P's Memory--Once Upon a Childhood

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.

The following story was written by my friend P.  I met him in Fiji.  He is originally a Brit, but in a larger sense a dreamer so a drifter. He, has lived in many countries----Kenya, Mozambique, NZ, England, Malaysia, Fiji, Papau New Guinea, and the most recent, Sudan.  He has travelled in many more. I will not compare him to me, because I think he is content with his state.  I am sort of the same and yet -not content and restless.  As if I have not arrived home yet.

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.

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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’,…