Author
Robert Fripp Добро пожаловать, Вернадский вентиляторы || Ласкаво просимо, Вернадський вентилятори I hope that the Cyrillic text above reads, in Russian and Ukrainian, ‘Welcome, Vernadsky fans!’ — or something very similar. The concept of biosphere exerts a powerful tug on people these days. In pre-technological times humanity lived within it; might be overwhelmed by it; and knew it … Read more
These are the opening paragraphs in my Wessex Tales story, ‘Whose Pig?’ At the end of an especially hard winter, two starving peasants emerge from their huts at dawn to find a large, pregnant sow. Who owns her? The men almost come to blows. ‘Whose Pig?’ is set on Okeford Hill above Shillingstone in the Late Stone … Read more
If the tree of the field is man’s life (Deuteronomy 20.19), what is the nature of a tree? Not in and of itself, but from the human perspective. Through history and the changing imperatives of human societies, there have been many modes of viewing trees. The perspective of time and social evolution changes the view; … Read more
Walking along a Toronto street one day I noticed a new split-pin on the sidewalk and picked it up. I’m lucky with that sort of thing. Serendipity smiles my way. The split-pin would come in handy to fix our son’s tricycle.
Two weeks later I was in the North West Territories directing a film for CBC at Wood Buffalo National Park, some miles
God Almighty, how Providence can smile! After leaving Canford a year early, I was free to accompany Mother to New York in the summer of 1961. 1961-’2 would be my gap year, thirty years before such things became fashionable. Money was tight, but Dad no longer had to find school fees. In New York, Mother’s sister, Lucy Mitton, … Read more
Dateline Canford School, September 1957: We paraded three-deep, facing John of Gaunt’s Kitchen. Our group, a “right shower” of first-term Canfordians, might have been extras in a Carry On film as we shambled into a platoon for our first Combined Cadet Force (CCF) parade. Earlier, Corporal Cousins had lined us up in the Armoury to hand out illfitting kit and boots. The … Read more
SO, HERE COMES Salisbury Cathedral School, where I spent five more or less years of indentured servitude on scholarship, from 1952 to 1957. We choristers sang eight services and seven rehearsals a week in the Cathedral choir. While I was busily singing my way through my scholarship, the school and its occupants became an unwitting model for William … Read more
1947-’48: Dad’s posting shifted, from Royal Naval Air Station (R.N.A.S.) Culdrose in Cornwall, to R.N.A.S. Yeovilton, Somerset. We took a tiny white cottage among other tiny white cottages in the village of West Coker, a mile or so from Yeovilton. I must have been five. I recall little: womb-like warmth in the coal-fired kitchen stove; draughts and frigid rooms … Read more
I was working on something else when I stumbled on Eleanor, read part of her life, and was smitten. It wasn’t sufficient to write another biography along the lines of biographers Amy Kelly and Régine Pernoud. (Pernoud was born in the shadow of the Plantagenet’s treasure castle, the Chateau Chinon.) By definition, a biography written … Read more
It’s a Sunday, an early summer day in the mid-1950s. I’m at boarding school in Salisbury. Dad had left the Navy and was working as an engineer for Fisons Ltd., near Cambridge. Occasionally my parents made the long drive to take me out for a picnic lunch. The school released me between Matins and Evensong, so we drove … Read more