First impressions of England
When I first left the UK for the Netherlands, after having lived in Edinburgh for over twelve years, I used to call my country Britain. That was out of respect for the Scots who, understandably, detest being lumped together with the English and having the UK called England – by the English themselves, and also by foreigners. But I called myself British also because I no longer felt English and I couldn’t, by definition, be Scots………so, it was………well, anyway, enough of that discussion. Nowadays I use England for England and Scotland for Scotland and don’t fuss about these matters. I suppose that’s very English of me…..heh-heh……
I don’t fuss about my identity, but I AM interested in independence for Scotland, if it is wanted. In that circumstance, I’d be Jacobite when it came to the matter of a possible head of state. Incidentally, I steeled myself the other day to read an eye witness account of the beheading of Mary. It strikes me as more awful than the execution of Charles somehow, though that too was outrageous. A king has something of divinity about him, and his person is certainly sacred and to be treated with the greatest reverence. It is a profound and long lasting trauma for a society when taboos about this are broken. And I see that in recent weeks for example, they are, ninety years on, still busy with that whole Romanov drama – some newly discovered bones from the Yekaterinburg events……I predict that Russia will be busy with that entire story for a very long time……
The dear old friend I am visiting is now forgetful. She has forgotten that she spent last Christmas with me in Amsterdam and introduces me to someone today as “Geoffrey from the Hague” where I used to live (1988-95). So my visit here is shot through with poignancy – one doesn’t know how many more of these meetings there will be, to put it bluntly.
As television is unwatchable (one winces with embarrassment) I listen to a CD of the recent Robert Craft recording of Symphonies of Wind Instruments and although I am reading the fascinating programme notes (and with the volume turned down, as my friend has already gone to bed), I am absolutely riveted by the interpretation. I can’t praise it enough.
Sunday I shall hear Pollini doing a Beethoven concerto at the Royal Festival Hall. I am going there with my students. And I shall do some business of various sorts whilst staying in here. Also see family and friends of course.