Britain fought on the wrong side of the first world war
Some readers may be wondering if there is anything going on in my life apart from the podcast. The answer, by and large, is no. Indeed, as if I wasn't already spending enough time behind a microphone, I've recently been working on a new project: a books podcast with our producer Tabby. This week we're recording an episode about Albert Camus's novel L'Étranger, a book I adored as a student. Preparing to re-read it for the first time in 20 years, I actually felt a little nervous. Would it prove as intense and profound as I remembered, or is it really just a book for miserable teenagers? One thing I found unexpectedly fascinating was the problem of translation. In the United States the book is known as The Stranger, but in Britain it's The Outsider. But neither quite captures the ambiguity of the French étranger. And then there's that famous first sentence: 'Aujourd'hui, maman est morte.' How do you translate that crucial word maman? 'Mother' is surely far too formal, but 'mummy' doesn't sound right at all. The recent Penguin translation by Sandra Smith – which is excellent, by the way – opts for 'my mother', but I think that's quite a departure from Camus's original. 'Mama', perhaps? But who uses 'mama' these days? Suggestions on a postcard, please.
Although my life sometimes feels like one recording after another, as if I'm podcasting's answer to Camus's Sisyphus, there has been a dramatic new development. We moved house a few weeks ago and have been forced to confront some harsh home truths. First, the number of boxes of unread books is a disgrace by any standards. Second, if my career as a historian doesn't work out, I could make a small fortune selling chargers for bits of electronic equipment that were last used when people cared about the millennium bug. And most importantly, the mystery of what happened to our money has at last been solved, since it's now clear that my wife spent it on glass jars. A dozen jars might seem reasonable, 20 a little excessive, 30 rather over the top. But 70? How many different kinds of rice can there be? And how could she genuinely believe that we'll find the time to decant each packet into its own jar, instead of piling them up to gather dust at the back of the cupboard, like normal people?
In some parallel universe a version of me is unpacking vast quantities of books. But I've been distracted by something much more exciting – the Herculean task of getting ready for our summer holiday. In many ways I enjoy this even more than the expedition itself. Each element of the build-up has become a time-honoured ritual, as on Cup Final morning in the mid-1980s. Every year I look forward to the purchase of a new shirt, almost identical to one I already own; the desperate hunt for last summer's sunglasses, bought at great expense but destined never to be seen again; and above all, the final touches to my spreadsheet, to eradicate any last trace of spontaneity or joy.
Fortunately, this particular holiday should be entirely joy-free, since we are recreating the last journey of Archduke Franz Ferdinand from Vienna down the Adriatic coast to Sarajevo in 1914. The whole enterprise will be haunted by regret, since the Archduke's murder meant he was never able to implement his dream of a federal United States of Greater Austria, stretching from Trento and Trieste to Lviv and Brasov. When I think what a tremendous country that would have been, I feel even more ashamed that we fought on the wrong side after his death. The chance to stand up to terrorism and finish off the French for good, and we blew it! Madness.
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The Herald Scotland
11 hours ago
- The Herald Scotland
Dougie MacLean's anthem causes Scots to start greetin' and drinkin'
This is one of these weeks when I must think carefully (reader's voice: 'That's a first!') about whether the Icon is the person or their most famous work. But there's more to illustrious songwriter Dougie MacLean than 'Caledonia', Scotland's unofficial national anthem. That said, he actually had Perthshire in particular in mind when he wrote the song as a homesick young man abroad. However, 'Perthshire's been everything I've ever had' would have had limited appeal. It's a song for the nation. 'Wester Hailes has been everything I've ever had' wouldn't have worked either. Not that Wester Hailes has been anything to Mr MacLean – no fault on either part – but his love of the land in Perthshire is very real. He lives and works where he grew up, even converting his old school and teacher's house in Butterstone, by Dunkeld, into a music studio and home. Dougie told punk rock fanzine Scottish Field in 2015: 'When the school closed in the 1970s it lay empty for a long, long time, then I was able to buy it. We also bought the old teacher's house, which my mum used to clean. We live in it now – it's really bizarre!' Born on 27 September 1954 in Dunblane, Dougie MacLean has described his childhood in Butterstone as 'idyllic'. His father's side of the family hailed from Mull, his mother's from around Taynuilt. Father, a gardener on a big estate, played the fiddle. Mother played the melodeon. Grandfather was a shepherd on the hills above Butterstone. When full of whisky, he'd sing old Gaelic songs with tears flooding down his face. 'We would say, 'What's wrong with Seanair [Gaelic for grandfather]?' MacLean told the National earlier this year. 