I was taught this song during Music Class at Crescent Girls School during the late 1950s.
On 23 December last year came three visitors to grace our home. What a soothing finale for 2018, for Ash and spouse. Two of them, Mr Yuwrajh Durgude and Mr Charles Beale came from New York via Singapore just to "catch up with the Buchanans". We last met Yuwrajh in May last year ........
............ but we had not seen Charlie for nearly ten years. What a grand reunion for these two youngsters from Generation X and the septuagenarians from the post-War baby boomers.
Yuwrajh and Charlie excelled themselves as guests. They not only belanja us for breakfasts and lunches but they also did the washing up!
From New York I only requested one Calvin and Hobbes but they brought me four.
The scarf, another gift from Mexico City makes a nice wrapper for me and for my C&H.
By the way, I've read them all and all the rest of the C&H issues. Any more ... please?
They had an odd Christmas with us when we went for a walk at Bukit Ampang
Lost at Bukit Ampang on Christmas Day.
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I sent a local guide to look for them.
Had to give the guide a bag of peanuts for doing a good job.
And of course we must have that 'selfie' though the spouse did look a bit lost trying to understand the technology of the Smart Phone.
Yuwrajh and Charlie, do come back. Your room is waiting for you, here in KL and in Leicester.
For us, in this December good things came twice.
Two old friends who have lost touch for over 30 years, two boys from my teaching days of 1975-1977, met on the 23rd. I watched and listened to them exchanging tales and experiences from their
last few decades and I just felt like the most privileged teacher on this planet.
Yuwrajh and Din (and friends) forty years ago.
Din, Yuwrajh, Charlie - bless you all and your cotton socks. Sob, sob!
Here's another song from my colonial style education days. Very, very apt.
What have I been up to since arriving in the spouse's kampung 10 days ago?
It has been a leisurely and peaceful stroll, without (well, not as much as in KL) a care - an absolute lenggang kangkung! The spouse had a nasty cough and cold for the last 5 days but he's picking up sans any medication, just a good dose of sleep and rest. As people in Malaysia like to put it - 'no sweat'- literally and figuratively.
This photograph shows the reflection of my refuge on the outside world at 5 am.
I took this photograph just an hour ago, at 5 am. The rest of Leicester is still asleep but AsH treasures such solitary moments.
So, what have I been up to this winter?
1. I gave myself a present - a beautifully embroidered picture of clouds, greenery, apple trees in Spring and the top of a stone wall - sewn by our best friend and master embroiderer Jack Marlowe. Jack is almost 80 and despite his arthriticky fingers, he perseveres with his embroidery and gardening and spoiling his four cats Allegra, Gingerlation, Ichabod and Schtanley.
And, talking about cats - I miss our three cats very, very much - they define our raison d'etre in Kuala Lumpur.
Rusty - splendour in the grass.
Socks - the reluctant researcher
Comot loves to take a nap on the printer.
Comot - tired out after helping me with my printing.
2. Indulging Myself.
My self-indulgent Comestible Corner.
3. Feeding my mind as well, on my cosy couch.
Book 1: Hundreds of programmes, but less than ten are worth watching. My latest fad is gratifying myself with old koboi programmes like The High Chaparral, Gunsmoke, Alias Smith and Jones and Star Trek. Wottalife!!
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Book 2: "Ziauddin Sardar was born in Pakistan and grew up in Hackney. A writer, broadcaster and cultural critic, he is one of the world's foremost Muslim intellectuals and author of more than fifty books on Islam, science and contemporary culture, including the highly acclaimed Desperately Seeking Paradise."
I've got only as far as Page 91 but here's an excerpt from one of the most touching parts of the book (Page 39-40).
A select group called on Abu Talib again. How could he allow his nephew to curse their gods, insult their religion, mock their way of life, and accuse their forefathers of error? Abu Talib was left in no doubt: "Shut your nephew up or we will." We now know that the relationship between Abu Talib and his nephew is crucial to the success of his mission and yet curiously paradoxical at the same time. Everything we know about it indicates a warm bond of affection. In accordance with the custom of his clan, Abu Talib took Muhammad in as a seven-year-old orphan. He raised and nurtured the boy, taught him the rudiments of trade and commerce, and exposed him to the wider world by taking him on trading expeditions. It is thanks to his uncle that Muhammad secured his place in Meccan society. ...........He summoned his nephew. "Do not put a burden on me greater than I can bear,' he told Muhammad.. 'Spare me and spare yourself.' Muhammad feared he was about to lose his uncle's protection. With tears in his eyes, he replied: 'By God if they put the sun in my right hand and the moon on my left on condition that I abandon this course, I would not abandon it until God has made me victorious or I perish.' As he turned away from his uncle, Abu Talib called Muhammad back: 'Go and say what you please, for by God I will never give you up on any account.' Abu Talib was not declaring himself a convert. He was a fond uncle accepting the sincerity of his nephew's cry of conscience, no matter how troublesome or disconcerting that might be to the rest of society. And what is the paradox? What Muhammad preached sought to overturn, indeed to replace entirely the ethos and conventions of tribal solidarity. Yet it was this very principle extended and guaranteed by Abu Talib that secured Muhammad's personal safety and hence his ability to continue his mission. It is a paradox of human dynamics, of how the progress of new ideas often rests on the survival of old ways. ******************************
Book 3
Yesterday (Tuesday) I made my usual foray into Leicester Animal Rescue (LAR) my favourite charity shop/shopping mall. I noticed this book "The Making of Britain - The Middle Ages" in a box marked '50p' just outside the shop. As I flicked through the pages, I came across page 24 which had the illustrations 'Medieval Islamic scholars at work in a library' and most fascinating of all 'A page from an Arabic translation of Euclid''! It was worth 50p and more.
