For once it is not hyperbole to use the word 'historic'. Forty-five years after Martin Luther King delivered his impassioned speech - that resonated around the world and became known by the short-hand I Have a Dream - in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, a young African-American has stepped on a stage at a football stadium in Denver Colorado and accepted the nomination of the Democratic Party to run for the Presidency of the United States. Barack Obama, of Kansas and Kenyan parentage, has lived the American ideal and embodies the dream itself - that anything is possible in America with hard work, belief and opportunity. A young, articulate, idealistic, mellifluous, brilliant black man has a chance of becoming the next President of the United States of America. He has risen from community organiser in the South Side of Chicago to the first African-American chair of the prestigious and influential Harvard Law Review and via a stint at the Illinois State legislature to be elected junior Senator for the State of Illinois in the US Congress. This man, who grew up in difficult circumstances with an absent father and a mother faced with major economic and social challenges with the family moving from Indonesia to Hawaii and grandparents having a major input into his upbringing, emobodies what is possible in America.
Politically he represents change from the Bush era and the old, exhausted, bankrupt non-solutions to the problems of the US and the world. Biographically, his is the story that the American elecrorate may wish to have reflected back at them to show them and the world at their best. One of the themes of Obama's book Dreams From My Father, which chronicles his early life and struggles, is that the problems encountered along the way - racial and other prejudice - are not about him and him alone: 'it is not just about you' resounds through the book. And on that platform in Denver Obama echoed that message as he told his audience - both in and outside the stadium - that in the end his candidacy is about them and not him. If they have a vision of themselves reflected in him, he could occupy the White House in 2009. In framing who they are, Americans often re-visit the words of the founding fathers of the Republic as laid down in the Constitution - we hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are made by their Creator equal......and certain inalienable rights among them life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness... What a manifesto for change. In the words of the Obama team - yes he can.
Friday 29 August 2008
Saturday 16 August 2008
From Scarborough to Salcombe - a Summer tour
In the last fortnight or so a Summer's journey has taken in Yorkshire, Kent and Devon and counties in between. The first weekend in August saw my wife and I heading for Yorkshire to visit her parents in Withernsea, outside Hull. Withernsea is a seaside resort out on the East Ridings and journeying to it feels a little like voyaging across a land-sea of endless flat fields comprising some of the the most arable farming land in the county, England and the UK. The landmark that heralds our destination is a tall white structure visible from some miles off. Known as the Kay Kendall lighthouse it is named after the town's most famous daughter - the actress Kay Kendall, star of films such as Genevieve (with Kenneth More, Michael Redgrave and and once married to Rex Harrison, star of stage and screen with appearances of varying quality from the incomparable My Fair Lady through to the less illustriuos Dr Doolittle to wonderful, almost half-forgotten, gems such as The Yellow Rolls Royce (also starring Omar Sharif). It was said that Kay Kendall was the love of the much-married Rex Harrison's life and when she died young of leukemia he was inconsolable. In a way it is fitting that this vivacious woman who managed to shine a light into the heart of a gifted but in many ways impossible man, should be remembered in her home town by a lighthouse however landlocked. Needless to say it is only open on high days and holidays in the season when the moon turns into a balloon (as observed by her friend and fellow actor David Niven).
Another Yorkshire seaside town with artistic connections is Scarborough. A cross-country drive into North Yorkshire via Bridlington and Filey brings a motoring party to this Victorian pleasure site. Like many such towns of its era it boasts an esplanade, a pier and a grand hotel as well as two beaches complete with promenades. It also has two theatres and a link with the playwright Alan Ayckbourn, whose plays were first performed in the theatre which is named after him - The Theatre in the Round. It was thus the citizens and holidaymakers of Scarborough that were first treated to such modern classics as Absurd Person Singular, The Norman Conquests, Absent Friends and Bedroom Farce . If the works passed the 'Scarborough test' they were ready for the rest of the world - in this way the people of Yorkshire were the literary and artistic arbiters of modern theatrical tastes and trends for where Ayckbourn has trod others have followed.
After such heady artistic pursuits, the traditional beach-side ice-cream experience was deferred for the farmgate produce of Mr Moos, where the challenge is the consumption of what seems to be the largest plateful of chocolate chip-vanilla ice-cream with cookie biscuit base this side of the Yorskhire Dales.