'My mum would say, 'Oh, no, it's fine. He's just happy'.' HALL OR NOTHING THE kitchen table would then be pushed back, as mother and uncles produced their melodeons. By the time he was five, Dougie could play 'Morag of Dunvegan' on the harmonica. A year later, taken round village halls to hear Scottish country dance bands, he wanted to be a drummer: 'I used to sit up on stage beside the drummer with a pair of drumsticks and play along.' Soon, mandolin was added to his repertoire and, while at high school, he and buddy Ewan Sutherland (singing Corries songs) would play the Angus Hotel in Blairgowrie, earning £1 a night. With a few more pals, they formed a band called Puddock's Well, with Dougie on fiddle, the instrument for which he became best known in his early years. In 1976, while working as a gardener in Aberdeen, the 20-year-old was invited to play for the Tannahill Weavers – beginning in Germany the following day. After quickly consulting friends – 'Do it or you'll regret it for the rest of your life' – he gave up his job and flat and ended up, as he told Klof magazine, 'travelling all over Europe, sleeping in sleeping bags on people's floors and going through some real hard times'. Good times for folk, though, which was growing in popularity on yonder Continent. In the late 1970s, MacLean spent six months touring with Silly Wizard. Wanting to focus more on his own songwriting, he left the band, taking up an invitation from a friend living in Germany, the late Alan Roberts, to form a duo. (Image: PA) SICKENING TALENT AROUND this time, in just 10 minutes, he wrote 'Caledonia' while homesick on a beach in Brittany with a group of Irish buskers. It received its first airing at a concert in West Berlin and has since been embraced in Ireland, Norway, Denmark, all sorts of places, but mostly in Scotland, the homesickness capital of Europe. As MacLean has said: 'It's a magical thing when you put a bunch of words with a melody. When it works, it's really powerful.' It's been played during childbirth and in folk's dying moments. A commenter on the National's website called for it to be sung in schools as Americans do with the Star Spangled Banner. A version sung by Frankie Miller was used in a Tennent's Lager advert, which was quickly pulled for allegedly promoting a pro-independence message. It's since been watched by hundreds of thousands on yon YouTube. 'Caledonia' was written near the start of MacLean's stellar career, during which, while still in his early 20s, an English record company told him his music was 'banal, stupid and parochial'. This was at a time when cosmopolitan sophisticates Chas & Dave were all the rage. The insult led him to set up his own recording studio and label (Dunkeld Records), 'the best thing I ever did'. Musically, 'Caledonia' may have been the best song he ever did, but he also won plaudits internationally for 'The Gael', a dramatic and ominous version of which was used as a theme tune in 1992 film The Last of the Mohicans. READ MORE Rab McNeil: Get your Boots on, we're going shopping for unicorn hair gel Rab McNeil: No wonder the whole Scottish nation loves Nicola (no, not that one) Scottish Icons: William McGonagall - The poet who right bad verses wrote still floats some folk's vessel or boat Scottish Icons: There is a lot of tripe talked about haggis – so here's the truth BY ECK ANOTHER song, 'Holding Back', received a particularly emotional outing in 2013 when the late Alex Salmond presented MacLean with the BBC Radio 2 Folk Award for Lifetime Achievement for Contribution to Songwriting. It's a song about contentment: 'That's one of the great things about being an older musician – you can feel content with your place in the greater scheme of things.' Among other awards, in 2011 MacLean was conscripted as an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (OBE), a higher award than the Quite Good Order of the British Empire. In 2014, Till Tomorrow, recorded in collaboration with The Royal Scottish National Orchestra, revisited some well loved songs. In Perthshire, MacLean set up the Amber Festival, so that fans might visit the places that inspired his songs. This coming November, a revitalised Shades of Amber will light up life in the county. In April, Dougie returned to New York's Carnegie Hall for a special concert with celebrated Scottish musicians Julie Fowlis and Mànran, while last month saw him perform at The Reeling, Glasgow's summer celebration of traditional Scottish music, at Rouken Glen song, though. Here are some final words on 'Caledonia', from the man himself: 'People sing it at weddings, they sing it at funerals. It becomes a kind of tool that people use in their everyday life. Music is much more than just a commodity. When it's done right it's a tool in life's toolbox to keep you from getting depressed or for celebrating in your own home.'
Reuters
a day ago
- Reuters
Ziad Rahbani, Lebanese musical giant and sardonic critic, dead at 69
BEIRUT, July 26 (Reuters) - Ziad Rahbani, the Lebanese composer and musician who built a distinct Lebanese sound from Western and Arabic musical roots, and whose sardonic critique of the country's sectarian politics rang true to Lebanese across the divides, has died. He was 69. Rahbani was much-loved across Lebanon and his words remained relevant across generations, from those who grew up with him during the 1975-90 Civil War, to the post-war generation who have struggled to shake the war's legacy. He passed away at a hospital in Beirut on Saturday morning after a long illness, the hospital said.
