The first in an occasional series about the famous contralto

I’m writing this from the home of the most beautiful woman in the world, Hilary Scott, who is in another room sorting through letters and papers belonging to her Auntie Kath.

And that’s not just any old Auntie Kath, but probably the finest singer Britain has ever produced, and a bit of a stunner herself.

Hilary told me about her connection with Kathleen Ferrier some time ago, which, as a publisher, whetted my interest, with the result that I asked Hilary to write a book about her illustrious relation, hence the above mentioned sorting through.

The beautiful Kathleen and Hilary’s mother, Florence Wilson, first met at Blackburn High School in the 1920s and became close friends. So much so that Kathleen usually spent more time at the Wilson home than her own, which is where she met Florence’s brother Bert, who, at that time, was a handsome young pupil at Chorley Grammar School. There can be no doubt they were attracted to each other.

A fascinating little snippet that has come to light today is that after leaving Blackburn High Kath and Florence took part in a series of concert parties, which ironically had Florence doing a great deal of the singing, with Kath playing the piano – and of course she was at that time being trained as a classical pianist. As the future was to prove though she was a natural singer with a range and pitch that could, and does break your heart.

Let me quote you from Florence’s book, ‘Memories of Old Withnell Fold’ where she describes that “…other popular concerts held in the Reading Room [ part of Old Withnell Fold’s village hall] were given by Madame Annie Chadwick, a soprano singer of repute from Blackburn – and her pupils of whom I was one. Our solo pianist and accompanist for these concerts was none other Kathleen Ferrier, who at that time was making quite a name for herself as a pianist and broadcast from Manchester on several occasions…”

A few years later Kathleen was to marry Florence’s brother Bert, who by this time was working in a bank in Silloth, Cumberland.

More of this fascinating story to come.

Steve Newman

A Film by Ken Russell

Watching Ken Russell’s film about Delius with the most beautiful woman in the world the other weekend I was again amazed at its effectiveness at conveying a period - the 1930s - and of the composer, who was an enigma unto himself, and a complete mystery to the rest of us.

And I say that as a man who has written and directed a play about Delius, and his meeting with Elgar in 1934, but who nevertheless felt he’d only scratched the surface of one of England’s greatest composers, a composer who often denied his Englishness anyway, living outside the country all of his adult life, yet nonetheless sometimes considered himself a Yorkshireman but never a German, and he was both, but of wholly German parentage; and perhaps within that lies the mystery which his beautiful music adds to because it is itself a mystery in that it doesn’t seem to belong anywhere geographical, but everywhere emotionally - and emotion in music is an important but often dangerous thing.

The film, made for the BBC in 1968, is a small masterpiece that really does make you think you are in the claustrophobic Delius household, and sometimes within the claustrophobic mind of the composer who, because of his paralysis and blindness is now unable to compose, a condition the young Yorkshireman, Eric Fenby ( a charming man I had the honour to meet in the early 1990s), reads about in the press, which results in his travelling to France to try and help Delius with some unfinished scores.

And at the heart of this remarkable film is the tortuous journey that Fenby and Delius have to make before they discover not only trust, but a practical way in which they can work together that allows Delius to express himself and Fenby to get it all down. These scenes are the most moving in the whole film as Delius calls out the notation and for which instrument or groups of instruments the notation is for. And as the two men work, initially in a frenzy of misunderstanding ( Delius was taught German notation in Leipzig which confuses Fenby), which slowly becomes an understanding of intent, we begin to hear the music and watch as Delius hears it to in his head. It is great emotional cinema that matches the emotion of the music superbly well.

The performance of Max Adrian as Delius is remarkable, as are those of Maureen Pryor as his wife Jelka, and Christopher Gable as Fenby.

It was also good to see again the old bath-chair the BBC allowed me to use for my own play about Delius, a creaking old thing from the 1910s that had been gathering dust in the BBC props warehouse in Birmingham.

The film is based on Eric Fenby’s book Delius As I Knew Him, which I think is still available from Faber & Faber, with the video of the film available from BBC Films. Get it, it’s worth every minute.

Steve Newman

Beware the man who hath no music in his soul…

Listening to Ralph Vaughan Williams Serenade to Music first performed in the 1930s as a tribute to the conductor Sir Henry Wood, I am again struck by RVW’s complete openness as a human being, and by his generosity and humanity of spirit - to listen to his music is to listen to the Earth turning.

