Home
Apr 15
2020
0
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
‘Use it or lose’ it is the key message we receive about keeping our brain on top form. So how will these weeks of screen-based experience affect our neuronal circuits? We are social animals and yet now, for the most part, are carrying out both family and work engagements online. Well, thank heaven, as even five years ago I don’t suppose we would have had the technology to keep companies and teams working together on projects in quite the efficient way that they can today. And yet it is just not the same thing, is it?
A friend of mine who lives alone wrote poignantly this week “it aches having no touch of human flesh” and that is the crux isn’t it. Touch is a basic human need. Babies who do not receive loving touch can die, so without it we can wither. In many homes across the world isolated people are aching for human contact beyond the screen and there are weeks of loneliness stretching ahead of them. There’s a silence of battling along through the longing.
And I wonder what it is doing to children’s brains, not to interact with their friends and peer group in the real world? The tussle of the playground and classroom are where we build our identities and come to understand why we get along with one group of friends and not with another. We then build our close networks of support – tribes, or however you like to describe them. Chatting online to friends is simply not the same as the rough and tumble of school life, especially as young children are not always adept at phone conversation.
Teenage years are when the brain goes through radical change, trimming away at neural pathways that are no longer needed and building new ones, as new information and events occur in the young person’s life. For girls particularly, the rich chatter of girlfriends is key to building a sense of self and also of support. It’s a time to share experiences of growing up, first bras, first periods, confidences, fears and excitements. Social media, as we have learnt, can be both wonderful and terrible, a great source of support and fellowship but also a hell of bitchiness and vitriol. How much harder to navigate this when one is not actually seeing one’s close friends in the flesh but sitting alone in a room, isolated. However much one might receive love from parents, it is not the same thing as that camaraderie of friends.
The brain has plasticity, which means it physically changes according to the tasks we give it. It is well known that London black cab drivers have a larger network of neurons around the area for spatial awareness. But should they change career, so their brain will adapt and change, as all our brains do.
So what will these weeks of screen do to developing brains, I wonder? We already hear of the tendency for teenage boys to isolate themselves in their rooms to play endless screen-based games. In Japan this phenomenon is known as hikikomori and over half a million young people, boys in particular, have been identified as shunning social contact. Studies in Japan, South Korea and Spain have found a link with internet addiction. This kind of pattern could too easily develop as habit in many teenage boys across the world now, as sports and other companionable activities are closed to them. Making boundaries around screen time will become all the more important.
We have been reading the neuroscientist Professor Susan Greenfield’s essay “You and Me: The Neuroscience of Identity” published by Notting Hill Editions, in which she investigates what happens in the brain as we build a sense of identity. She is interested in consciousness and how much develops unconsciously from our environment but she also describes her observations on how screen-based activities shape our brains, just as any other activity does so, but potentially differently in the two-dimensional world.
In the context of Coronavirus, for example, if young people spend six hours a day in home-schooling compared to face-to-face school learning, how might that alter the way the brain adapts to the information it receives? The majority of information enters us through our five senses and, in a classroom, a child is hearing other people, sensing their physical presence, listening to a teacher impart knowledge, asking and answering questions, feeling their body on a chair, perhaps exchanging glances or smiles with others in the room, maybe tasting a glass of water and I suspect we can all remember a sense of the smell of the schoolroom? In my case I can remember the sounds of the playground, echoing hallways, teachers’ whistles, the ghastliness of Bronco toilet paper and an all-pervasive smell of over-boiled cabbage! Screen-based learning is better than nothing but certainly is not the same holistic experience, which I would prefer any day, cabbage and all.
As a business trainer I know that everyone in a room gained so much from the live interaction of a workshop environment, information shared by me but also knowledge and experience shared one to another, quite often in the form of jokes or amusing stories. So much learning was gained in the room, and there are plenty of studies to demonstrate that the more senses that are used in education the better the memory of that information.
But the other problem about screen-based activities is that there can be objectification, particularly in games where so often the violence implicit within the game would be totally unacceptable in real life. Yet because it is on screen there is a detachment from empathy and a focus on the often brutal and cold result of winning, activating the dopamine and serotonin systems that also play a part in addictive behaviours. The fast pace of these games and activities could be a reason for an increase in Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) as the young brain is exposed so frequently to a world of fast action-reaction. The kind of books my generation read as children are now regarded as far too slow and boring!
