not merely in Russian literature, but in Russian history.' 
She is also a favourite poet of my daughter Kei, who can appreciate her poetry as it should be read, in Russian.
Requiem

No, not under a foreign sky,
no not cradled by foreign wings –
Then, I was with my people, I,
with my people, there, sorrowing.

Epilogue

I learned to know how faces fall apart,
how fear, beneath the eye-lids, seeks,
how strict the cutting blade, the art
that suffering etches in the cheeks.
How the black, the ash-blond hair,
in an instant turned to silver,
learned how submissive lips fared,
learned terror’s dry racking laughter.
Not only for myself I pray,
but for all who stood there, all,
in bitter cold, or burning July day,
beneath that red, blind prison wall

Dedication

Before this sorrow mountains bow,
the vast river’s ceased to flow,

the ever-strong prison bolts
hold the ‘convict crews’ now,
abandoned to deathly longing.
For someone the sun glows red,
for someone the wind blows fresh –
but we know none of that, instead
we only hear the soldier’s tread,
keys scraping against our flesh.
Rising as though for early mass,
through the city of beasts we sped,
there met, breathless as the dead,
sun low, a mistier Neva. Far ahead,
hope singing still, as we passed.
Sentence given…tears pour out,
she thought she knew all separation,
in pain, blood driven from the heart,
as if she’s hurled to earth, apart,
yet walks…staggers…is in motion…
Where now my chance-met friends
of those two years satanic flight?
What Siberian storms do they resist,
and in what frosted lunar orb exist?
To them it is I send my farewell cry.

I'm now keen to read Valeri Grossman's Life and Fate, which covers the same ground, in prose form, and is thought to the equal of War and Peace.