The unlikeliest of settings

The days come; the days go, punctuated by the hospital visits, which are the filling between the sandwich of dog walks. Volunteer hospital driver, Dave, has never let me down, despite continuing sub-zero temperatures and all that the weather could throw at us, and I haven't missed a single radiotherapy session. Eleven down, four to go . . .

Walking each day in this temporarily transformed landscape - snow and ice, freezing fog and then hoar frost - provides a very welcome contrast to the strangeness of all the high-tech zapping in a windowless room, especially when everything is bathed in winter sunshine, as it was today.

This afternoon, I walked the Edinburgh Boy and his little Patterdale terrier chum, along the valley, across the wide fields that skirt the River Exe. It's a popular spot with serious dog walkers, that is, those who believe that dogs need to be able to run free and not simply clipped to a lead so that they can plod, in a desultory fashion, round the block. But, given the recent weather conditions, daily numbers are down, as it's a spot that you have to drive to. There are very few houses.

Today we had some of the fields to ourselves and the dogs ran themselves ragged. And then, quite suddenly, they stopped, stock still, and looked across the river at a large white house, half way up the hillside. And I stopped because I couldn't quite believe my ears. Floating down the hill from the house and across the river came, very loud and very clear, the unmistakeable opening notes of Bach's Goldberg Variations, played by the equally unmistakeable, Glenn Gould. The valley was drowning in the most glorious music.

It must be almost 50 years since I first heard Gould's 1955 recording of Bach's sublime masterpiece. It sent a shiver down my spine then and today, standing in the unlikely setting of the icy river bank, it worked its magic again. It reminded me of that moment in Amadeus when Salieri recalls his feelings on hearing Mozart's music:

'Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing. It seemed to me I was hearing the voice of God . . .'

Sheer genius or divine inspiration. Who knows? All I can say is that I was rooted to the spot, lost in wonder.

Comments

[colleen]

Sublime.

Counting down the days with you

[Shelley]

Sounds beautiful. What nice thing can you do for faithful and heroic Dave? He sounds like a gift.

[wendy robertson]

This seems to me like a present from the universe to a beloved woman walking her dogs on a sublime winter morning.w

[Sally]

I agree with Wendy; it was a gift to buoy you up in your travails. How fantastic. For some reason Powell and Pressburger's film, I Know Where I'm Going comes to mind...maybe your writing of the dogs and the landscape evoked that. Thanks for sharing the Gould clip.

[60 Going On 16]

Colleen: thank you so much for accompanying me on the journey. Am loving your Advent blog-calendar, by the way.

Shelley: yes, my family and I have something in mind for Dave but cannot say what it is in case he is reading this!

Wendy: it did, indeed feel like a gift. The music (a different piece) was there again later in the week but someone had joined me on the walk and talked all the way through it. Didn't even notice . . .

Sally: thank you! I haven't seen that film for many years so am going to order it from my film club immediately. Glad you enjoyed Gould . . .

[Dancing Beastie]

What a moment. Sublime is indeed the word. It is interesting to hear this version, as I know and cherish Gould's later recording. As you probably know, the later one is much slower, more introspective. I wonder which Bach would have preferred.

I remember once, in my impoverished and romantic youth (!), throwing open the casement windows of a cheap and grubby pensione in Rome and hearing an operatic aria soaring over the rooftops from a neighbouring apartment, as white doves cooed and fluttered between the buildings. Such moments are gifts.