Unlike in real life, these games do not have a consequence in the real world, so it is easier to detach from any sense of reality. A study of 1400 college students in the USA a few years ago showed a decline in empathy over the last thirty years, with a particularly sharp drop in the last decade. Studies have not so far showed any direct causal link but it doesn’t take a lot to realise that two-dimensional screen time will inevitably be rewiring the brains of our young and it is wise to keep an eye on how they develop their social skills in the real world.
This is not in any way intended as any kind of rejection of technology. It is absolutely marvellous – within boundaries. I have been using Zoom for meetings and it works very well, though I am aware that for those who are shy or awkward it can make people feel ‘on the spot’ in a way that sitting around a meeting table does not. Yes, many working people will continue to work remotely after this is over but I also know many others who directly miss the creativity and shared problem-solving that you experience when you are in the same office as team members, colleagues and clients.
FaceTime and Skype are marvellous inventions to keep families who are separate in touch and see the faces of children and grandchildren but I long to be in the room with those grandchildren and be able to giggle with them and hug them again. I have two friends who have recently become grandmothers and are aching to hold their new grandchildren. Then there are other grandparents I know who simply can’t manage the technology and so miss out. And this is not to mention those having babies in these circumstances who may not be able to have husbands or partners with them. Nor the heart-breaking end of those dying in hospital or care homes without the comfort of a loving hand.
And it isn’t just relationships. Other factors feed our minds and souls. Theatres, movies, concerts are cancelled. And so again, the technology comes up with brilliant methods to screen live performances of National Theatre plays, Met operas, classical and pop concerts. It is marvellous … and yet it is just not the same as being there.
As Darwin pointed out, as a species we survive by adapting. And adapting we are. I thank God for the techie brains that can create and develop this amazing software that keeps us in touch and keeps us learning. I also thank God that our brains can adapt with care, thought and compassion in this current situation as I see and experience an inspiring number of acts of kindness and consideration. Under the surface of our courage there is fear, pain and longing and this, also, will be building patterns of neural circuitry. We are complex creatures stirred by thought, spirituality and emotion. All can be a source of comfort. So let’s embrace technology but at the same time remember that our human links to others are precious and essential to our wellbeing.
Just as our brains are now adapting to screen-based communication, we shall need to consciously reboot them back into face-to-face contact once this pandemic is over. And, just like if we don’t speak French for some time we get rusty, this may take more focused effort both for we adults and for our young. But how great will that be! Keep well.
Mar 31
2020
1 Responses
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
I wake up with a sense of disbelief every morning. I have to pinch myself to remember that we are indeed living in this dystopian nightmare of a global Coronavirus lockdown. That it’s really true that all the huge and beautiful major cities of the world are empty, that office buildings are vacated, that planes are grounded, restaurants and cafes closed, that people are at home and discombobulated in their efforts to pretend that life has some kind of normality.
I never did enjoy dystopian novels or movies. No way would I watch the Handmaid’s Tale. But I can’t escape this one, can I?
This week our creative writing class shared pieces on ‘The Invisible Enemy’. The pieces written were poignant and thought-provoking and raised to my consciousness some of the fears and emotions I had been trying to keep at bay. Would I survive? Would my loved ones survive? How would our health service cope? What will the impact of this economic shock be on my sons and grandchildren and my extended family? Every day I think of my nieces, nephews, too, and wonder about the impact on their lives today and into the future.
And imagine if one was in a care home or heading towards the end of one’s life, one might be wondering, quite legitimately, whether one would ever see one’s children or grandchildren again, especially if they live the other side of the world. People are quick to be judgmental about air travel but forget how essential it is when close family live far away. Few of us would wish to be separated or unable to see our loved ones.
These existential concerns are very real and sadly they haven’t been created by Hollywood. We can’t just switch them off. They have been created by unhygienic practices in a Wuhan market and it’s pretty depressing to listen to a representative of the Chinese Government on the radio telling us what a wonderful job they have done collaborating with the WHO. I am far more interested in them taking responsibility for the part that their lack of regulations has done in bringing the rest of the world to a standstill and in the premature deaths of thousands of people. I would like to hear them say they will take control and alter these practices in future and be more aware of their responsibility for the wellbeing not only of their own citizens but also the wellbeing of the world’s population and economy.
