29 November 2017 is the date I started my blog, initially as an expressive outlet for some of the myriad thoughts whirling incessantly round my head. My intention was to attempt to attract people that were interested in my music and the life of a freelance musician to my website. Just over a year later, in one of my now regular stock takes and decluttering episodes, it’s become apparent that quite a few people enjoy reading what I write.
My blog has already served its purpose in that I’m able to express in writing far more quickly and clearly what I most often struggle to shrink down into spoken words. This has helped me in more ways than I imagined possible.
My style of writing is instinctive, emotional and creative so if it’s grammatically immaculate facts your after (pun intended), this probably won’t be your thing. If you want an intuitive and occasionally indulgent written meander in colourful language whilst picking up a few pebbles to skim over the surface of that stream water, let’s jump in - the water’s quite nice.
Tonight I have no idea which direction this new page will take. All I know is that it’s a journey I’m ready to explore. Coming with me? What are we waiting for?
I find myself blessed with the unexpected gift of a few spare hours today. Our 10 mile walk turned into a torrid 2 mile outing, thwarted by raindrops that pelted like glass bullets, buffeted and bulldozed by a wind strong enough to knock down a small child. Suddenly alone again, our dialogues abridged due to adverse conditions, I thought I’d share what I’ve been up to the first week of the year.
It’s a notoriously difficult time of year in the northern hemisphere for sufferers of SAD, and I am one of them. The lack of daylight and poor weather conditions make going out an act of sheer willpower, requiring a steely determination so as not to be engulfed by maudlin thoughts and melancholy moods. Knowing the 2nd of January was upon me, I decided it’d be a good idea to try a few new things. I booked myself on my first ever webinar. It was a creative workshop led by the wonderfully inspiring Liz Gilbert whose books and podcasts I have enjoyed immensely. A gifted storyteller, she’s an enthralling speaker too. Her ideas on creativity and inspiration were encouraging and realistic and my main takeaway, other than to be completely uncritical of any creative ideas and inspiration that arise in me, is to show up every day regardless of whether I’m in the mood. The muse will show me a sign when it’s time. I love that. Just keep doing the work.
Of course this opened me up to a whole world of permissive possibilities and I’ve been having fun with my reading, writing and playing since Monday night ❤️❤️❤️
Next up was a mission to find a new source of fitness motivation. I have Morton’s neuroma (a nerve problem) in both feet but it’s worse in my left foot. I’m petrified of having the cortisone injections which may or may not alleviate the condition, let alone the surgery which was recommended to me as another option. 6 weeks off my feet and it might or might not work? Ummmm… I also want to improve my upper body strength and balance. So I looked into a small group activity locally which would get me off my feet, quite literally. I found an aerial/hammock yoga class less than 15 minutes drive away. It was the first session on Wednesday night and I’m hooked!
We warmed up gently, hammocks dangling temptingly from sturdy looking chunks of scaffolding riveted to the ceiling. I watched with fascination as the others inverted themselves with ease and thought I’ll NEVER manage that. Over I went and lo and behold, I didn’t tumble gracelessly to the shiny pine floor, entangled in the swinging sling. I couldn’t stop silently gasping as I surrendered my body to the force of gravity. It was such an incredible feeling. I learned about trust on Wednesday night.
The studio was cold but not uncomfortably so and I was equipped with multiple layers and gloves and socks just in case. The subtle purple lighting lent a comforting darkroom warmth to the space and I couldn’t make out my classmates’ faces or expressions, another good thing – they wouldn’t be able to see me clearly either! Anonymity whilst exercising is a bonus.
An hour flew as we did some flows. The session ended and I eased myself into the silken cocoon of the hammock much like a pupa, preparing to do the relaxation exercise, readying myself for the big wide world again. I hugged myself and caressed my arms. Self love comes in many guises but who knew it could come to me in a repurposed mill in Milnsbridge on a cold rainy Wednesday night in January?
My final new “toy” for the week was signing up for a creative writing course. I tried to enrol on a class at the local college but the lack of communication inspired me to believe this path may not have been for me. Gareth (my long suffering friend and business coach) suggested I try a course with the Centre of Excellence, and here I am! So something must have shifted?
Abandoned walk participants – these things happen for a reason An hour later!
