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A Letter from Norway:

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday, 15 May 2024, 12:12

A Letter from Norway




It was 1971. I wasn’t in the mood for two periods of music.

You glanced around the class. I could see you summing up this new class. This wasn’t the career choice you envisioned. Teaching sacred classical music to Clydeside kids who were only interested in the Beatles and the Stones was not why you spent those years at university.

But here you were with your flannels with turnups and a Harris Tweed jacket thinking you better make the best of it. I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t recall your name.

You went over to the record player and removed a ’78 from its sheath.

            “Let’s go on a journey, boys,’ you said.

            “Journey?” I wondered.

“Allegretto pastoral is what this music symbolises. Absorb the sound of the countryside; the sound of the flutes as they liaise and resonate with clarinets in fluid harmony saluting the rising sun. Listen as the flute and the oboe sing like two morning birds; the bassoon as it brings morning to a close and a new day begins.

You stood there whilst Morning was playing and observed each one of us being caught in the moment. It was spiritual. Apart from the gentle music rising in a lazy, sustained crescendo, it was the first time I heard such silence in a classroom.  After school that day, I scampered to the library to find books on, Norway, trolls, Peer Gynt, The Hall of the Mountain King, and Edvard Greig. You made me believe I was born in the wrong place. I’m still convinced I was.

            You, the unknown teacher with the tweed jacket, you changed my life in ways you never dreamed.

 Tusen takk from Norge 1999.

 


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A week in Bergen


(Continued from my preceding post and in consideration of part of Jim's thread. Mr Thistlewaite, used to wear Tweed jackets and used to smoke a pipe frequently, I never knew whether his fondness for the habit had anything to do with his demise, but Jim's writing has helped form the clearest conscious image of my teacher, the dark greens and brown to beige trousers, with 'hush puppies', naturally!)

"Snakker du Engelsk?"

"A little..."


It was October 2004. Our first time anywhere in Scandinavia. We'd steamed over from Newcastle on HMS Jupiter (already thirty years old in 2004). The shower in our room was slightly 'dodgy' but everything else was real fun. I remember the cabaret group that were on in the (single) evening's entertainment. I can clearly recall that I was happy to be making the trip (and we had Christmas in Edinburgh to look forward to, when we were back...) When in bed, I felt strangely at ease when the ship (I think only about 15,000 tons - but I may have got this wrong) rode the top of wave after wave, and it felt like ship and boarders were doing a 'belly flop' at the trough, but then we'd always peak again. It was relaxing. We both noticed that once the ship got beyond the top of Scotland, it got rougher (as would be expected - the full force of the mighty Atlantic).

The customs man than checked Sash and I in was 'a real Viking', probably about 6' 7", definitely taller than my (now late) East-end buddy, Rob (who was getting married the following year), and he called Sash back!! Phew? (I can't recall why, I'll have to ask her tonight) All OK though. Gorgeous air. A fantastic rail system (under subscribed), nice people, enjoyable galleries - the staff were polite, cool but vigilant, only a few weeks before we were there, one original version of Edvard Munch's The Scream, had made international headlines - I can't remember when, but this has since been recovered, happily - great food, though quite expensive.

Munch was an interesting character and a great artist. I think, like me, quite high on the neurotic side of personality trait(s), Costa and McCrae's five factor model of personality (1992), refers. This is convenient, and appropriate, as it featured in one of my earlier OU modules, DE100, 2019-J.

My blood type is AB (I think, I should know for sure...), quite rare for the UK, and Scandinavians are at least prevalent A types (my source for this is the book Blood of the Isles, by Bryan Sykes (2006), Transworld Publishers/ Random House Group Ltd. Given my surname ends in 'ard' and my (likely) blood type, for years I have convinced myself of Norman/Viking ancestry (apart from anything else, it suits the 'dreamer' in me. I stop now because slight narcissism re-emerging...) 

We're keen at some point, to see Denmark. We were only talking about it last night, in another context. I was surprised that Denmark's population was very similar to Norway's...

Norga Bra!

Study well and have a good week (back to SD329, Signals and perception - the science of the senses)!

All the best to Jim and all,

Jem

😎

   

Jim McCrory

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Follow up to Jeremy's post.

Jeg snakker ikke Norsk, (My British friends and I used to snigger at snakker; it seemed such an aggressive word.

Jag pratar Svenske, min son bot dar (Goteborg). Ingmar Bergman's The Best Intentions is in my top five best movies of all time. You cant go wrong with a movie with Max von Sydow in it.

Boy, I miss that route from Newcastle to Stavanger via Bergin. I'm feeling all nostalgic. It was Stavanger were I lived. It was a pleasure to see the drama, State of Happiness a few years ago. It featured some of the pathways I trod like Stavanger's Old Town:

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7005636/


Additionally, I travelled often on The Princess of Scandinavia from Newcastle to Goteborg. It broke my heart when DFDS pulled the plug on the route. Cheep flights killed it I guess

https://www.shipsnostalgia.com/media/princess-of-scandinavia.13249/ 

I have Blood of the Isles in my notebook: interesting