Another theme of this situation is those who see it as a ‘message’. That somehow this event is here to tell us something about the way we live. Well I am not a believer in magical thinking, that there is some deity or force in the sky pointing fingers at us. But it is human nature to try to make meaning out of events, so it is hardly surprising that people are doing this. And that’s fine, as long as they realise that their own interpretation is just that. It is a narrative they are telling themselves and not some universal truth or message from above.
In this message I have heard on Facebook that we should now turn away from industry and capitalism and read books. A nice idea but it doesn’t feed us. I think we need to be careful of idealistic anti-materialism when in fact the last decades have raised so many millions out of poverty worldwide. Do we really want them to go back to hunger? I watch the workers in India struggling to get on trains and coaches at Modi’s behest and worry, as they do, that they are about to experience extraordinary hardship. We need to be careful that our idealism doesn’t throw huge swathes of the world’s population backwards into destitution. The world has relied on India for technology, help desks and more. Their welfare system is not capable of protecting them any more than I suspect is Africa’s. Let’s look after the planet, question greed, but tread carefully to ensure that we don’t make others suffer too much in the process.
We are now in the hands of the scientists and medics who are doing the detective work and analysis of Covid-19. They are trying to improve testing and create an antibody test. This latter is the one I am waiting for but I shall be thoroughly fed up if I discover that, having been sick for over a fortnight, I have not, in the process, built up useful antibodies to Covid-19. Then we shall hope for a vaccine. And let’s applaud the marvellous scientists who over the last centuries have saved so many lives with the vaccinations they developed. Our great-grandparents’ generation were not so lucky.
And so how does our idea of ourself change on the inside when the world changes on the outside? Is there some subtle shift of identity when we can no longer live life the way we did before, no longer see and hug our families, go to galleries or museums, pump iron at the gym, eat at nice restaurants? For sure we are thrown back on our own resources and no-one more so than those who live alone. The prospect of weeks ahead with no visitors is surely a kind of torture for most people but particularly those who are alone. They will require depths of resource in order to thrive in solitude. Thank heaven for technology! Even ten years ago we would not have had the access we do to teams and conference calls and house parties.
I think the stillness does invite us to go inwards, if we are brave enough to allow ourselves to do so. It has been so easy, in this brilliant creative and innovative world of the twenty-first century, to amuse ourselves endlessly with external activities. Children have never been so entertained or social, and nor have we as adults. As the world stops, so we are thrown back on ourselves and I suspect it will release aspects of our creativity we may not have known we had.
I wonder how the world will change as we come out of this shutdown. What will be lasting changes and what shall we soon forget in the years to come. One thing I have personally learnt is that the love of and for one’s children runs even more deeply than I had imagined, both ways. Secondly, the kindness of neighbours – food, newspapers, medicines, jigsaw puzzles and colouring pads presented generously to us on our doorstep to keep us from going mad or hungry!
And with that thought in mind one of those kind neighbours has given us a 500 piece double-sided jigsaw puzzle of identical plants… think of us! I shall let you know how we get on and hopefully it will keep us sane. In the meantime, keep well and as happy as you can. The blossom is telling us it is spring, the green shoots on the trees are budding and the landscape outside the window is ever-changing. Even in a lockdown, nature bursts forth.
Mar 25
2020
23 Responses
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
It’s day 10 of feeling totally pole-axed. I have never experienced such utter fatigue in my life before. But of course they are not testing you, unless you are Prince Charles or some celebrity, so I don’t know if I have Covid-19 or not. But I suspect I have.
It started with a cough and a relatively mild set of symptoms. After a few days I started to feel aches in my joints and muscles and my temperature went up. At that stage, though, I felt well enough to potter about the house, call friends and family, and do the ironing.