I laid down in the attic this afternoon after doing a core and abs session (strong back required). I looked up at the sky and I felt truly content. I get goosebumps writing that. I believe this is the reason why:
Under armour
I went for a run this morning. It was cool and sunny and I absorbed the rays and the beauty lavished before me deep into my core. I had a perfect day. Beautiful gentle harp practice with no fighting or control. I listened and I felt in flow with everything all day. I am so grateful.
I’m about a quarter of the way through restringing my harp. It’s having a much needed service next month and new strings help with that. I’m also hoping fresh gut, nylon and wire will inspire me to do some practice, and maybe even enjoy playing a few pieces I love simply for my own pleasure. Focus is challenging with so many distractions but I aim for hour long blocks in the morning and 30 minutes later in the day. The long days with so much more daylight can be confusing and it’s definitely siesta season – olé!
I went for a walk late morning to pick up a dress from the seamstress and drop some stuff at the tip. Straightforward right? Take less than an hour I thought. Just past Morrisons I saw what looked like a ditched mobile case on the floor. It turned out to be a phone. I paused and looked around – there was nobody to be seen. I decided to pick it up and put it on the Facebook lost and found. 10 minutes later the phone rang. I replied. It was the sister of the woman who’d lost it. She explained where she was, what she was wearing (a purple fleece and green bag) and I told her I’d turn back to meet her. 5 minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was the owner. She sounded emotional and relieved in equal measure. I told her I’d come to meet her. I waited somewhat impatiently. I was getting hungry. There was no sign. The phone rang again – where are you? I told her I was waiting where she said she’d be. Oh no, you weren’t there so now I’m on the steps here. Did she think I was Wonder Woman, able to fly? I’m not a slow walker but I’m not THAT fast. After a few minutes I saw a woman wearing a green fleece carrying a purple bag walking towards me looking ecstatic and I knew I’d found the phone’s rightful owner. She started to explain what had happened. She was with her grandson, got distracted putting his coat on and the phone fell out of her unzipped bag. She was beyond delighted to retrieve her lost property. She told me I was heaven sent that day (😇) which I thought was a slight exaggeration but there might be a grain of truth in that, just today mind you. Then she asked me her name, told me hers and said that she was Ukrainian. She went on to talk about god and religion and how she was a Jehovah’s Witness and she asked me to take a card and look up the QR code on it to find out more about the faith. I obliged, thanking her although I felt awkward. I’m not interested. She thanked me again so sincerely and gave me a hug and we went our separate ways. As I passed the bin near where I found the mobile, I deposited the card in it and put the entire episode behind me. I can take people like that into my day and I didn’t need it. So why am I writing this? I suppose I felt bad for throwing away the card which had so much significance for her. I’d want someone to return my mobile to me if I lost it but I wouldn’t try to converting them to my ways. Now that really would be a travesty.
The moral of the story? Do unto others but expect nothing in return. Amen!
I started walking properly in November 2017. I’ve come a fair way on my journey since then and I’m definitely fitter and in better health than ever now I’m in my early 50’s. Given the choice between an hour outdoors or an hour of Netflix, the outdoors wins every time. I’m hooked!
5 years ago, I smoked 30 cigarettes a day and I was an emotional binge drinker. Nowadays I’d say my only vice is vaping and I’m determined to wave goodbye to that nasty habit this year. When I stopped drinking I developed a sweet tooth but I undertook an Ayurvedic cleanse designed by Sue Cowlishaw in April and haven’t had a binge since. I’ve had the odd bit of home baked cake during a walk mind you – the calories burn off pretty quickly out on the hills.
Hills glorious hills
The hills. Oh those hills! After every single walk I feel slightly different than when I set off. I often feel transformed after a long walk, as though I’ve lost something but gained in other areas. It’s hard to explain. It’s as though I leave a part of me where I’ve walked and integrate part of the place I’m walking inside me. I can always tell if my mood is low – on these days I can’t “see” anything – my focus is internal, my brow furrowed, my gaze directed downwards.