It is also to listen to the man himself bestriding the landscape in giant musical steps as if some great static construction has freed itself and is on the move; just listen to his 3rd Symphony, the ‘Pastoral’ (1921) to hear what I mean. This symphony - which is as much an ironic statement about the First World War as it is a musical description of the English countryside - was a watershed in RVW’s career, marking him out as a composer who was going to plough a very distinctive and idiosyncratic furrow, and by so doing create a body of work that is always fresh to the ear and to the heart (a vital element), which renews itself and the listener each and every time.

Ralph (pronounced ‘Rafe’) Vaughan Williams, the second son and youngest child of Arthur Charles Vaughan Williams and Margaret Susan Wedgwood, was born on the 12th of October 1872 in Down Ambney, in Gloucestershire, where his father was vicar.

But with Arthur’s sudden death in 1875 Ralph’s mother moved the family back to her sister’s home at Leith Hill Place in Surrey, which her father, Josiah Wedgwood III, had bought in 1845, and where the old man continued to live until his death in 1880.

And as the name Wedgwood suggests Ralph Vaughan Williams came from good patrician stock. On his father’s side the family was of Welsh extraction, with John Williams, Ralph’s great-grandfather, born in Job’s Well in Carmarthenshire in 1757. And as James Day writes, in his 1961 biography of Vaughan Williams, John Williams, after leaving Carmarthen Grammar School went “…to Jesus College, Oxford, before becoming a scholar of Wadham in 1774 and a fellow in 1780. He enjoyed a distinguished career at the bar – notably as a special pleader – becoming a Serjeant-at-law in 1794 and a King’s Serjeant ten years later. As a legal scholar he was famous mainly for his edition of Blackstone’s Commentaries and the Reports and Pleadings in the Court of King’s Bench in the Reign of Charles II, [with] his highly valued, shrewd and lucid notes and references adding greatly to the appeal and value of the latter book in particular.”

John Williams had three sons and three daughters (one of whom, Mary, married the sixth Earl of Buckingham), with Edward Vaughan Williams, RVW’s grandfather (the addition of the name ‘Vaughan’ came from Edward’s mother), born in Bayswater in 1797. He was educated at Winchester and Westminster before winning a scholarship to Trinity College, Cambridge in 1816, where, like his father before him, he studied law. After establishing himself as a lawyer he brought out a new edition of his father’s book, Note’s on Saunders’ Reports, which he followed with a treatise called On the Law of Executors and Administration which was published in 1832 and reprinted many times during Edward’s lifetime. In the year he became a judge,1847, he was also knighted and went on to become one of the most respected judges on the circuit.

Sir Edward Vaughan Williams married in 1828, and like his father had three sons and three daughters, with the earlier mentioned, Arthur Charles Vaughan Williams (RVW’s father), born in London in 1834. He was educated at Westminster and later at Christ Church, Oxford, where he obtained his BA in 1857. With a house already full of lawyers Arthur decided on a career in the church, and in 1860 was ordained deacon and sent to Bemerton, near Salisbury, where he served as a curate before becoming a fully-fledged vicar in 1865. He married the aforementioned Margaret Susan Wedgwood (who was also a niece of Charles Darwin) in February 1868, which takes us right back to the birth of RVW in 1872 and perhaps a larger understanding of the origins of his music - music that can, I feel, clearly be traced back to the Age of Enlightenment, and the newer, more caring, more liberal, and more tolerant - humanistic if you like - attitudes that his lawyer grandfather and great-grandfather brought to an almost moribund profession. Mix all of this together with the revolutionary theories of Charles Darwin (theories that must surely have permeated every corner of Leith Hill Place), plus the hugely influential creations of the Wedgwood family – and their own liberal attitudes to their workers - and you have an anvil of creativity, and not least care for your fellow human beings - that comes shining through every piece of music RVW wrote.

To Be Continued…

Check out the price of The Wasps CD: In North America. In the UK.

Yes, another new Placido recording, this time a collection of Neapolitan arias and songs (they mean the same thing, but sound so different).

Italia Ti Amo is on the DG label and, though I haven’t heard it yet, I trust the opinion of David Mellor, who has:

“The warmest of welcomes for Domingo’s other new CD, Italia Ti Amor, which is his first attempt at Neapolitan songs. It’s an unhackneyed collection — no Santa Lucia, for instance, which Domingo thinks should be left to pizzeria waiters — and he sings most beautifully, casting off the yoke of the years in these ardent love songs.”

This is a limited edition, so rush out to get it if it’s your cup of Frascati.

Check out the price. In North America. In the UK.