It was last Sunday when things turned for the worse with my temperature going up further, shivers, coughing, aches and dizziness. But I don’t mean sick enough for me to go to hospital. No, just to feel totally isolated from any kind of medical help because 111, whom we had phoned when David showed his first symptoms, told us just to stay at home. Then when I tried to call just to check out my own worsening symptoms, I hung on for nearly 2 hours but gave up. Our GP surgery just refers us to 111 so there is no back-up. This leaves one feeling alone in more ways than one, with far less medical support than one would normally have. I don’t envy those who have conditions that need attention.
But of course I see that it is those who have major breathing difficulties who must get priority. The rest of us who are merely staggering from bed to bathroom with no energy even to even pick up the phone to a friend, must wait to get better. Hopefully. And I am one of the lucky ones as I have a doctor in the house. He can’t cure my symptoms but he does a good job of bringing me soup and cups of tea. My heart goes out to those in the NHS caring for the critically sick.
What has been marvellous, though, has been the kindness and care of our sons. We have six between us! Every day there is a call asking for a progress report on our symptoms, how we are doing, whether we have enough food, whether we are going nuts yet. As a parent it is such a special feeling to experience the tide turning as the young look after us and ensure our wellbeing.
When the self-isolation factor first started to hit home I felt incredibly sad. My son called and I sobbed down the line about how much I would miss my lovely cosy times with them and with the grandchildren, the school runs, the bath times, the outings, the sleepovers. Patiently and kindly he talked me through it “Mum we want you there for their 16th birthdays… this is just a few weeks. Try to think long-term.” It’s lovely to feel that they really don’t want us to peg out, even though several of my own generation feel we would sacrifice our own lives for the financial wellbeing of our offspring.
Atal Guwande in his book Being Mortal said that it helps to have daughters as one gets older. I feel much comforted by the care our sons have shown us in these last few days, including delightful bouquets for Mother’s Day, dropping off soup and bread and tasty delights on our doorstep. Daily calls and FaceTime with the children. It’s like receiving a giant hug from both our families.
Neighbours also have been extraordinarily kind and generous. Our immediate neighbour dropped off homemade pasta sauce, muffins and fruit, another friend some delicious cake, other friends ask frequently whether we need any provisions at the shops. We are blessed to live in Layton Place where there is such a strong sense of community.
Luckily Ocado has delivered for us and will be doing so again this Friday. Not sure how it will go after that as when they first started their online queuing system, I would find myself at the end of a queue of 6500 but when I looked today the queue was 27,500! But hopefully some of those people who have been laid off in the hospitality industry can now be redeployed to help with deliveries.
It is those who live alone who most concern me. It takes a lot of determination and creativity to amuse oneself and not allow spirits to drop into despondency and loneliness. I hope friends and family will keep calling them as we are, indeed, so very unfamiliar with our own company in a world where we have been able to pop out for a coffee, a sandwich, a walk, a gallery, a movie… and now we have none of those things to call on.
I thought David and I might amuse ourselves with a jigsaw puzzle – little did I realize that most of the jigsaw puzzles on Amazon would already be sold out. Great minds! I just long to have enough energy even to do a bit of adult colouring. Right now I can do nothing but sleep and cough.
The annoying thing is that I had just joined the Vitality Health policy which includes incentives to keep fit via points towards an Apple watch, special discounts at Virgin Active. For the first time since we moved to Kew I was really enjoying going to Virgin Active in Chiswick Park and working out and swimming. And now I am ill and can hardly move. How frustrating. However, as this bug removes all hint of an appetite then at least I should not be putting on weight. Hopefully once it lifts David and I will be able to revert to some home exercising.
I may feel sorry for myself right now because I am ill but it is the young I really worry about. Their careers and financial wellbeing have been thrown into complete disarray as the world comes to a halt. Thank heaven for technology and all it can do to keep companies operational, for teams to continue to meet online and carry out their work remotely. We shall need everyone to be ready to get up and running again once this period is over.
I wonder how my grandchildren will remember this time. They are used to such an active life of friends and activities in comparison to our own childhood. And I certainly don’t envy parents trying to encourage their children to sit down and home school. What a task!
We shall get through it all, no doubt, but there will be loss and tragedy in the midst of survival. And we shall be changed at the end of it. It makes our world even smaller and more integrated. Now, as well as a butterfly flapping its wing in Brazil potentially causing a hurricane in Florida, we shall also have to watch out for unsavoury practices in any small market of the world and be aware that it could wipe us all out. Each one of us as individuals holds a responsibility for the wellbeing of others throughout the world. We shall, I think, learn more about global love, compassion and care, hopefully. And about grit and determination. And probably creativity. Keep well everyone.