Walking has the knack of lifting my gaze though. Walking is amazing! Walking is therapeutic. I went for a walk after dinner on Wednesday night. It had rained all day and I’d all but abandoned hope for the evening treat I’d been looking forward to all day. At 7pm the rain suddenly ceased. I seized my opportunity. I’d already decided where I was going and I knew the first mile or so was a steady climb, easing off after that. I got to the top and had a fit of the giggles as the endorphins kicked in. I absorbed the plenitude of the feast spread out all around me, the luscious grass a purer shade of green after the rain. The lapwings kewed their yearning plaintive cries. The colours change dramatically by the end of May – the trees are full and thick, dark and weighty with foliage.
Last night I walked alone and I equally enjoy walking with friends. It’s a different experience. I walk with my friends Gareth and Sue at least once a fortnight. There’s a different energy walking with others. We walk at a similar pace and Sue is very strong on the ascents. Gareth does his own thing and about 3/4 of the way through a walk, he seems to find his inner accelerator pedal and zooms ahead, sitting waiting for us nonchalantly on a clump of gorse. We enjoy meaningful conversation and return to our internal dialogue whenever the mood takes us.
I was much slower when we started walking together and I’d get frustrated at being left behind, so I practiced walking faster on my own instead of dawdling and now I’m able to keep up and catch up after getting distracted by photogenic moments, quite often featuring the remains of dead animals which fascinate me and to whom I pay my respects to honour their beauty – I momentarily mourn the loss of a precious life.
A couple of weeks ago we tackled Black Hill again. Those two words used to fill me with fear. It’s a hill you can see on your left from the A635 from Holmfirth to Manchester and it’s always swathed in a shroud of darkness. I asked walkers I met how far Black Hill was and whether it was difficult to climb. It became almost mythical to me, the introverted little Welsh girl who hardly walked anywhere 5 years ago, not even to the local shop half a mile away.
One day I set off, determined to reach the summit of Black Hill. I allocated significantly more time than I needed. I packed way more gear than necessary, more plasters and tissues than I’d ever get through in case of calamity, and more snacks, coffee and water than I could consume. Better safe than sorry. I decided that the services of Mountain Rescue would not be required that day. I reassured myself I could have as many breaks as I wanted. Want them I did as I approached the steep section before the brow of the hill.
An itinerant trio
Black Hill is probably 3.5 miles from my house but in my mind it might as well have been 35 miles. It feels like a different world up there, especially once you pass the second stream – the main road home seems an awful long way away. Arriving at the trig point was quite an achievement on my walking journey and I now look forward to any opportunity to go up there again. The views are spectacular.
When I walk with Gareth and Sue we always congregate for 15 minutes before setting off, just to catch up and check in with how we’re all doing. That sets a good tone for the walk – we look out for each other and the motto is “we start together and finish together”. Nobody gets left behind. There’s plenty of cheerful banter during the first mile, then I go quiet as I have to really focus on getting up the first climb. My breath becomes laboured, which used to embarrass me but now I realise most people get breathless going up. After about 20 minutes our mood becomes giddy as the endorphins kick in – you can’t buy that at Aldi.
I always notice the birds. We often see kestrels, owls, buzzards and the occasional sparrowhawk and in late spring there are plenty of lapwings, curlews and oystercatchers as well as the irritatingly invisible cuckoos. The young lambs are starting to lose their newborn cuteness but there’s something about seeing new growth at this time of year that never fails to fill you with optimism and a sense of possibility.
Exactly a year ago I completed my longest walk to date – the Yorkshire Three Peaks. That was an unforgettable experience and it has to be the highlight of 2021. I was well prepared and I’d been training physically and mentally for a couple of months. Gareth Boot mentored my adventure, planning every detail meticulously. Whenever I started to stress about the walk I remembered his words – it’s a mile 25 times. That helped with any overwhelm. Having a fixed fitness goal was extremely motivating. Add to that the fact that I was walking with my team and I certainly didn’t want to let anyone down so I took it very seriously. I was quite sure I could manage 25 miles, less so the 4,000 feet of ascent since uphill walking isn’t my forté.
Well, we did it and in a good time too, under 10 hours. There were obstacles on the way. In my giddiness at walking up the first peak and after seeing the sun rise from the top of Ingleborough in the most spectacular manner, I ran a little after we got down, stumbled and hurtled to the ground. Blood was lost, bruises bloomed and most critically, I lost most of my precious water, but there was no way that was going to stop me. I should have blogged about this walk. Now there’s a thought. Stay tuned…
Sunrise from Ingleborough
The best thing about being outdoors is connecting with nature. The energy out there is incredible and you can take it with you into the next few days.