I took it home, skimmed through the contents, and discovered more.
An eleventh century map of the world. (from page 8). In this map, the Mediterranean is the centre of the land mass and Jerusalem as the çentre of creation'.
This extract from page 9-10 elaborates on this - and provides an interesting facet about the First Crusade:
Intellectually, this view of the world linked medieval scholars to what they had read of classical antiquity, and to the world of St Paul and St Augustine. At the same time it shows us how, to them, Christendom seemed hemmed in by heretics and infidels. It makes us realise why, when Pope Urban II in 1095 called for volunteers from western Europe to go to the help of Christians in the East, it was interpreted as a call to liberate Jerusalem from the clutches of Islam. Yet the odd fact is that when the First Crusade set out, Jerusalem had been in the hands of the Moslems for over four hundred years ......... Crusading zeal for the expulsion of the infidel was something quite new in the eleventh century and it was profoundly shocking to native Christians and Moslems of the Near East who for generations had learned to live together in mutual respect.
Alas, history has a way of repeating itself. And who controls Jerusalem today?
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But with all my blessings : with my cats, my books and food on the table and all my home comforts. I cannot obliterate the sufferings of so many in the Middle East and especially in Palestine.
The following image and extracts are from Mondoweiss 13 December.
Since my last posting, about dear Frank Moule - among others - I've been thinking and recalling the great friendship between the Moules and the Buchanans. When you reach our age, the heart and mind tend to look back, to good times, to precious friends and loving friendships.
When Frank passed away in 2002, Iain wrote and read the obituary in memory of a former student who became a great friend. (see below) I want this to go on the ether because it encapsulates the achievement and determination of a brave and stubborn working class Leicester man - who against all odds made his 70 years on earth so useful and fulfilling. Iain and I often wondered if we could have achieved what Frank had : to embark on a university education in one's mid-40s with a wife and family to look after as well. No, we didn't think we could.
But as we well know, he could not have done it without the support, love and forbearance of Dorothy. His endearing and enduring Dot knew that Frank would not stop with his first degree, for he went on to do a part-time Master's Degree at Warwick University, which he completed at the age of 65.
It had to be a trio because the other one that could have made it a quartet was in Singapore.
This is for you Frank - and Dot - once again with all our love. And here is that obituary, for all
to see.
I hope you don't mind, Dot, just one little lecture. It's the only chance I'll get to give a lecture about Frank - and I'm sure that Frank would approve. I've known Frank, and through him the family, for twenty-five years - long enough to get a fairly rounded picture of the man. But it is in the nature of Frank, and me, and our friendship, that we concentrated a lot on books and learning and things intellectual. It is in this I got to know Frank best, and it is with this in mind that I'd like to say a few words. When I first met Frank, as his lecturer, 25 years ago, the thing I noticed most about him was that he was interested in the things he was studying - passionately, profoundly interested. More than that, he saw how, in knowledge, and in the real world around him, everything connected. Frank saw, in a way many of his lecturers and professors pretended not to see, how you just couldn't really separate knowledge into economics, and history, and politics and all the other boxes. When Frank thought through a problem, he brought in a wide range of subjects to help him. In other words, he grasped the essence of learning more fully, and more usefully, than most students could ever hope to. When I first met this middle-aged house painter, this was my strongest impression. But Frank still had a long way to go, and over the next 25 years it was my privilege to share large parts of his journey. And what a journey it was. There could, in the entire history of the world, be only a handful of house painters who had gained two University degrees and written a large book of memoirs. Frank was one of them. And through all this, Dot was there to give him support, and three wonderful children grew up and flowered in ways that made Frank feel very,very proud. Here, in Frank's family - in the way he so scrupulously provided for them, and in the way he inspired his children - here lies much of Frank's legacy. But today, and especially today, I want to go beyond this : I want to say a few words about what I saw, however imperfectly, as the spirit of the man. Frank was not a religious man in the ordinary sense. But Frank was, in important ways, a very spiritual man. His demeanour didn't immediately suggest this : a painter and decorator for over thirty years, a sober, straight-talking man, a man who didn't warm easily to romance and frivolity, a man expert in many things like fiscal economics. But in his own special way, Frank worshipped the same wonder of creation that the more religious amongst us would claim to worship. For Frank was truly fascinated by the world around him : he was always, wonderfully, awake