Mar 16
2020
10 Responses
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
David has been ill over the last few days with a temperature and a bit of a cough. We called 111 and they say that those with mild symptoms are not being tested, so we don’t know if he has Coronavirus or just a winter bug.
It makes sense to me that the NHS should not be swamped by people suffering from mild symptoms. Nor should A&E departments be inundated by the worried reasonably-well. The time to act is when symptoms are severe. Other policies taken by countries responding to the Coronavirus make less sense to me.
I had an email from a friend in Montreal yesterday saying that she and her nearly 80-year old husband are taking care of their grandchildren every day now because the Montreal schools are closed. However much they love their grandchildren, they are exhausted! You have children at a younger age for a good reason – we have less energy as we age. Asking elderly grandparents (the ones most at risk), to take care of their grandchildren doesn’t make much sense to me.
I don’t see the point of closing schools when parents would have to take time out of work to take care of them. We need working-age adults to continue working. School closures will cost this country billions and would also play with young people’s futures. After all, it is peak time for GCSE and A level revision, for degree exams. These exams are of key importance to future careers and university entry. Talk of sending children home for four months is putting a huge amount of pressure on already anxious young people. The majority of the young and middle-aged who get the virus only experience mild symptoms
I do worry that measures that bring the global economy to a standstill will result in far greater damage to an even larger number of people than the virus will affect. If major companies, and global airlines like British Airways, SAS and Virgin, are near collapse, this will be the experience of businesses worldwide. Thousands of people could lose their jobs. That means no National Insurance, no PAYE, no VAT winging its way into government coffers. In fact, the opposite. Governments are making extraordinary promises to compensate small and large businesses for their losses and will then potentially end up with large numbers of people on benefits. How can they make these promises when the potential sums involved are so huge? And what is the human cost of allowing companies to go broke? Many more people living in poverty, which has its own health risks.
It makes sense to me to keep younger and middle-aged adults working. How else are shelves going to be stacked with medicines and food, how else are public services going to function, banks going to care for our money, pension companies protect our savings, insurance companies continue to cover risk, factories going to provide us with necessities? In a complete lock-down nothing gets made, nothing gets distributed, supplies dry up. Surely many more people are going to die from lack, and those who have chronic illnesses or are receiving other medical treatment are going to be unable to receive help?
Coronavirus is an old people’s illness. It has apparently been nicknamed the “boomer remover”. Well great, as a Baby Boomer myself that doesn’t exactly cheer me up, inevitably. Much as I dislike the thought, I can see that there is some sense in asking the over 70s to self-isolate. After all it is us who are most at risk, specifically those over 65 with underlying health conditions. But four months? This seems excessive.
We Boomers have never been a particularly compliant generation and I do wonder how this will impact our mental health. What will governments do when we all go stir-crazy, stuck with our own company? For those living alone, to be forced to isolate can cause desolation and loneliness. For those in care homes not to receive visitors is like torture, and several care residents have written to say they would rather die earlier than be forced to end their days without seeing their families. Maybe it’s a strategy. After all, if we kill ourselves, or those with whom we are confined to barracks, it will relieve the need for our social care!
On the other hand, I do question why Italy, Spain and other countries are in such severe lock-down, preventing the younger generations going to work, children stuck at home away from friends, parents cooped up with irritable teenagers. Locking we oldies up does make more sense to me than stopping the world and jeopardising hundreds of thousands of people’s businesses, livelihoods and incomes. And at least we can finally clear out the garage, and deal with that enormous pile of filing that has been sitting there for two years. But then what …?
To keep people indoors is going to require a great deal of bureaucracy. Who will decide whether a trip to the shops or to a relative is valid? How on earth will the already stretched police force monitor movement? Will we get visas to travel to the next street or town? It will surely require a huge amount of administration.