I was always averse to exercise. I had a few avid bouts of swimming and I love being in the water but I’m not a particularly strong swimmer and for some reason I never stuck it out. I went to the pool religiously before the pandemic but the pool closures put paid to that good habit and I’m wary of going back in case the chlorine aggravates my psoriasis, another covid legacy. So exercise didn’t come naturally. I wasn’t a sporty child and we lived a mile from the nearest town so we drove everywhere. Walking wasn’t a thing. I was never much good at PE and garnered an unfortunate nickname at school which left me slightly traumatised! I’m sure you’ve all had moments when you wished the ground had swallowed you whole. I had one of mine in a gym class. I feel very uncomfortable in gyms to this day but I now have some decent weights and equipment in my attic to help strengthen my body. That’s my responsibility, not the NHS’s!
Why walk? It’s a great form of exercise, it works wonders for all aspects of your health, it’s accessible to most people, and all you need is a decent pair of walking shoes (trainers are fine for shorter distances), a waterproof jacket, curiosity and a spirit of adventure! You can’t really get lost, all you have to do is turn around and retrace your steps. I’ve discovered so many fantastic walks from my doorstep and there are many more to discover. Go on, the outdoors is right there waiting for you. It could change your life!
At last! I’m away in the morning and it seems like morning will never come! It’s been the longest day and I got shit loads done – did an 8.5 mile trot in the warmth but left later than planned due to technical issues. My phone’s playing up (look at that for timing – 48 hours before I go up to deepest darkest rural Northumberland with a slightly decrepit car) and I pressed reset last night in a vain attempt to resolve the issue, which prompted a whole host of new issues and it took me a while to put everything back in place as best as I could this morning. Most important was linking my watch to my phone so I could log my miles and see my stats. Meltdown!!! I did it though so kudos Rare Bit. Off I went on my trot:
A budding beginning
After a quick temperature check in my back yard I decided it was bloody cold so took way too many layers which I promptly peeled off after half a mile. It was the kind of weather you could stay out in all day. I didn’t have all day but a long list of to dos and I made a hasty retreat after 4 miles. I always worry about getting up the last steep section but I don’t know why. I always manage it. I might run out of water and get heatstroke after twisting an ankle. I didn’t. I’m also struggling a bit with my new shoes, they’re about half a size too small and my toes bang uncomfortably against the front on my favourite descents. This is the downside to buying online I suppose. Despite some discomfort and mild cramp, it was difficult not to dawdle and I tried calling mam as an excuse to stay out longer. No signal. Blast it.
Location location – no signal but wanted mam to close her eyes and hear the stream
I threw the dirty laundry in the wash and got on with the biggest task – mowing the lawn, AKA making hay while the sun shone. It took about 30 minutes longer than planned as I weeded too but it looks better and any burglars will at least see I take care of my garden. I pegged the laundry on the line and had a 30 minute rest on the sofa before resuming my activities.
What next? Food prep obviously after a quick shower. Maybe they don’t have food in Northumberland? Of course they do, and they definitely have fish and chips, Mr Whippy and hot fresh sausage rolls, but I had some leftovers to cook and a few basics to take to my self catering cottage. I’m keen to keep to my new healthy eating routine while I’m on holiday – this morning I’d lost a few ounces and that felt so positive! I’m so excited about going away but the run up to leaving is always a quasi ridiculous farce worthy of a scene in a sitcom. Instead of relaxing I find a million things to do and you know what? I haven’t even packed! But that won’t take long. I’m taking my yoga mat and some basic equipment as well as candles and bath salts. Yes! There’s a bathtub and the weather forecast is so poor I might spend most of my time in it!
I played for a wedding yesterday a couple of hours away. I’m often asked why I leave so early and yesterday was further proof to justify my near neurosis. The motorway was shut for 4 junctions and the diversion added a palpitant 30 miles to my trip. I was still on time so neuroses have their uses. Maybe it was the warm weather. Maybe the venue? Or perhaps the fact that I have so much to look forward to and be grateful for but I had the best time playing I’ve had in years, quite literally. I was just in the zone. No inner critic (she was probably knackered from all the ranting at the motorway symbols 🔼⏺️🔽◀️⁉️⁉️⁉️) and I didn’t question my ability or ineptitude or need to reassure myself with reminders of my years of training and experience. It’s a great feeling that. I’d forgotten and I know I can’t chase it. It’s there or it isn’t.
