"Do the little things in life"

 

are words associated with the Welsh St David, or Dewi Sant as he is known in Wales. He lived around 462-512. St David is known for his simple life as well as teaching and preaching. His Saint's Day is 1 March and Wolfson celebrated with a Formal Dinner.Many sported fresh cut daffodils, the small kind now blooming right outside Morrison House, symbol of St David along with the Dove and the Leek!

There was a lovely Welsh blessing said by our friend Hugh Bevan. The food was delicious, especially the starter. I'm not sure what the saffron does to the Leeks but it was good (the Wolfson chef is in my book group so I need to talk with him as the food in Wolfson is always excellent.).

I sat with the Whitakers. Victor is 92 years old, a scientist who has lived with his wife in NYC and Cincinnati. His wife Margaret is a graduate of Newnham. I also talked with a Polish man Witold Tulasiewicz who told me fascinating stories about his father who was Poland's diplomat to UK before WWII. After the war he was appointed Ambassador to Turkey but did not wish to work for the Communists so he brought his family to UK where he headed up the agency responsible for Polish refugees. So Witold was raised in UK but does know Polish. He also told me about his recent visit to a city in France called Nancy with Polish influence.

The special treat was a Harp interlude. This young woman played such dulcet sounds, reminding Victor of Tennyson's "horns of Elfland faintly blowing"--a nice analogy.

It was a magical evening. And today, Saturday 3 March another great music event. I sat next to Shiora, a nine-year-old piano player. She loved the program. I wish I had a photo of her to share. All I have is this program.

Our Danish friend Susie sponsored a Tea Dance in Wolfson on Saturday afternoon. She leads the Ballroom Dancing Society in the College. And, the dancing included the Waltz, Jitterbug, and Rumba. Kevin and I just watched as all were so good, especially Susie. I wish I had taken my camera.

It rained on Sunday and Kevin and I walked wetly to St. Johns where we attended Evensong. Kevin's colleague Malcolm Guite spoke basing his words on Seamus Heaney's poem,

                          The Rain Stick

      Up-end the stick and what happens next

      Is a music that you never would have known

      To listen for. In a cactus stalk

      Downpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwash

      Come flowing through. You stand there like a pipe

      Being played by water, you shake it again lightly

      And diminuendo runs through all its scales

      Like a gutter stopping trickling. And now here comes

      A sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves,

      Then subtle little wets off grass and daisies;

      The glitter-drizzle, almost-breaths of air.

      Up-end the stick again. What happens next

       Is undiminished for having happened once,

      Twice, ten, and thousand times before.

      Who cares if all the music that transpires

      Is the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus?

      You are like a rich man entering heaven

      Through the ear of a raindrop. Listen now again.

Seamus Heaney

Malcolm demonstrated the music with a Rain Stick, similar to the music made by a dried gourd.

The Johns choristers in their red choir robes sang their hearts out.

Afterwards, we had a nice dinner at the Mitre and walked home in a drizzle. Cambridge needs rain.