to the world and its complexities, he was always interested in a way most people are too lazy to be, and at the same time he was always aware of his very own human ignorance, of how little he knew, of how endless knowledge and learning really are. Frank was the most frustrating of students - he always wanted more than mere lecturers and professors could give him, and he always saw through the tricks that academics used against people like him, people who really inquire, who really want to learn. True, Frank was so excited with the world he was discovering through his learning, so, so, fascinated, that it was sometimes hard to get a word in edgeways. But Frank only wanted to share what he'd newly learned, to have it confirmed, to debate it, and to learn still more. Frank never used his knowledge as a kind of one-upsmanship, as a way of putting people down. He was far too honourable a man for that. No, most of all, Frank wanted to teach, to share, to uplift ......... and in that, maybe, he was a better man than most academics. But what if Frank had not had to go to work at 14 with no school qualifications? What if he'd started University at the age most people start University? Well, he would certainly have become a luminary of some sort in the academic or political world, and he would have gone a long way with it. But would he have kept alive the spirit, the drive that was in him? I'm not sure that he would. It was Frank's spirit that drove him to go beyond the building sites and the semi-detached homes and transform his life in the way that he did. But it was, in part, the adversity he faced that made his spirit even stronger. And this is a big part of Frank's triumph, a big part of his legacy : he proved that a shaky start in life is no excuse for surrendering to mediocrity, no excuse for not being wide awake to the world around you, wanting to understand how it works, wanting to make it better. But in this long and busy journey Frank was taking, he was never alone. There were friends and teachers to inspire him. And there were also those closer to home. Only rarely did we get a glimpse into Frank's most heart-felt emotions. But two glimpses, for me, are unforgettable. When Frank tells his life story, he records how, for many years, he would go to work with his tools packed in an old handbag that had once belonged to his mother. I can only imagine the tender feelings, the love, that made him do that. And then, some half a century later, we are there with Frank in the flesh, in hospital, as his journey is coming to a close, and Frank says: " I do appreciate all these people coming to see me, but, you know, all I really want is to have Dorothy here, and to hold her hand. " In other words, Frank's achievements - as a union man, as an academic, as an author - were never solitary achievements. The family was always in Frank's mind, and always close at hand. It was a collective endeavour, and Frank always knew that. So Frank, that's my lecture. And now I'd like to give the last word to my pillar of support - to my own wife, Maznoor, from Malaysia. This is Maznoor's own special message. " When, in 1984, I came to study and live in Leicester, Frank was the first of the few who did not talk down to me, talk at me, talk through me, or ignore me. He was, and he remains, like Dorothy, my first and best friend. And so I wish to say to him today ........ Goodnight, me duck ..... 'Goodnight sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' "
It has been 13 years Frank. We both still miss you.
Tonight AsH is a very relieved and happy (adopted) 'Daadi' (or grandmother in Urdu) - and so is 'Daada'!
On 5 April, Yasir, her Baba ( Dad) sent us this video of Wania's "first ever steps on her own"- in the words of the proud father. We were just as delighted and I must admit I must have played that video 6 to 7 times.
In Leicester, all our friends are close to our age - that is, OLD! - and so knowing Yasir, Raffia and Wania is such a joy. We have known Yasir for the past ten years and when he got married about three and a half years ago to his gentle and beautiful Raffia ......
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.........we were delighted as we reckoned it was time that this bachelor settled down. They were blessed when Wania came into their life in November 2012. She was such a bright, happy, and playful child and we were soon adopted as Wania's Daada and Daadi.. Whenever we got back to Leicester, we would visit them quite often, chiefly to have a bit of fun with Wania, and to enjoy Raffia's cooking. Her chapati, chicken karai, briyani, and raita with chili, cucumber, tomato and chopped onion - they are just supercalifragilisticaspialidocious!!! - in fact everything she cooks is fabulous. Lucky Yasir .... and lucky Auntie and Uncle!
Then on 17 April - DISASTER! Wania had a bad fall - and her leg had to be put in plaster. Yasir and Raffia had very little sleep for 3 days because she was in such pain. To make it worse, as a matter of routine, the Hospital arranged for a Social Worker to visit them in their house. They were desperately worried - not knowing the why, what and wherefores - and fearing the very worst ... that they would be blamed for Wania's injury. Over here we were worried too, trying to think how best we could be of help from this distance. Because these three are all "alone" in Leicester Iain sent them a letter of support - in the form of a testimonial from a long term friend, uncle, and 'local' resident.