And it was.
A pinker shade of white and carefree in the hills for a couple of hours Playtime. I can just imagine dragging this down to the stream – what fun that would be!
Last Wednesday saw my last shift at the local convenience shop where I’ve been working part time for over 3 years. Little did I know that what started as an interim job to support my harp business would become a lifesaver during the unexpected (understatement!) pandemic. I thought I’d be there 6 months max. Music can be a solitary career and one of the best aspects of working in food retail is human contact. There’s no better feeling than cheering someone up with a simple “good morning, how are you?” when they entered the shop on a gloomy Monday and, when the work got tough, I made that my aim. It occasionally got me in trouble as I wasn’t as efficient and I wasn’t paid to chit chat, but I couldn’t help myself. From my experience, people will always remember great customer service – I believed it would encourage them to come back for more, spend more time and money in the shop. Some customers were clearly in a hurry and in no mood for conversation so I tailored my service accordingly. I learnt a huge amount during my time there, mainly how to read people and how never to take things personally. The job helped me overcome my introversion and shyness and in many ways, as soon as I put on my burgundy and orange uniform, I stepped into character, a faster moving quicker thinking lighter brighter funnier version of me. It was knackering but I always worked a better shift with an attitude of gratitude.
I noticed I lost some of my imagination and my sense of humour since I turned 50 and I was less cheerful and happy go lucky. Life’s events were starting to get to me and I couldn’t face reading the news or keeping up with current affairs. It started to affect my performance and I became less tolerant and more impatient.
It became clear during the past 4 months that I was going to have to make a decision as things started to open up again and the enquiries for background music and harp lessons thickened. Mum wasn’t well before Christmas and her health is deteriorating as befits an 86 year old woman, so I wanted the freedom to be able to go to Wales at the drop of a hat if I was needed to support my busy sister.
It’s Monday and a week ago I was more than half way through an 8 hour shift. Everything happened so fast! Management had been extremely accommodating of my attempts to try and balance my life. I requested a sabbatical and then my circumstances changed again so I handed in my resignation. There’s the added complication of steering my way through the menopause. My experience is that it affects my mood and food along with plenty of brain fog. I have hot anger, a murderous rage which boils up uncontrollably at a breathtaking rate that took me by surprise and made me quite concerned. I’ve been taking HRT for about 5 months and I haven’t really felt any benefit. Having more time to myself now will allow me to have greater awareness and more space to manage my mood swings.
As for food, well, there must be a phenomenon around this. Being surrounded by groceries but unable to eat any became almost unbearable. Despite my best intentions there were times I couldn’t help but snatch a brown paper bag of cookies in passing the bakery section, putting it in my basket beside the yellow stickered bag of spinach and pack of courgettes after my shift, a “treat”, a “reward” for the mental torture I’d endured for the past 8 hours. I’d be fine until midday, then every pre-packed triangle sandwich became the object of my desire. I’d have eaten cheese I was so hungry, and I’d just had my break and my oats, fruit AND coffee. I had an apple and a banana in my bag but they were of no interest. I needed sugar and carbs and lots of them, and fast!
Back in the safety of my car I’d have one cookie, then another and another until the entire pack was gone in the space of 2 minutes. Did I enjoy it? I didn’t consider evaluating. It was all about pushing my feelings of frustration down.
Half a stone heavier (I can really feel this when I run), I learnt that addiction to music is a damn sight better for me than food and having resumed my practice routine yesterday, I wake up with my head full of notes again and ideas for fingerings which would improve the quality of the music. My shoulders have dropped about 10cm and today my technique is in fine working order. My students pop up into my head too, and I find myself thinking of ways I could help them with their musical challenges. I’m able to reply to enquiries quickly and draft contracts as soon as I need them. I like this fresh start, I like it a lot.
Tonight I’m going to Pilates class, I haven’t been since lockdown started. I couldn’t face going back out after a 7-15 shift in the winter months but I know how important it is to me not to self isolate now and to be around people on a regular basis. Who knows, I might join a running club and if I’m too slow, perhaps I’ll set up a speed hiking group.