Another county with plenty of agricultural produce is, of course, Devon which is where we ventured post Yorkshire. After a brief administrative stop-over in Kent (Garden of England where the strawberries are boasted of as the best in the UK if not Europe) involving government agencies and paperwork, the caravan rolled southwestwards via the old road connecting South East to South West known to all familiar to it as the A303. Almost a parallel route to that of the Western M4, the traveller passes through counties such as Hampshire, Wiltshire and Dorset before crossing into that deceptively large expanse of south-west countryside known as Somerset. Villages with evocative names abound on this route, including that of Norton-sub-Hampden - for those with political interests it is the place from which Paddy Ashdown the politician (former Leader of the Liberal Democrats) and international civil servant (UN High Representative to Bosnia) takes his title - Lord Ashdown of Norton-sub-Hampden. By sheer chance, when we were sojourning in Devon, the eponymous Paddy A appeared on an edition of the Radio 4 Any Questions programme, which was broadcast from that same village. Once famed for being the only MP to be able to kill with his bare hands - a product of his training as a marine commando - the admirable Paddy still cuts a dash on the stage of public life, where he is noticeably reticent about giving any advice to his successors in the Liberal Democrats. He seems to have taken the advice first attributed to ex-President Harry Truman when counselling others after leaving high office in relation to their successors not to 'talk to the Captain or spit on the floor'. His closing speech to the Party Conference when he retired from the leadership was a masterclass of its kind, ending with the valedictory "and may God continue to hold you in the hollow of his hand". His is a class act in many ways which has developed in adversity as well as truimph since the day he inherited a party, over 20 years ago, that was close to bankrupt. Not that it gets any easier to be a Liberal Democrat when adherents often have to hold simultaneously to two completely contradictory beliefs - and are often hampered by this during election time....or at least are obliged to tell one story at one end of the country and another at the other.
A little like this post, the road eventually leads to Exeter - Devonian market town with a well-regarded University which this correspondent attended in what seems like the increasingly receding years of the late 1980s to early 90s. Follow it south from Exeter and onto what is known as the Devon Expressway which sweeps down the peninsula towards Plymouth, eventually arriving at Ivybridge and Lee Mill, home to my wife's daughter and her Devonian-born boyfriend. Which is how we ended up at Salcombe, for he lived in that fair seaside town which attracts the glamorous and the well-upholstered together with the surfers and boaters of all kinds, urban and sea-prone, townies and locals alike. All this as well as the delights of a visit to the newly revamped harbour area of Plymouth called the Barbican, where we sat and watched as the drama inherent in any activity involving a TV film crew unfolded before us - notwithstanding that what was being filmed rejoiced under the title Come Dine With Me - a day-time cooking show of the variety ubiquitous to the small screen, or idiot's lantern as they call it in some parts. Not far from where we sat, the spirit of Sir Walter Raleigh relives his famous game of bowls upon the Plymouth Hoe - scene of one of the most celebrated pieces of sang-froid of all history: the Spanish Armada was hoving into view carrying the invasion forces of England's rival power and the good sailor and hero of the hour (as the history has it) insisted on finishing his game of bowls before joining with, and ultimately defeating, the Spanish foe. The same chap who cast his coat down in front of his sovereign, Elizabeth I so as to save her dress from a puddle. A hero for history in a long line of naval heroes. Plymouth is an appropriate setting for all this drama - the port of Devonport providing the raw material of the naval power that enabled Brittannia to literally 'rule the waves' from Tudor times to the end of the Second World War. A panolpy of naval heroes echo down through the ages from Raleigh onwards including Nelson as well as all those yachtsmen. Few, perhaps, quite as quixotic as Walter. Could be the effect of the salty air combined with the clotted cream......
Another Yorkshire seaside town with artistic connections is Scarborough. A cross-country drive into North Yorkshire via Bridlington and Filey brings a motoring party to this Victorian pleasure site. Like many such towns of its era it boasts an esplanade, a pier and a grand hotel as well as two beaches complete with promenades. It also has two theatres and a link with the playwright Alan Ayckbourn, whose plays were first performed in the theatre which is named after him - The Theatre in the Round. It was thus the citizens and holidaymakers of Scarborough that were first treated to such modern classics as Absurd Person Singular, The Norman Conquests, Absent Friends and Bedroom Farce . If the works passed the 'Scarborough test' they were ready for the rest of the world - in this way the people of Yorkshire were the literary and artistic arbiters of modern theatrical tastes and trends for where Ayckbourn has trod others have followed.
After such heady artistic pursuits, the traditional beach-side ice-cream experience was deferred for the farmgate produce of Mr Moos, where the challenge is the consumption of what seems to be the largest plateful of chocolate chip-vanilla ice-cream with cookie biscuit base this side of the Yorskhire Dales.