At 6pm today, Yasir called to give us the good news. The Social Worker had made her visit. She was very happy with the situation, closed the case, and offered Yasir, Raffia, and Wania whatever help they might need. Yasir and Raffia can now relax and enjoy the Spring .....although poor Wania is still grounded.
The last line in the first paragraph of Uncle's letter says "we have watched them begin their family and their life together in their new homeland". For Raffia to obtain her Visa for Indefinite Stay in her new homeland she had to :
1. Pass an English Language Test which costs GBP250.
2. Pass a Life in UK Test. It involved Rafia having to answer questions about the types of churches, names of British composers, pop musicians, football clubs, - and a lot of history, geography, politics, economy and everything else which even the native Brits would be hard pushed to answer. (In fact, there were numerous questions even a retired English university lecturer couldn't answer!) Raffia had to take this test 5 times and each time cost them GBP50.
And what's more - to insert the Visa into her Pakistani Passport they had to pay GBP1450. And should Raffia apply for a British Passport, they would have to set aside GBP975.
This couple did not take advantage of the benefits that they were eligible for when Wania was born. Yasir works very, very hard - sometimes 7 days a week and he and Raffia are so grateful that their little family will be safe and sound in the UK, a country that is not ridden with violence, political insecurity, bombs - and, now and then a drone attack from President Obama's country.
The Happy Family in March last year.
Wania with her left leg in plaster - just 3 hours ago.
Salam and good night to all three of you from Uncle and Auntie. Here's a song for Wania so she won't keep her parents awake tonight.
But this I know for certain that you'll come back again, that you'll come back again.And even as I promised, you'll find me waiting then,you'll find me waiting then.
Jack Marlowe is the epitome of a fine English gentleman. But more than this, he is devilishly witty, erudite and a loving warm-hearted friend.
You can't pin him down. At times he's urbane and learned. Sometimes he's cheeky and full of tricks. Most of the time he has that rogueish twinkle in his eyes!
Jack is a prolific and creative embroiderer and there have been several exhibitions of his work in Italy. Above is a picture of "the Fireworks", the embroidery, not the man with his back to you.
And here is the garden that Jack 'built'.
For he is also a landscape gardener who can reel off the botanical names of all his plants and leaves you stunned. But he has his mad moments as can be seen from his garden hat.
Like us, Jack loves cats. He used to have eight of them and now only Mab is left. He's seen below with Claude The Adored who sadly died a few months ago.
Jack Marlowe does not adopt sweet cuddly kittens, which most people prefer. For he will take into his home and his heart the abandoned, unwanted and older cats that nobody wants. Jack is special that way.
Before we knew Jack, we always thought that opera was just music sung by screeching fat ladies for the snobs and the elites. He took us under his wings and taught us to listen to the human voice in opera - the voice as a musical instrument - to appreciate its timbre, tone, pitch and articulation. Jack, do you remember listening to this on those winter evenings (and the umpteen mugs of tea) at No. 10, Oxford Avenue?
We know you're not feeling too well right now - perhaps in need of manure? This posting is just to let you know how much we love you - The Adored. I cannot say enough to thank you for what you have been to us - Our Irrepressible Optimist and dear friend.
P.S. All these photographs come by courtesy of Lely, your little tropical flower from Singapore.
And here's one for the road. And as you always say when we take leave: ANON.
I met the Ancient Mariner just once - about 1 1/2 years ago at the Press Club. In that smoke filled room I remembered a man with a gentle face and a twinkle in his eyes - just sitting and listening and smiling. I go into his blog very frequently. He writes like he looks - serious, precise in his words and phrases; at times angry but non-judgemental. He was a concerned and thinking blogger. To me he belongs to that rare breed - the Malay Gentleman.
He was just a year younger than me. At my age we begin to notice our peers departing this blessed earth. This is my third farewell tribute since we got back. May Allah bless him on his journey and to grant his wife and family the strength to carry on.
Most nights before we switch off the lights, Iain would say to me, "See you tomorrow, love." There was one night when I just cried and asked, "What if I don't see you tomorrow?"
We must always keep this question in mind in our relationships with our parents, our spouses and children and sibling and friends.
I am tired of talking to you on the phone and 'chatting' on Yahoo Messenger.
Yes, you are still as handsome as ever and yes, still as macho as ever.
We really, really hope you can make it to KL when we're back. Then we all (and your new friend Iain) could go "walking through the windy park, and take a drive along the beach", or see the stars at Jurong Hill.
I shall make sure you will not cheat at Gin Rummy, this time.
1977 was a good year!!!
In those days I made you stand on the chair as punishment because you were such a pest. Today, this will cause you more agony.
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