Last night, I booked myself a holiday. This is a great big massive deal for me. I’ve only really stayed in chain hotels for work purposes, promising myself that I’d return to the area one day to spend some quality time. So at the end of the month I’m off to the North East for 4 nights to celebrate my new found freedom. I found a little cottage in an idyllic rural location with plenty of long hilly walks. The sea is about an hour away so I’ll spend a day there exploring Bamburgh, Alnwick, the Farne Islands, Boulmer and Craster, and I’ll drive back home along the coast, stopping in places I’ve always wanted to visit. Watch this space for some holiday blogging… And I’m already planning my foreign foray!
Day 14 – A Walk in the Snow Makes my skin glow I feel nervous at first – Will it get worse? Will I get stuck in a drift? Too much snow to shift? Does ice lie beneath? I grit my teeth I put on my warm hat And that is that.
Once I’m out There is nowt Can stop me From feeling giddy It’s all white It’s alright Don’t fight Snow’s delight
Snow’s amazing At transforming Even a mild Mannered man to a child- like state of play No more grey Clouds today May they stay away For ever and a day
For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life but there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life. This perspective has helped me to see there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So treasure every moment you have and remember that time waits for no one.
Souza
Eira has played a significant role in my musical and personal journey since we first met when she became professor of harp at the RNCM in 1992. I was in my 3rd year when she arrived fresh from her studies in the USA. She made such a strong impression on me with her crystal clear imaginative ideas on the shape she wanted the harp department to take. She was artistic director of two International Harpweeks which took place while I was a student. Both events were exceptional and exciting. It was a big deal to have the spotlight on the harp and that it was happening up North. I was studying with Frank Sternefeld at the time and I learnt so much from Eira. She initiated the RNCM harp ensemble and our smaller quartet, Fir Chlis with Mary Ann Kennedy, Manon Llwyd and Kathryn Rees. We had some amazing adventures and we went on tour in Wales – we were even on Welsh TV!
Fast forward some 14 years – I reconnected with Eira during a difficult time in my life and I asked to go and play for her. Off I went with my harp to her studio in Stockport for a consultation lesson. After an extremely encouraging but realistic lesson, she suggested I come to the RNCM to complete a masters degree. I said yes. She thought I was kidding. Thanks to her support, I enrolled at the RNCM as a mature student in 2007 and I was able to dedicate all my energy to the harp and music after a rocky period during which I came close to giving it all up.
FAITH
When you walk to the edge of all the light you have And take that first step into the darkness of the unknown You must believe that one of two things will happen:
There will be something solid for you to stand upon, Or, you will be taught how to fly.
Patrick Overton 1975
I looked forward to my weekly lessons with eager anticipation. Being held accountable was priceless. I was highly motivated and I dedicated countless hours to improving myself as a musician and harpist. We listened and talked a lot and Eira inspired me with her artistic ideas and her faith in my skill as a musician. I studied reams of repertoire and had some exquisite experiences playing solo works and chamber music as well as preparing orchestral parts. Harp class was a very steep learning curve about constructive feedback. Some tough hands were dealt around discipline, and my musical ideas were challenged persistently which led to my growth. She encouraged me to be myself and to express myself with my harp but always at the service of the music.
Eira cares for each of her students – she is empathic and compassionate whilst maintaining a healthy sense of detachment. She was there to congratulate us when we achieved the desired result and to console us when we didn’t. She continues to mentor students beyond the RNCM years and even though we don’t talk as often these days, when we do we pick up as though we’d spoken yesterday.
Happy faces – surrounded by some of my harp colleagues
I enjoyed a vast array of extremely enriching orchestral opportunities at college. Orchestral playing was my true love and Manchester was the perfect base to reinforce that passion. A year long course became 2 years when I realised I wasn’t ready to perform a final recital yet. I was enjoying life in Manchester again, allowing myself to be steeped in that melting pot of music, culture and the arts. I also relished being surrounded by a sisterhood of harpists half my age – they were so energetic and supportive, and their carefree enthusiasm was contagious!
