Last published on May 22, 2014, I am publishing this again, since I just spoke with P. I will polish this blog and make it a little more formal. P and I are trying to do video series. This song came up....thought you would like to read it...
Originally published on June 9, 2012---I am republishing this story, for two reasons. The story was searched recently but more importantly, I had been humming the song mentioned here.
P's mom and her choir. Archiestown, around WWII. Music takes us back to our heart, our memories. Here is the link to the song in Elizabeth Schwartzkof's voice.
P, has taught me so much. I love his writing, simple and yet thought provoking. I have two very favorite memories of him. First, shortly after I met him we had our departmental end of the semester party, where I saw him stand up and dance to Pacific music. There was a flower garland around his neck. He danced casually with a gentle smile on his face. I was a lot more conscious than he was. He has his share of feeling uncomfortable and he often remains quiet in large groups. But that one memory of him, made me see the simplicity to his personality. The second one I have of him is when I visited him in NZ. I walked into the living room and he was sitting quietly on his living room listening to an opera. Just bathing in music.
I sat quietly on a chair on the side. When he opened his eyes, I asked him...
'So, what..."
'Just listening to good music he said.'
I think this following story reminded me of those two memories of him. Py, love of P's life, told me once, 'he is like a little boy you know.'
And I remembered that when we were in NZ and I had missed my ferry to Picton, he, very excitedly had said to me, We have some time and we should go to the large aquarium in Wellington. (if I remember clearly that is what it was).
And we went to see the largest squid ever captured. When I told Py about it, she had said, 'Oh it was he who wanted to see it, and used you as an excuse.'
I present this story here with his permission. The above picture is actually from his family album. He is not there in the pic, but his siblings are. He also sent me the music that goes with the story. I have not been able to upload it as an mp3 file, so am attaching a link to the youtube, here
At the end of the story is the translated version of the song. I hope the readers enjoy it as much as I did.
*********
It’s Good Friday – April 2012. Yesterday I bought a CD of a
singer I enjoyed. It had a number of tracks of opera, operetta and lieder. Today I played it for the first time. One
track gives me a huge shock and a memoir of thoughts flooded
my head and down to my heart. What is this tune– why do I recall it…with my
mother and a musical concert evening in
Archiestown in Morayshire, Scotland. It is possibly August 1945. I know it is
after the end of World War Two and … school holiday time. I am home after yet
another bruising term in boarding school.
Mum was always producing music plays and cajoling people
into taking part in them. We have lived in Archiestown for several years –
since 1940, I think.. and she is now well known in the village. Each day she goes
out on her black bike with a bag on the back. She is a trained nurse and
delivered most of the babies born here during the last four years. Some in
homes and some in the doctor’s surgery and one in the police station. I
remember that birth, as Mum talked about it. It happened in winter and the
woman could not get home so the baby was born in a police cell and stayed there
until the snow and ice had retreated and her husband arrived. Mum washed old
people, bandaged the children and got angry with the young boys who got beer
and cigarettes from soldiers who seemed to be everywhere.
We had prisoner of war camps near us - some with Germans and
some with Italians. They did not mix much. Local people hated the Germans –
dirty Krauts, they called them, but the Italians were seen differently. They
were allowed on farms and helped local people and repaired the roads.
Mum got to know a few of the Italian prisoners and she found
out that some could sing well and some could play the piano. I am sure the
Germans could do the same – but they were kept in camps, isolated from the
village, and only a few men were ever seen in town. Before long the Italian
singers and pianists were part of her concert party and when they were not
singing they helped to put up, and take down the scenery and move Mum’s
piano from our little cottage to the
village hall and then move it home again after the concerts.
There were many concerts and I learned about theatre by
watching how rehearsals were conducted and stage movements were used to
emphasize mood and emotion.
But this August concert was special. The war was now over
and the prisoners, both the German and
Italian prisoners were being given more
freedom and allowed to walk about the village during the day time. Mum planned
a special World War Two victory concert, as soldiers were coming home from the
war. Prisoners were to be sent back to Germany and Italy. Peace was here.
Mum is practicing for this concert. The song is called
“Don’t be cross” about a girl and a boy.
Mum spends hours rehearsing this song and she had a fine voice – I heard
someone call it – a dark soprano – don’t know what that meant, but that was it.
Someone at the local BBC in Glasgow said
it, I think. Mum loved operetta – Emmerich Kalman and Franz Lehar.
Mum spoke French and a little German – but I had heard her
say many times that she would never speak German until the war was over. She
practiced this song again, and again and I asked her what it meant - love… she said giving me a big smile.
Her concert were always good – I loved mum and all her music
too –her songs were beautiful. I used to
think she composed them herself. This
concert had all the village children in it, we were being Indians from India. .
We boys knew nothing about India, but we knew about Red Indians and we thought both were the same. Mum never told us the difference, as I think
she needed all the children she could
get for the concerts.
That night the song “don’t be cross “ was sung as a solo by
Mum and it made me cry with the light melody that was like a stream on a
mountain. At the end of the evening, for the last song – Mum asked for one
Italian, one German prisoner and one soldier guard from the camp and for all the local soldiers who had returned from the war to come on the
stage. I was then invited on the stage too with my brother and sister.
Mum spoke – she said she was born of a French mother, an
Austrian father, lived in England and
was also Scottish, ( which got a big laugh). She then said that it was a
time to be friends again and we should not be cross with one another any more.
She sang the song again and at the end there
was so much cheering and Mum sang it once more in German. I remember Mum
crying and crying. I thought she was never going to stop sobbing and her lovely
red dress got all wet from her eyes.
So. Back to me. The song is sung on the CD by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. I have attached it to this file
with the lyrics too. I hunted them out on Google I feel so lucky – after so
many years coming across this song and my memories.
Sei nicht bös’
-Don’t be cross (a song sung by my mother at concert in
Archiestown, after the
end of World War Two – August 1945 (I think)
Wo
sie war die Müllerin, Where there was a miller-maid,
Zog
es auch den Fischer hin, a fisher-boy was drawn there too.
Doch
sie lachte ihn nur aus, But she only laughed at him,
Denn
sie wollte hoch hinaus! She had her sights set higher than that!
Nachts,
da er zum Fischen geht, At
night, when he was going fishing,
Klopft
er leise an und fleht: he knocked lightly and implored:
Werde
mein und mach mir auf! Be mine, open up!
Doch
sie singt spöttisch drauf: But she sneeringly replied,
Sei
nicht bös’, es kann nicht sein, Don’t be cross, it cannot be;
Sei
nicht bös’, und schick dich drein, Don’t be cross, and send yourself away,
Sei
nicht bös’, und mach kein G’sicht, Don’t be cross, and don’t make a face,
B’hüt’
dich Gott, vergiss mein nicht. God keep you, forget me not.
Kann
nicht sein, It cannot be,
Schick
dich drein. send yourself away.
Mach
kein G’sicht… Don’t make a face…
Und
zu zog die Müllerin And so the miller-maid
In
die Welt mit stolzem Sinn. went off into the world with a proud mind.
Endlich
kommt sie wieder her, Finally she returned,
Aber
stolz ist sie nicht mehr. but she was no longer proud.
Fährt
nun nachts der Fischer aus, Now she went to the fisher-boy,
Ruft
sie bang zu ihm hinaus: and called out to him timidly:
Tröste
mich und komm zu mir! come and comfort me!
Doch
jetzt singt er zu ihr: But
this time he sang to her:
Sei nicht bös’,…
