Colours of the Alphabet – you must see this film @alphabetfilm

On Wednesday evening, I went through to Glasgow to watch this film. It was so wonderful, in so many ways, I just have to blog about it.

It was beautiful – beautifully shot, beautiful children, beautiful colours, beautiful subject.

It was moving – about families, about growing up, about education, about how people learn who they are and what their lives are for.

It was funny – watching little children at play, at work, just being their wonderful selves.

It was thoughtful and thought provoking – there are messages, overt and covert, in the film – about language, about poverty, about ambition, about how different life is or could be without today’s technology, consumerism and media influences.

It was great entertainment – so much to enjoy and so much to think about.

Watch the trailer here:

It was also educational – what is, or should be, the proper relationship between ‘home language’ and the language of education and to what extent should all languages, however small, be protected/funded/written. What are the barriers to learning associated with language (took me back in my thoughts, as so often in my teaching career, to the work of Bernstein, Class Codes and Control ( see here ) and more recently Michael Young’s restatement of the importance of ‘powerful knowledge’ (see below) and the work of Elizabeth Rata http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/01411926.2011.615388:

“Limiting the curriculum to experiential knowledge limits access to a powerful class resource; that of conceptual knowledge required for critical reasoning and political agency. Knowledge that comes from experience limits the knower to that experience. The shift to localised knowledge fixes groups in the working class to a never ending present as schools that use a social constructivist approach to knowledge in the curriculum fail to provide the intellectual tools of conceptual thinking and its medium in advanced literacy that lead to an imagined, yet unknown, future.”

In the concluding discussion (as it was a premiere, part of the Glasgow Film Festival ,the producer, director and Liz Lochhead were there for a chat and questions afterwords, to give us some insight into the production and its meanings), it turns out that the first draft of the film ran for three hours featuring six of the children – I can’t wait for that director’s cut when it comes out on DVD (producer, please take note!).

Michael Young on the importance of ‘knowledge’:

Click to access 1.1-Young.pdf

also here:

 

Costa Short Story Award

What a fabulous surprise.. not only shortlisted but this year’s winner. You can watch a short video of the presentation event here:

and read or listen to the winning story – ‘Rogey’ – here

Now I have to ease myself out of education and start taking my creative writing seriously!

Watch this space!!

Maya Angelou – a great human voice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the summer of 1972, I was working in the Merit Distribution Warehouse as a general dogsbody / janitor.  The warehouse had a low concrete profile at the heart of a web of railways, trunk roads and skyways heading into, and out of, Manhattan island.  I remember clearly leaning on my yard brush and the steamy summer sun glinting off the windscreens of the cars queuing on the Pulaski Skyway – even then it looked as if it had been assembled from someone’s giant Meccano set, striding across the edgeland of factories, warehouses and urban decay from which New Joisey’s  people serviced the needs of New York City.

At school in the late 60s and as a student in the early 70s I had devoured many of the civil rights authors.  Now, while living and working in the US that summer, staying with my Uncle John and his family, I was taking the chance whenever I could get it to read some more, to soak myself in the strange reality of American life.  Employment in the warehouse was strictly along ethnic lines – Jewish owners, white admin staff, Italian foremen in charge of the loading deck, mostly white fork lift drivers – every one of which knew their European identity.  Banter around the stereotyped characteristics, of the Polaks or Ruskies or whoever, was a major part of the conversation.   There was a Spanish motor mechanic worked on the lorries, and most of the lorry drivers bringing in the goods, or taking them away, were black.  It was hot sweaty work.  Dragonflies the size of blackbirds patrolled the skies.  I learned a lot that summer about how America worked but almost nothing about how America played – we lived and worked together but then went back to our very separate lives.   There were some other, American, students working there – Joey Brignola  Frankie something, one of the bosses sons as well.  They got to unload the Samsonite wagons off the railway siding at the back of the warehouse – an easier job.   In the weekends, they headed up to the Poconos to their family summerhomes, smoked weed and partied.  I read the  American press – McGovern’s campaign, Vietnam, Tricky Dicky.  I also read Maya Angelou for the first time and, like so many others, I was entranced from the beginning.

I know why the caged bird sings sang to me.   Eldridge Cleaver or Huey Newton or Malcolm X – they all had something to say, something to learn from.  But Maya Angelou spoke to the heart as well as the head.   In the 42 years since then, she has cemented her place in the hearts of millions throughout the globe who love her use of language, who have cried with her in her adversity,who have learned from her the true meaning of wisdom and respect.