The collage Eira made for me as a leaving gift. A montage of 30 years of musical memories
I was fortunate to work alongside Eira on several occasions, in particular with the Hallé when they performed works involving multiple harps. Performing operas from Wagner’s Ring Cycle under the baton of Sir Mark Elder were pinch-me moments. They were truly awesome experiences where I could observe and learn, and enjoy complete immersion in music. Eira is a consummate professional with great integrity, and her love and respect for music is immense and steadfast. She shares this with her students with open hearted generosity.
It was always a delight to work with Eira’s students and working with Helen MacLeod (1980-2018) was no exception. A true professional, and a wonderful harpist and human being.
“Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom”
George Patton
Student life wasn’t always rosy and chicken sandwiches became an institution. When times became too tough, it was reassuring to know I could contact Eira and soon be on her sofa with a glass of wine and a freshly prepared plate of comforting sandwiches lovingly made by Steve. I swear they were the culinary equivalent of a homely hearty hug. No matter what challenge I was facing, whether it was musical or personal, our dialogues never failed to appease my agitated emotions.
An unforgettable rehearsal of Stravinsky’s Firebird with the Hallé in the presence of the Queen
Eira’s prowess as a teacher is exceptional and she is held in high regard throughout the UK and internationally. Her ability to adapt to each student is a rare gift. Her knowledge of the repertoire seems limitless and her head was, and still is, constantly brimming with new ideas for her latest compositions and creative projects. Her ability to construct cohesive programmes for recitals, exams, auditions and performances is extraordinary, demonstrating her deep understanding of the performer and the works to be studied.
While I tutored at the Early Music Shop, I worked alongside 2 of Eira’s graduates, Louise Thomson and Alice Kirwan, and we invited Eira to act as artistic director for 2 Camac harp weekends which we organised in Saltaire. She tirelessly shared her love and enthusiasm for the harp and it’s no surprise that she’s in high demand as a guest tutor. Experiencing her deliver tuition with such clarity to a large group of absolute beginners was a memorable sight. Most of them had never seen a harp before let alone play one and I’m not sure they even read music! Most impressive of all was that the participants went away with radiant smiles and a sense of achievement, inspired to continue their journey with our fascinating instrument.
Watching Eira teach is a lesson in itself. Stagecraft is another one of her fortés and you’d never guess she was shy!
I can’t write about Eira without mentioning Steve. Steve is her rock. He’s her husband, personal chef, chauffeur, barista, recording engineer, technical support, sommelier, librarian, travelling companion, the list goes on. Steve is a placid, dependable, calm character who balances out Eira’s creative nature. They work so well together. They’re a dream team, a marriage made in heaven, possibly quite literally!
All packed up and raring to go and make music!
Teaching comes with its own challenges. Eira rarely left us high and dry and after class we would often congregate in the refectory to ease out of teacher/student mode while relaxing with a well earned drink. “STEEEEEEEEEVE”!!! we exclaimed joyously upon his arrival. Following this enthusiastic outburst came a chorus of giggles that resounded through the huge space as he approached his giddy welcoming committee cautiously. He arrived to whisk Eira safely to her next destination. Her sense of relief was tangible. Another long teaching day was nearly done. The atmosphere changed as she became more relaxed, safe in the knowledge that it was nearly time to head home to recharge her batteries and enjoy some quiet time.
Have harp, will travel
Eira is blessed with an inexhaustible sense of curiosity and her musical journey has taken her to a myriad of exciting destinations across the world. She has a particular affinity with Greece and all things Greek. She has taught several Greek harpists, many of whom have thriving careers. An accomplished chamber musician, she loves working with her Greek flautist Anna Mari Rosa and Eira has even learnt Greek. Eira has never lost her sense of curiosity and she’s always keen to learn new skills. Filakia Eira!
Emotional
Inspirational
Resilient
Artistic
Soon after my arrival at the RNCM Eira gave me my Happy Box. Inside was a small book of quotations called The Real Meaning of Success and a small tortoise made of stone. Eira is a fervent advocate of slow practice and she often reminded us of Aesop’s Fable about the tortoise and the hare – the tortoise always wins in the end. I filled my Happy Box during my 2 years at the RNCM and many of those happy memories involve Eira. She gives so generously to her students, inspiring us to be the best version of ourselves as musicians and human beings.
Eira always encouraged me to embrace the journey. I’m so excited to find out what Eira does next on her journey.