It seems the question of whether we can build herd immunity for the future is unproven, as is so much about the Coronavirus. It is only a few months since the first case, and no-one really knows precisely what will happen. Will those quarantined go on to get it later? Will those who have suffered from Covid-19 now have immunity? In a world where people travel all the time it will probably be well into 2021 before we can understand the statistics and know which policy really worked best.
I am not in Government, thank heaven, having to make these very difficult decisions. I listen to the epidemiologists and respect their diverse opinions, but the decisions that are having to be made go way beyond public health. The impact on the economy, on supplies of food and medicine, on infrastructure, transport, on people’s families and friendship support systems, all need to be taken into consideration and all, ultimately, influence our health and wellbeing in both the short and long-term.
A university professor advised that the government should treat the population as adults. That those who are vulnerable can choose not to travel on public transport, go to the theatre or to a football match. That those who are vulnerable can choose to stay at home or work from home and self-isolate. Individually we need to step up and act considerately and responsibly. Sadly, of course, not all of us behave like adults, as we have seen from the bulk-buying of toilet paper etc.
The Government must listen to its advisors, and issue regulations that we are not necessarily going to like. I wouldn’t wish to be Boris Johnson or any other leader right now. He is under pressure to change tack as UK policies are out of line with the rest of the world. Personally, I am not convinced by the world-in-complete-lockdown strategy. The trouble is that politicians need to be seen to act and I just hope that if he changes the approach, he doesn’t bend to pressure for purely political reasons. We shall see.
In the meantime, wherever you are, I hope you keep well.
Feb 18
2020
1 Responses
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
This is what a friend of mine told me when he introduced me to Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata. It takes quite a bit to shut me up but I did what I was told and shall be forever grateful. For listening, truly listening, is an art and a focus of sensory attention that transports one into a far deeper place. I had always found Wagner difficult to enjoy but another friend explained how to listen beyond the voices and again it transformed my experience of hearing it. I shall always remember listening to Beethoven’s Emperor piano concerto, followed by Thomas Tallis’ sacred choral music, in the quiet of a room overlooking the sea, and an evening when a jazz pianist played me Debussy’s Clair de Lune on his grand piano. There are some moments one never forgets and I think I have been fortunate to have friends who taught me to stop talking and just listen!
We have become so used to muzak, hearing it in lifts and shops. I remember what I used to call “aircraft landing music” that was piped through the speakers on take-off and landing. A ghastly tinny sound designed to calm us down. Nowadays we play music on hifi, iPhones, Alexa or Sonos but people tend to have it playing on in the background rather than really hearing it. In previous eras, without such technology, people played live music to a small audience of family and friends after dinner. All that has changed and unless one is at a concert it is too easy, in my experience, to only half-hear the subtleties and complexities of a piece.
Why am I thinking about this? Because I have been reading a book called The Music Store by Rachel Joyce, who wrote The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. This is another quirky and whimsical book that has deep undertones of emotion, relationships and human responses to life’s challenges. It features a man who runs a music store stocked only with vinyl records. He has a gift for intuitively knowing what piece of music a customer needs to hear – a little like the concept of prescribing a poem to heal an illness, whether emotional or physical.
Funnily enough this reminded me of a period of my life when I used to wake up in the mornings with a different song in my head that seemed to be giving me a message about which direction to go in my life, what to do. It was rather like a psychic juke box and often would give me a wise intuitive message. Sounds weird, I know, but it did happen. After all, the unconscious works in mysterious ways!
And so, as I have travelled over the last fortnight through some childhood haunts in Portugal and then on to sunny Marrakesh I have been allowing my mind to wander over the pieces of music that have changed me or marked a moment of my life. I shall share with you some of my musical moments in case your mind might wander back and be stirred to do the same…
The songs of our childhood
The songs my mother used to sing around the house were influenced, certainly, by our years living in Estoril. “Uma casa Portuguesa” sang my Mama, along with her records of Amalia Rodrigues, queen of the Fado, which skips between mournful and joyful with little in between. Not everyone’s taste, I know, but, being sentimental souls, the moment either my sister or I hear the first chords we start to cry. I heard Amalia Rodrigues once, in the Algarve, many years later and had tears running down my cheeks all evening as it reminded me of my parents and their happy times in Portugal and their sadness at leaving to return to England.