I mourn her passing and celebrate the rich gift of her life, her writing and her teaching.

Some other links for Maya Angelou – go on, treat yourself.

Gary Younge’s 2009 interview

Reading her poems….

If you’ve never read I know why the caged bird sings, you should.

Pete Seeger remembered

Chris and Bessie…. to a letter….

In e.mail correspondence with Bernard Barker, a friend and education colleague today, he told me that much to his surprise, his father’s wartime letters to his mother have gained recent literary success.  He told me that after his father’s death, he had …

“… deposited 500 letters (fully archived) at Mass Observation – they have been found and published in Simon Garfield’s To The Letter (see here ); and promoted assiduously in various ways. The reviews, from the Washington Post to the Guardian have celebrated my parents as wonderful writers and now there is talk of a freestanding book and an audio version with Benedict and Kerry Fox. I had envisaged the letters providing verite for second world war historians in years to come, the odd footnote; I had not anticipated a sensation. The experience is surreal but very exciting and enjoyable…..”

Here is Benedict Cumberbatch reading from one of the letters:

Here is a link to the reviews:

Guardian

Washington Post

While there’s inevitably a slightly intrusive feeling about listening in on intimate conversation (unless it’s a publicity seeking celebrity), there is something about this intimacy that warms the spirit – it is a gift from those who have passed away to us who still live.

Thank you Bessie and Chris and and thank you Bernard.  Your sharing has enriched us all.

Old Long Syne – who’s heard it?

I loved today’s ‘Poem of the Day‘ in the Herald (see below)  – thanks Lesley Duncan!

I love Burns – particularly so after my recent visit to the new Burns Museum which, in among the instant amusement items such as the Burns juke box – choose your favourite song and a new one after five seconds, has some fantastic exhibits, particularly the letters, songs and poems in Burns’ own hand.  But today’s poem, which gives us a precursor to Burns’ most famous song, reminds us that all artistic genius comes from somewhere.

Here’s Lesley Duncan’s introduction, then the poem.

No, this is not a Morningside version of Burns’s global favourite but a precursor, by Sir Robert Ayton (1569-1638), a poet at the court of James VI and I.  Unlike Burns’s lines, which deal with friendship rather than love, this is an intensely personal plea and pledge, particularly the third verse.

OLD-LONG-SYNE

Should old Acquaintance be forgot,

And never thought upon,

The Flames of Love extinguished,

And freely past and gone?

Is thy kind Heart now grown so coldIn that

Loving Breast of thine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On Old-long-syne?

Where are thy Protestations,

Thy Vows and Oaths, my Dear,

Thou made to me, and I to thee,

In Register yet clear?

Is Faith and Truth so violate

To the Immortal Gods Divine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On Old-long-syne?

If e’er I have a House, my Dear,

That truly is call’d mine,

And can afford but Country Cheer,

Or ought that’s good therein;

Tho’ thou were Rebel to the King,

And beat with Wind and Rain,

Assure thy self of Welcome Love,

For Old-long-syne.

Oh.. and a happy New Year to all our readers!

Walking and more walking

Walking around Stirling on a November weekend

North Third Reservoir

 

River Forth and Abbey Craig

Stirling Castle Great Hall from Auld Brig

Auld Brig Stirling

Fringe Day, Saturday 10th August

A day at the Edinburgh Fringe.  I was not in the mood – all that enthusiastic jollity on the streets – but Joan insisted and it turned out to be a great day, lifting the spirits.  I’m sure that if you are interested in following up any of these acts, you can get them from a simple google search.

12.00 Mugengkyo Taiko Drummers –  UK’s only professional troupe.  They were spellbinding.  Made me want to go to Japan (which I have never wanted to do before).  Came out uplifted.  Enormous skill and poise in their presentation.   What fabulous gifts we humans have. 

4.00  Soweto Melodic Voices – a choir established in 2005 as a charity to give some kids in difficult circumstances some structure and guidance.  When they first started singing together my eyes moistened immediately, such beautiful and rich harmony… and what energy, what colour what bright white toothy smiles!  They were fast and furious and so happy..  I could have listened to them all night.  After they got me up dancing on stage (you know that bit where a member of the audience gets picked and has to go up… I didn’t move out the way fast enough), I wanted to run away with them and sing with them and never come back to my boring day-life, but I didn’t have the costume for it.

