f.v.robb

Nov

2022

Double Bass Tales : Mind that Gap!

So, you have a train to catch. You’re carrying your double bass in its semi-soft case and your musician’s stool, plus a backpack containing a music stand and personal belongings. As you’re not able to fit through the turnstiles you look for some official person to let you through the wide barrier. Your train is arriving on the platform. It’s a long one with many carriages, scheduled to wait for just 3 minutes at this station.

Since double basses obstruct passenger access in carriages, they must be stowed in the designated luggage or guard’s van, but these vans are usually locked, so someone must be found in a hurry to unlock it. You run along the crowded platform as best as you can with your ponderous load, scanning both ends for a station official. It’s difficult to guess at which end of the train the brake van might be coupled. Whistles blow, carriage doors begin to slam shut. Oh dear, where in the world is the man……..?

Phew! You just make it, just in the nick of time!

Now you need to secure the precious instrument to a pole, positioning it in such a way that it won’t fall over onto the rack of bikes or the stowed freight boxes the when the train sways around sharp corners. You wedge your bass stool firmly under the barred window. Finally! You’re now ready to find your pre-booked seat and for the remainder of the journey. That’s when it dawns on you that this waggon is not linked to the main body of the train and can’t be accessed from it. So you sit, resignedly, on the cold floor, waiting for the train’s next stop. That will be the cue to leap out, sprint along the station platform to reach your designated seat in the economy carriage much further down the train.

Please don’t keep asking: “Ever thought of taking up the flute?”

Nov

2022

Double basses and inquisitive toddlers

We are a family of double bass players. My husband, son, and my son-in-law all play it, so as a non-player myself, I have gleaned a fund of quirky observations about it from the sidelines.

Large and unwieldy, basses spend much of their down-time lying on one side, or propped up in a corner against a wall. To a small child this biggest instrument of the string family parked in the middle of a living room offers endless possibilities for explorative play. They love to propel it along the floor, twang its strings, or try to mount it as if it were a horse… One kid got the prize for imaginative endeavour by posting a miniature toy car through an ‘f’ hole.

The problem was its extraction. Initial time-consuming attempts, such as poking the slots with knitting needles, inserting magnets, coat hangers, or kebab skewers…all proved futile. At long last, three sturdy men manoeuvred the bass aloft, face down, and instructed to shake it gently in a synchronized manner from side to side, like sifting flour, while a brave soul with nimble fingers crouched on the floor beneath then directing operations. Eventually, after much puffing and panting, and not a few expletives, the offending toy was gingerly coaxed out.
Moral: Establish early ground rules!

Oct

2022

Elected Silence

Elected silence sing to me,
And beat upon my whorled ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.

So wrote G M Hopkins in his poem The Habit of Perfection. Choosing to live a life dominated by silence is not for everyone, and Hopkins himself chose to join the Jesuits rather than become a monk. Nowadays silence is often viewed as a “dead” time – it makes us feel awkward and compels us to fill it. Our church services are packed with noise – singing, readings, music, sermons. We say a lot to God but eschew the stillness that enables us to hear from Him. Rarely is there time set aside in our liturgies to wait on God through silence. Yet silence is important for it’s the special place where we can truly meet God in intimate and wordless communion.

Christ retreated into the wilderness to pray, to a silent place without worldly distractions where He could focus intensely on God’s presence. It is only when we are completely silent to the world around us that we may sense God reaching over to us and taking us by the hand. Achieving this level of quietness is like peeling an onion – the shedding of wayward thoughts layer by layer.

An elderly man was seen to enter a deserted church every afternoon. He would sit at the back for a long while, then leave without saying a word. On being asked if he was OK, he just pointed to the cross and said: “I look at Him, and He looks at me”. That silence was never empty, it was filled with the presence of God.

Oct

2022

The Kingdom and the prodigal

We are accustomed to think of the parables in the New Testament as simple stories for simple people, but Christ is a master story-teller, and within each of the parables there is a wealth of wisdom about finding the kingdom of God. The parable of the prodigal son is no exception.

Jesus’ listeners would have been familiar with the Old Testament story of Jacob and Esau, whereby Jacob is favoured by God, while Esau the elder brother to whom his father’s inheritance legally belonged, is rejected. The crowd listening to the parable would have been expecting a similar message of acceptance and rejection. However, in forgiving the contrite prodigal son the father does not reject the indignant elder brother, but instead reaffirms his fatherly love: “You are always with me, and everything I have is yours”. The father forgives both sons but commands them to live together in peace and brotherly harmony. Similarly, our heavenly Father who forgives us our sins commands us to show that same infinite love and mercy to one another. For it is only by being prodigal in love that we are truly marked as His children.

And another thing: As God’s chosen people Jews felt they had a major claim to God’s favour; but just as no father favours one child above another, God loves us all equally. In one sense we have all been chosen.

Sep

2022

Great expectations

“Well, isn’t this all very interesting!” said Jim Holmes, a freelance editor and publisher (www.greatwriting.org) in the USA, in response to my online query. “Have your story published – yes, why not? You definitely have the germ of a book there.” That was the beginning of the beginning.

Jim was emailing from Greenville, a town in South Carolina I had never heard of. He is a committed Christian who had spent some years in the UK and in Iraq. Given that I had come to the UK from Iran and that I am also a believer, clinched it for me. I had a light bulb moment which finally banished years of procrastination in writing anything about myself. How fortunate was I to have found the sympathetic ear of real-life publisher whose establishment was grandly called Great Writing!

As my writing and Jim’s editorial reviews progressed, I began to dream of visiting this fancy publishing house. In my mind’s eye I saw it as an imposing stone building, several storeys high, situated on the main thoroughfare, its façade graced by tall windows, its entrance glass-plated with a revolving door. Prospective authors carrying weighty manuscripts could be glimpsed coming and going and being greeted by a smart receptionist on the front desk. As the big chief, Mr Holmes’s office was the largest and airiest office on the top floor. I imagined him to be a tall gentleman with a noble brow and neatly parted silver hair.

Every writer needs an audience, and for me, a grandmother who had never written anything of note, my audience was Jim. Although all communication was online, Jim proved to be a good listener. That he also ended up becoming a hand-holder, sounding-board, editor, critic and computer pro, was something that neither of had initially envisaged. But we also recognised in each other a mutual love for Christ, a keen desire to serve the Father, and abiding interest in the written word. These things forged between us an alliance like no other.

Fast forward a couple of years: After my book was published, I finally made a trip over to Greenville to meet Jim. To my surprised amusement (and possibly his too!) Jim was neither tall nor silver-haired, though he is indeed a gentleman, and he does possess a noble brow. The grand publishing house of my imagination turned out to be a modest room over his garage. It’s the place where miracles of editing and publishing happen.

Post Categories