My mother would also sing Oh my Papa, Somewhere over the Rainbow and Oh my darling Clementine. I find it interesting that although she suffered from a nervous breakdown for several years of my childhood my abiding memory of our home was of her singing as she cooked or tidied. My sister remembers her singing Put another Nickel in … Music, Music, Music. With my father it was Nat King Cole, or the Missa Criolla which used to bring tears to his eyes. I wonder what songs your parents sang or played?
I am reminded of my brother when I hear the Searchers’ Needles and Pins as he used to sing it around the house when we were in our early teens, emphasizing the Needles and Pins-a. And I remember him playing a record over and over on the turntable in his bedroom when he first fell in love in his teens. Well, I expect we have all been there, haven’t we?
The 60s and onwards
My first 45rpm was Little White Bull by Tommy Steele bought with my pocket money when I was about 9 years old. The second was Rawhide. I had a crush on Clint Eastwood! But I quickly followed my older sister into Elvis Presley, Billy Fury, Dusty Springfield and later, when she returned from a few months in Madrid, to Spanish, Mexican, French café songs and Tom Lehrer. Until we both found the Beatles of course and my proud claim to fame is that I was number 36 of the Beatles fan club aged about 12 years old – ah, what a talent-spotter! I saw them live at the Finsbury Park Astoria in January 1964 – couldn’t hear a word of the music but it was so exciting. Then ran away to see the Rolling Stones in Weymouth. Never to be forgotten.
The 60s was full of fabulous songs. When I imagine being on Desert Island Discs I try to pick out what I would choose and What a Day for a Daydream and Waterloo Sunset would have to be included. It was such an amazing time for music. It would be incredibly difficult to choose just 8 pieces of music and have space to include the classical and sacred too.
The minute you hear a tune you are right back where you first heard it. Perhaps a first holiday or disco. That makes me think of Creedance Clearwater Revival playing in a disco on my first holiday with a girlfriend to the Algarve when I was 18. Music is so evocative. I can still picture the place and the feeling.
I went to a very musical school, Cranborne Chase in Wiltshire. Harrison Birtwhistle was our musical director. Of course he then went on to great things but my recollection of him was putting on some music for our school orchestra to play which consisted (in my ignorant head anyway) of clashing chords followed by silence followed by more clashing chords. Sorry, Sir Harrison, as he is now, I am afraid your compositions went right over my head. I tended to look forward to nights in the dormitory listening to Radio Luxembourg or Radio Caroline under the pillow, philistine that I am!
Where the music takes you
Music can take you to joy or to tears. Whenever I hear Roberta Flack’s Killing me Softly with his Song I am reminded of a broken heart. Your Song by Elton John reminds me of getting married in 1971. Did you have a tune you both sang? Shortly after our son Daniel died of a cot death in 1976 a good friend took me to see A Little Night Music and I sobbed my heart out to Send in the Clowns. Then Elton John sang “Daniel”.
Classical music paints pictures in my mind, transporting me to imagined landscapes that are not only visual but also emotional.
The words never die
I am rather horrified by how many pathetic lyrics I can remember in my head. If only my addled brain could remember as many relevant and current facts, figures, names and dates instead! But no, I have the lyrics of almost every single pop song I ever sang along to, stored in some neural pathway or other so whether it was the 1950s or the 60s, 70s or later I can still sing along to Magic FM or my Spotify Playlists.
I hate the sound and lyrics of rap, hip-hop. Drill music fills me with fear. These seem alien to me, somehow so different to the seeming innocence of the songs of my youth. And children’s programmes are frenetic – worlds apart from dear old Uncle Mac and the Teddy Bears Picnic! However, I can still sing along to the nursery rhymes I heard on Children’s Favourites and my grandchildren seem to tolerate my efforts.
I do still remember the words, also, to all those hymns, carols, prayers and psalms we sang at school and beyond. I love sacred music – Allegri’s Miserere, Vivaldi’s Gloria take me to a spiritual place somewhere inside. I have requested that these to be played to me in my last days, whenever that may be. And then there’s the music of nature – birds, wind in the trees, rain on the grass.
Music to enjoy as we get older
Nowadays I love songs like I’m Still Standing by Elton John or Let it Be from Frozen as they remind me of times with my grandchildren, singing along or dancing whilst sharing a holiday with them.