Eira – thank you so much for all you have taught me and shared with me over the years. From the Heart – Rhian
A couple of weeks ago my friend and mentor Gareth Boot (Google him) suggested I join the above challenge and I must admit I’ve really enjoyed getting back in the habit of writing regularly again. Gareth helped me kick a 30 a day smoking habit and a month later I gave booze the Boot too! He’s inspired me to walk and run over 1,200 miles for 2 years in a row and we’re revving up for my professional challenge in 2022. The challenge was set by Kate Beddow – thanks for the inspiration Kate if you’re reading this! I much prefer writing with a Bic and a pad of A4 paper but I can’t share those scribblings so here we go. Much of it is stream of consciousness writing. I’m including a few posts written when time got the better of me as well as the half hearted can’t be arsed entries too…
Day 6 – Childhood memories of Winter
When I was a child, Winter was wild and sometimes mild. I often smiled and laughed with my big sister as we played in the snow during the school holidays. We built a snowman and Mam came and inserted a nasal carrot and coal buttons in the appropriate places. She topped him off with my red and white striped beanie hat before marching me upstairs straight in the bath before I caught my death.
The hat in question
Mam was something of a tyrant. Well she had to be with 2 unruly feisty characterful girls to bring up while Dad worked away. Dad wasn’t around much when we were small, much to my regret. Mam was nicer when he was home for 2 months, then he went back to sea for 6, and I wished I could go with him with every bone in my body. I was Dad’s girl, still am. Dad was fun. Dad was funny. Mam was stern and never shy with a sharp slap when we were bad. That’s what she said and I believed her, and I often thought Dad stayed away because I was bad, because I was naughty. I give her credit, she raised me to be a good girl and after several bouts of counselling and therapy, I’d say I’m getting there, although I have my moments.
Dad’s girl, see?
Now where was I? Ah yes. Winter. My sister and I revelled in a delight of snowball fights but I almost always came out worse off as she’s my senior by almost 4 years. On the rare occasion I did try to retaliate when I caught her off guard (tactics!) I inevitably got in trouble with Mam and I’d take refuge in the safe comforting darkness of the cupboard under the stairs, right at the back behind piles of toys and books, hidden behind a jumble of long coats. “Rhian! RHIAN!!!” her cries crescendoed. I knew I was for it.
My sister was slim and incredibly athletic and she could be a bit of bully. We fought hotly and I remember the time I drew blood. It was an oral wound. Mam went ballistic. Life was unfair. My sister was never in trouble with Mam. So it seemed.
Dad was the household chef and when he was home, we ate like princesses. In Winter we ate steaming bowls of simple vegetable stew punctuated with luxurious nuggets of lamb that had been gently simmered for hours, creating a delicious watery broth full of flavour. Small globules of fat glistened invitingly hinting at how much flavour lay within the liquor. The tender meat melted in my mouth. Everything did. It had been cooked for such a long time. A pretty plate of fresh bread and butter accompanied it and I always pleaded for the crust, my favourite bit, slathered with lashings of butter. Good job nobody else liked it. On a good day I got a pair of heels.
Dad’s food tasted of love.
I remember he had a tub of spice rub for chicken, a recipe shared with him by one of the Indian cooks on the ship where he was chief engineer. My juvenile palate couldn’t handle the heat and I’d regretfully peel the appetising charred reddish brown searingly hot skin away from the flesh leaving it to one side. After he died we scoured the house for that recipe to no avail.
Sometimes Father was home for Christmas and the aromas emanating from the kitchen were divine. He made a big fuss of the turkey and he started simmering the giblets on Christmas Eve to make his flavour-full gravy. On special occasions we ate in the parlour with its draughty bay windows and Christmas was fun. We’d pull crackers and laugh as we enjoyed the most important meal of the year. God I want a turkey sandwich now and I don’t even like turkey! But I only want one made by Dad.
After our meal we retired to the comfort of the living room, cosily huddled on the sofa as close as possible to the gas fire. The smell of hot polyester was alarmingly comforting. I was brought up in my mother tongue, Welsh and one Christmas, after a particularly enjoyable escapist film I uttered my first 2 words in English – “The End”.
The sofa
NB – I had a fantastic childhood and this blog post is in no way a tirade against the way I was parented. I dare you to show me perfect parents or a family that isn’t dysfunctional in some way, shape or form!
Rare Bit Blogging 