 

6.00  The Magnets – a real contrast, a very professional band of six male ‘a cappella’ singers, one of whom did the most amazing beatbox backing I have ever heard, including playing an imaginary drum kit you could actually see, I swear it, one of whom did a deep bass guitar and the other four lead and vocal harmonies in turn.  Very slick, very professional.  Had we not see the raw Soweto kids an hour before, I would have thought they were the best a cappella act I had seen, but there was a fresh naive enthusiasm to the Soweto kids that no amount of professionalism can improve on.

8.00   Roddy Doyle at the Book Festival – talking about ‘The Guts’, his latest book which is a sequel to ‘The Commitments’ and finds Jimmy Rabbite 25 years on, facing cancer, but with the same mad family life and sharp dialogue.  I’ll put it on my ‘must read’ list, but not at the top just yet a while.

10.00  Faure’s Requiem, by candlelight, in Old St Paul’s Church (just along from the station) – soft and melodic, peaceful, contemplative – a real contrast to the raucous loud energy of the earlier drumming and vocal shows – but the chairs were so hard that you would not fall asleep.  A soothing end to the day.

11.30  last train back to Stirling – standing room only before it even got to Haymarket.  We got talking to a neighbour we haven’t seen since her son was in Adam’s class at nursery and primary (!).  Her nephew joined us.  Interesting guy, fitba’ daft.   He had played for Rangers youth, been signed by Aston Villa (the year they won the European Cup – 1982) but got crocked age 19 and never fully recovered, drifting from Hearts to Dundee and then ending up as a junior footballer (Linlithgow Rose).  He had some good ‘insider’ stories.  The time, and the chat, flew.  What a contrast to the normal morning and evening commuter trains, with everyone on their iphones and ipads, or reading the Metro.

Easter Sunday at Portencross

Joan and I had fabulous bracing walk from Seamill to Hunterston, with a cold East Wind swirling the windturbines on the hills behind West Kilbride and some fabulous views of Arran, which had so much trouble last week with heavy snow disrupting electricity supplies.   On the way we sorted out a few things, drank some fab homemade soup to warm us up and rediscovered Portencross Castle, now renovated and open for visitors after local volunteer work (see Portencross Castle  ).

 

Arran from Seam

Arran from Portencross

A fine walk by the Touch Burn

Stirling @ 10am

Joan Sally Ian and I had a fine walk on a blustery stormy snowy morning up to the Touch Reservoirs on the moor south west of Stirling.  Great views over Stirling, Stirling Castle, Forth Valley and Ochil Hills.

Stirling @10.15 am

Stirling @11.30

Stirling from the Touch Reservoirs

On the way down.. snowdrops in snow

January Walks

A long weekend in Gullane (pronounced Gillan by locals until quite recently), but in January snow.  We had some great walks by the sea, Gullane to Aberlady Nature Reserve, then North Berwick to Gullane.  Both walks from East to West along the shore, chased by 30-40mph sub-zero wind and snow……

Surfers Gullane Bay

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bass Rock surf

 

 

Fidra across the rocks

 

Gullane Bay in the snow

 

 

 

 

Weekend in London

London eye frames Big Ben from south end of Waterloo Bridge

Busy weekend in London.

I’m sitting on the delayed 12 noon service to Inverness, along with passengers from three other cancelled trains, as we make our way to Lincoln to avoid the damaged rail north of Newark (I’m all in favour of avoiding damaged rails, even if does delay my return to Stirling!).

Managed to hit lots of London experiences (including a severe hit on the wallet – a musical show (Singing In the Rain -don’t bother!), theatre (Hedda Gabbler – great staging, great acting), sport (Djokovic vs del Potro), foodie fun with friends (Tim’s suggestion of the Tokyo Diner Lisle Street – go if you ever get the chance), catching up with Beth, Matthew and friends in their Canonbury and Turnpike Lane flats, meeting up with an educational colleague in IofE and comparing the Scottish and English educational trajectories, sitting on buses without moving, dazzled by the Saturday evening view, east and west, from Waterloo Bridge, gawping at the platform announcement board of King’s Cross, then running to board the train and secure a seat.

View from the bridge

 

Two Words: Perthshire and Amber. Get there next year.

Went up to Perthshire yesterday.  Joan and I had ‘a grand day out’, fresh air, autumn gold, good beer and great music.