The Herald Scotland
a day ago
- The Herald Scotland
‘First-class' producer at BBC Scotland and promoter of Gaelic dies
Died: July 18, 2005 Neil Fraser, who has died aged 86, was a former head of BBC Radio Scotland and a seminal figure in the evolution of Gaelic broadcasting. He was widely respected for the high production standards he brought to all his work and the sense of ambition he encouraged in young colleagues. The former controller of BBC Scotland and lifelong friend, Pat Chalmers, paid tribute to him as 'a first-class programme maker'. He said: 'Neil was high-minded in the best sort of way. He believed in giving audiences what he thought they needed, which was not always what they said they wanted.' A notable broadcasting legacy in this vein was an epic series of 30 programmes on Scotland's Music by John Purser, which traced its history from Bronze Age to the present day with recordings commissioned including reconstructions of early music and works by many little-known composers. It is difficult to imagine such an undertaking today. One of Fraser's first acts when he took over at BBC Radio Scotland in 1987 was to ban music from the airwaves before 10.30am in order to establish a more serious news and current affairs profile. When he resigned after five years, he said it had 'become more difficult telling people you are reducing their resources and manpower'. While capable of great charm and diplomacy, there was also a steely determination, to deliver outcomes which matched his high standards, particularly where Gaelic was concerned. He navigated successfully through BBC politics and lived most of his life in Glasgow, while retaining a deep affinity with the society from which he came. Neil Fraser was born in Lochboisdale, South Uist. His father, Alexander, was a teacher and the family of his mother, Ina (née Maclennan) ran the Post Office. They were a piping family and although Neil did not play, his love of the music stayed with him throughout his life. When Neil was five, the family moved to Skye when his father was headmaster of Staffin School. He was Dux of Portree High School in 1955 and proceeded to Glasgow University to study maths. This was Gilmorehill's golden age, famed for debaters and budding politicians as well as notable Gaels. Neil flourished in this environment, played shinty and became president of the SRC, though his academic career was less distinguished. Read more 'He never gave up': tributes to patriarch of Scottish undertakers | The Herald Tributes to countess who modernised royal Scottish castle | The Herald Tributes to 'Mr Stirling': journalist dedicated to his home town | The Herald He took employment as a maths teacher in Glasgow but quickly discovered it was not his calling. Fred Macaulay was head of [[Gaelic]] at the BBC and rescued Neil from the chalkface by offering him a job. In 1973, he became the BBC's first [[Gaelic]] TV producer, making programmes across the spectrum from current affairs to light entertainment. The production standards and journalism in the Gaelic current affairs output of that era were exceptional while the twee formats associated with early Gaelic song programmes were transformed, bringing in traditional musicians who had never been seen or heard on the BBC. Neil moved into the English language mainstream as head of current affairs in 1978. Again, these were days of ambitious programmes from Queen Margaret Drive, with some outstanding journalists and broadcasters. Neil's own award-winners as producer included The Glorious Effect about the history of the great Highland bagpipe, and The Pinch based on the recovery of the Stone of Destiny. In 1983, in succession to Fred Macaulay, he became head of Gaelic. Disparity of treatment compared with Welsh was glaring and Neil had the long-term vision of moving towards a dedicated channel. Pat Chalmers recalls him as 'very persuasive' about the expansion of Gaelic content and he had another friend at court in Alasdair Milne who became the BBC's Director General in 1982 but fell out with Mrs Thatcher and was gone within five years. BBC Radio nan Gaidheal, launched in 1985, is a lasting memorial to Neil's influence during that window of opportunity, giving the language the status of having its own national broadcasting service for the first time. His last BBC job was as head of Radio Scotland with the challenging task of keeping multiple audiences reasonably happy, while entirely satisfying none. Every change met with resistance while the massive bureaucracy amidst a climate of cutbacks, after Milne was succeeded by John Birt, was not to Neil's taste. He left in 1992. Neil had fought Gaelic's corner tenaciously and used his extensive political connections to build support. He helped cultivate a succession of Tory Secretaries of State for Scotland who for their own, sometimes very personal, reasons were well disposed towards Gaelic. In 1992, Malcolm Rifkind provided a transformational Gaelic TV Fund worth £9.5million, £21m in today's money. In 1997, I became the first Minister for [[Gaelic]] in the Scottish Office and one of my objectives was to initiate a process which would lead to a [[Gaelic]] channel. I turned to Neil whose report, setting out the rationale, proved a crucial mechanism in moving the concept forward, though arguments about how it would be funded dragged on for far too long. Neil continued to be involved in ensuring the ultimate delivery of BBC Alba. Neil Fraser (Image: Contributed) After leaving the BBC, he took on roles which included leading a Gaelic media course at Sabhal Mor Ostaig in Skye where he was greatly respected by students to whom he imparted unique experience and shared unfailing kindness and encouragement. He continued to make films for independent companies. One of these, about the folklorists John Lorne Campbell and Margaret Fay Shaw, led him to become a key member of the Canna Advisory Group which was dedicated to maintaining their priceless recordings. His love of piping was reflected through the John McFadyen Memorial Trust which he initiated along with Alasdair Milne and as a board member of the Silver Chanter in Dunvegan. In 1972, Neil married the distinguished singer, Anne Lorne Gillies. They parted in 1990. He is survived by their three children – Robbie, a film-maker; Rachel, a clinical psychologist; and Marsaili, who has worked for humanitarian NGOs at home and abroad; and by five grandchildren. BRIAN WILSON At The Herald, we carry obituaries of notable people from the worlds of business, politics, arts and sport but sometimes we miss people who have led extraordinary lives. That's where you come in. If you know someone who deserves an obituary, please consider telling us about their lives. Contact