Another county with plenty of agricultural produce is, of course, Devon which is where we ventured post Yorkshire. After a brief administrative stop-over in Kent (Garden of England where the strawberries are boasted of as the best in the UK if not Europe) involving government agencies and paperwork, the caravan rolled southwestwards via the old road connecting South East to South West known to all familiar to it as the A303. Almost a parallel route to that of the Western M4, the traveller passes through counties such as Hampshire, Wiltshire and Dorset before crossing into that deceptively large expanse of south-west countryside known as Somerset. Villages with evocative names abound on this route, including that of Norton-sub-Hampden - for those with political interests it is the place from which Paddy Ashdown the politician (former Leader of the Liberal Democrats) and international civil servant (UN High Representative to Bosnia) takes his title - Lord Ashdown of Norton-sub-Hampden. By sheer chance, when we were sojourning in Devon, the eponymous Paddy A appeared on an edition of the Radio 4 Any Questions programme, which was broadcast from that same village. Once famed for being the only MP to be able to kill with his bare hands - a product of his training as a marine commando - the admirable Paddy still cuts a dash on the stage of public life, where he is noticeably reticent about giving any advice to his successors in the Liberal Democrats. He seems to have taken the advice first attributed to ex-President Harry Truman when counselling others after leaving high office in relation to their successors not to 'talk to the Captain or spit on the floor'. His closing speech to the Party Conference when he retired from the leadership was a masterclass of its kind, ending with the valedictory "and may God continue to hold you in the hollow of his hand". His is a class act in many ways which has developed in adversity as well as truimph since the day he inherited a party, over 20 years ago, that was close to bankrupt. Not that it gets any easier to be a Liberal Democrat when adherents often have to hold simultaneously to two completely contradictory beliefs - and are often hampered by this during election time....or at least are obliged to tell one story at one end of the country and another at the other.
A little like this post, the road eventually leads to Exeter - Devonian market town with a well-regarded University which this correspondent attended in what seems like the increasingly receding years of the late 1980s to early 90s. Follow it south from Exeter and onto what is known as the Devon Expressway which sweeps down the peninsula towards Plymouth, eventually arriving at Ivybridge and Lee Mill, home to my wife's daughter and her Devonian-born boyfriend. Which is how we ended up at Salcombe, for he lived in that fair seaside town which attracts the glamorous and the well-upholstered together with the surfers and boaters of all kinds, urban and sea-prone, townies and locals alike. All this as well as the delights of a visit to the newly revamped harbour area of Plymouth called the Barbican, where we sat and watched as the drama inherent in any activity involving a TV film crew unfolded before us - notwithstanding that what was being filmed rejoiced under the title Come Dine With Me - a day-time cooking show of the variety ubiquitous to the small screen, or idiot's lantern as they call it in some parts. Not far from where we sat, the spirit of Sir Walter Raleigh relives his famous game of bowls upon the Plymouth Hoe - scene of one of the most celebrated pieces of sang-froid of all history: the Spanish Armada was hoving into view carrying the invasion forces of England's rival power and the good sailor and hero of the hour (as the history has it) insisted on finishing his game of bowls before joining with, and ultimately defeating, the Spanish foe. The same chap who cast his coat down in front of his sovereign, Elizabeth I so as to save her dress from a puddle. A hero for history in a long line of naval heroes. Plymouth is an appropriate setting for all this drama - the port of Devonport providing the raw material of the naval power that enabled Brittannia to literally 'rule the waves' from Tudor times to the end of the Second World War. A panolpy of naval heroes echo down through the ages from Raleigh onwards including Nelson as well as all those yachtsmen. Few, perhaps, quite as quixotic as Walter. Could be the effect of the salty air combined with the clotted cream......
Saturday 9 August 2008
An Anniversary Outing
The end of July saw this correspondent and his wife celebrating a wedding anniversary on London's South Bank. Having investigated West End theatrical offerings we opted for the wider spaces and promenading opportunities provided in and around the National Theatre. One can sit and sample the delights of the passing parade - the comings and goings of late afternoon and early-evening Londoners together with the musical performances in the precints of the National Theatre make wonderful entertainment for theatre goers and promenaders alike. For all the past talk of architectural 'carbuncles', by heirs with airs, the South Bank is a space in the heart of London to be cherished - it is a space on a human scale and facilitates a democratic meeting point for strollers, culture vultures, city workers and artists alike. In a way, the play we saw echoed the theme of people, life and art.
The brilliant polymath playwright Michael Frayn's virtuoso portrait of the life of German theatrical impresario Max Reinhardt, Afterlife, was a joy. Set in Austria in the years leading up to the rise of the Nazis, it follows the career of one of the century's most flamboyant and contradictory theatrical luminaries. The play is a kind of literary dissertation on the themes of life, art, mortality and legacy as seen through the Miracle Plays which Rheinhardt staged at the Salzburg Festival. The premise of these plays had at its centre the figure of Everyman - the universal character beloved of artists from time immemorial to denote humanity in its entirety and in its particularity. Everyman has his time, as Shakespeare has it, 'to strut and fret his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more' and then has to account for his deeds on earth to the Almighty. Rheinhardt was much preoccupied with breaking down the barriers between what went on in everyday life and what went on on stage, and talked of the 'frontier' between art and life. Frayn brings these themes to life through devices such as blank and rhyming verse - the characters on stage suddenly burst into passages of poetry. The story of Rheinhardt's complicated artistic, personal and political life is told with wit, panache and verve but is also profound and serious in intent. In amongst the stage antics, clever theatrical jokes and visual allusions, the deeply philosophical message of the play is never far from the surface - time waits for no man and death comes whispering 'Everyman' to every man.
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