Train to Blair Atholl

Blair Atholl Station

Three of us got off the train into a smirring dull day, dreich and drizzly, with rucksacks of diminishing size, from the solitary walker who strode off ahead of us with a week long backpack down to Joan’s little daysack.   Joan and I headed to Glen Tilt and managed a 10 mile round trip up to about 1000 feet, as the grey sky gradually lightened and blue sky broke through on the glorious gullies and meadows of Glen Tilt.

Glen Tilt

 

 

 

My Twitter Haikus (@DannySMurphy) for the day:

 

 

 

 

 

Glen Tilt russet red

Thundering through its gorges

Its foaming river

Scots Pine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beech red and Larch gold

Scots firs a silvery green

The autumn colours

Red Squirrel

 

 

 

 

 

An eagle circles

In a river meadow running deer

Timid red squirrels

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was dark by 5, after a short blazing sunset on the golden larch, then we were off to the pub to sample the excellent Moulin Ales from Pitlochry, followed by live music at the Perthshire Amber Festival.  It is typical of Dougie McLean to use his name and influence to bring high quality acts into small local community venues, supporting his local community and its people.  His generous ethos and outstanding musicianship pervades the events.    Our concert featured Dougie and Julie Fowlis, who has been going down great in US recently.    She has a clean natural voice:

Dougie was playing on his own last night.   An effortless performance, warm and rich.  You don’t get the rich tones of his voice on this YouTube recording, but it is one of my favourite songs.  When I first heard him play it, he explained that, as a young man, he had set off to discover the world and discover himself, but as he got older, he realised that the man he was to become was sitting by the fire, getting older, in the family home.  It’s a beautiful song about father and son, and the community that Dougie is rooted in.

Thanks to George and Ann for giving us a lift back.

The festival is an annual event, just after the final end of the tourist season – put it in your diary for next year.

Jesus Christ Superstar – the new stageshow

At Glasgow (the cavernous SECC) last night to see the new stageshow of Jesus Christ Superstar, on a national tour.  This was a birthday present from my daughters Beth and Anna.  Since Joan was away in Leicester with work,  Anna agreed to come with me – it’s great to be the father of daughters!!

Monday’s Guardian had tanked the show (from the O2 performance) in a highly critical review but despite being about 100 yards from the stage and having my view restricted by a nest of massive hanging speakers, I was moved and inspired by the production.  Some of the highlights were: the setting – forget Israel under the Romans (though the lyrics were kept), the stage was a set of steps leading up to a nameless Bank, with Jesus’ followers as members of the Occupy movement, Annas and Caiphas as grey-besuited bankers and Pilate as a High Court judge; the visuals projected on the rear of the stage, allowing those far away to see the faces of the performers up close;  the carefully crafted words, familiar but always so many new insights to be gained; the clashing raucous music, with its screamy high notes, balanced with melodic arias, set off by a brilliant electric guitar and some interesting brass; the sound – so clear despite the echoing concrete barn that is Hall No. 4 of the SECC; the spontaneous cheers of the crowd for the excellent solo performances – even cheering Judas’ death!  Ben Forster, the people’s choice as Jesus, stood up well, with a convincing performance.  While much of the attention no doubt goes on Tim Minchin’s Judas and Chris Moyles’ Herod, it was Alex Hanson as Pilate and Pete Gallagher as Caiaphas who matched voice to character best.  But I’ve kept the best to last.

Mel C as Mary Magdalene

Spice Girl Mel C’s Mary Magdalene was my highlight – she caught the confused vulnerabilty of the part and sang with depth and intensity:  I Don’t Know How To Love Him and Could We Start Again Please – great songs sung beautifully.

Colm Toibin at the book Festival

Talk about gush! The woman chairing the session, Tessa Hadley, came over as a bit of a sexagenarian groupie – not a pleasant sight.  I felt embarrassed for her.  Colm himself was relaxed, soaked up the praise. No false modesty he.  The session concerned his book of collected essays about authors, ‘New Ways to Kill Your Mother.’ There was no set talk, but a conversation which we were allowed to witness between Tessa and her hero.  On the way there were some great little insights.  In how many books does the author get rid of the mother, a figure who might overshadow the main character?  The mother might require the author to write in distracting everyday conversations and replace the development of the main character with a focus on the mother and her inner feelings; with too much attention on the relationship with her mother, a different, less interesting book emerges.  Austen’s mothers, for example, are either absent or so silly as not to require serious attention.  Dealing with an orphan now – that can focus the inner story, even better if it’s an only child.
Novels he said are not there to teach or analyse but to explore the tiny details of experience – texture and patterns of life, a sense of the world as it is lived.
Never worry about other people when you are writing, he counseled.  That way you’ll never write anything.  Those who are closest to you will always fail to understand why or how you have mixed personal memory with fiction and often see themselves misrepresented as a result.   On reading one of his early short stories, his mother complained that the mother in the story placed all the cutlery in the centre of the table for the family to pick up what they needed. She resented the implication readers might take that tbis was what he was used to at home!

Parents and their children. Well maybe that relationship is the most interesting thing after all.  It’s certainly what his book of essays is about.

The Edinburgh Fringe – hit and miss

Great day at the Fringe yesterday.  Carol Craig thought provoking on Scottish identity at the Book Festival, though best part of that session was Joan meeting up by chance with two former classmates who she hadn’t seen for more than forty years!

A University singing group were less than impressive but Machines for Living, by the Let Slip Theatre Group (catch them on:  vimeo http://vimeo.com/letsliptheatre ) was just what the Fringe used to be – young enthusiasts tackling serious subjects with energy, humour and bags of talent.

Fringe pros Grassroots Theatre Group Zimbabwe were impressive.  Beautiful rangy voices, all the ululation that a small room could take and smiles to die for.  They go round schools in the UK.  We used to get them to Lornshill every year for a day of workshops – some with drama and music students, some performance sessions with younger kids to give them inspiration.  More power to them.

Last up we saw Africa Entsha (Soweto Entsha) – five bundles of melodic rhythmically energy singing close harmony while tap dancing like Fred Satire – in white trainers!

What a treat.  Throw in a couple of beers, an open air savoury galette and copious people watching opportunities and you have the perfect Fringe 12 hour day – all for the cost of a moderately priced Opera ticket.  Fringe prices are becoming a problem but there are still some great shows out there costing less than a small round of drinks in a city centre bar.

Children’s author Margaret Mahy dies aged 76

Take a bit of time today to say ‘thank you’ for Margaret Mahy… and if you don’t know her work, and you like to read stories to your children, or to listen to them together, you’re in for a treat.  I particularly recommend The Chewing Gum Rescue – stories we listened to many times, on car journeys and at home.

She had a great imagination and, although the stories moved from the whimsical to the fantastic, they were never patronising, covered some great themes and always led to further thought and discussion.  It helps that she writes like a dream.

Our version was read by Richard Mitchley, whose melodic expressive voice enhanced the stories.  I am still in awe of the mystical and elegaic story about ‘The Griffins of Griffin Hill’.  Somewhere in its poetic resonant narrative, Mahy takes her readers/listeners to a new understanding of life.

Margaret Mahy.  Pay tribute.

.. more from 2012 ..

 

Twenty_Twelve_Series_2_Catastrophisation

 

 

 

 

 

Thirty two days to go, and with Head of Deliverance Ian Fletcher chairing the final ever meeting of the Twenty Twelve Security Committee’s Special Catastrophisation Unit, it emerges that someone has been caught converting official Olympic starting pistols to fire live rounds. With the US Security Forward Team about to arrive to review security arrangements for the Games, the challenge is to find a way of handling this piece of news that doesn’t involve shooting themselves in the foot.

Meanwhile Kay Hope continues her one woman quest to find a Sustainable use for the Stadium post Games, and Siobhan Sharpe and her team at Perfect Curve take on the task of re-branding the Twenty Twelve Travel Advice Pack in such a way that no-one will ever have to read it.

 

The 2012 team do over women’s football at the Olympics

the only event I got a ticket for……no wonder why.  Watch this clip from the brilliant BBC send-up:   twenty twelve

Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg: brilliant writing on writing

It’s been around since 1991 but it’s a powerful book about writing as a creative activity open to all.  She’s a bit of a ‘writing about writing’ guru with a lot of books on the subject:  ‘Writing Down the Bones’ is the most famous one.  I’ve not read it, but this one did it for me:

Here she is on You Tube:

And here’s some of what she says to everyone about writing (not direct quotes):

Everyone is entitled to write. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t.

The best writing comes from inside you and is not ‘edited’ by your mind or your ideas about what other people might think.

Don’t let anything stop you writing.  Just start and ‘keep the hand moving’.

The book is full of great little ‘writing exercises’ to get people practising their writing: writing as a practice, not as a money-making venture, or as a quest for fame, or as therapy.  Loving words.

I can see that she is a great teacher.