T’Pau’s China in my Hand reminds me of my older son going to his first pop concert at Wembley aged about 12. My younger son enjoyed Bon Jovi as a teenager. Later we ended up, my two sons and I, at the Hotel California in Mexico – another of our favourite songs.
As I get older I like to play Brian Adams’ The Summer of ‘69 as that reminds me of being 19 and full of youthful optimism. I still can’t sit still and hear that song. I have to get up and dance.
I have just enjoyed one of the best evenings of my life at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville listening to country music. David and I saw Leonard Cohen on his last tour. It was an outdoor venue, the Mercedes centre in Surrey, and it poured all night but he sang his heart out and the band were eclectic and brilliant. We had rain dripping down our faces but Leonard kept on singing. Dance me to the End of Love is our song.
So keep playing those old records that make you feel young – the medics have proven that it is good for us. But we don’t need them to tell us that, do we?!
All this inspired by reading this book The Music Store. So thankyou Rachel Joyce! Over nearly 70 years there have been endless moments of music but I hope this might have taken you back, maybe reminded you to stop talking, listen more, and remember which songs and pieces of music have made a difference in your lives. Or made you think that you might encourage a partner, child or grandchild to delve into the wonders of silently listening to music – whether it’s Beethoven or Taylor Swift. I would love to hear your experiences of music if you feel like writing to me about them…
Jan 28
2020
2 Responses
Comments
Helen Whitten
Posted In
Tags
As humans we define ourselves and our lives by the stories we tell ourselves. But those stories are often constructed from a faulty memory and aren’t always true. They can be helpful or unhelpful. For example, I used to say “I had a really happy childhood” and I think I did, in the main. But then friends would point out that it can’t have been that easy, necessarily, to move from sunny Portugal to the grey North of England when I was 4, change schools frequently, nor can it have been easy that my mother had a depression for several years. So how happy was my childhood really, I wonder? Was it a story or the truth?
Thinking about it now, I believe that this story was, in fact, quite a helpful one to me. Whether by nature or nurture I am someone who prefers to look on the bright side of life and if I embellished a little of my happiness in early years then I think this has been more useful than me dwelling on all the aspects of life that were missing or could have been better.
On the other hand, creating a fantasy can just equal a denial of reality, so I am grateful to those friends who made me delve a little deeper into my feelings about my past and helped me to put it in context.
The stories we hear from our parents can shape our sense of ourselves should they categorise us as siblings. My older sister was always referred to as “the intelligent one”, my brother mad about cricket and me mad about ponies. It’s too easy for parents to label siblings in ways that box them into a story that may simply reflect a passing phase. But those stories one picks up from parents about religion, politics, the way things should or should not be done, linger on into our adult years. I suspect I am not alone in catching myself checking whether I am still, years after their deaths, trying to gain my parents’ approval! And, therefore, I continue to re-define what was fact and what was opinion, what was theirs and what is mine.
There was a period in the 80s and 90s when therapists tended to focus their clients’ attention on what was wrong in their childhood, to find something to be angry about or someone to whom to direct blame. Whilst it is helpful to understand one’s childhood patterns, I fear this has led to the tendency to focus on the negative, the sense of victimhood and offence that we witness today. Being a victim of an event or experience deserves compassion and understanding. But it can disempower us and will not change whatever experience we have had in our past. How can we change or right wrongs for ourselves or others if we continue to adopt a helpless-hopeless perspective? And we need to be honest with ourselves that adopting the role of victim does have a pay-off in that it may well gain us special attention. It can also mean that others treat us more gently. But it may silence those around us from speaking the truth, which may be less helpful.
The habit I notice when listening to stories on the radio recently is the way people begin their sentences with “as a single mother”, “as a black person”, “as a trans…” “as someone from a poor background” and I wonder what their purpose is in mentioning these statements. Are they asking for special treatment? Or are they proud of the way they are identifying themselves? It’s a question.
I have been wondering what stories Harry and Meghan have been telling themselves. It seems they have decided that the world is against them in the UK, that the grass is greener and quieter in Canada, although I gather they are already encountering paparazzi in the woods around their house. It’s a valid decision, of course, though I feel it is a shame. A few unpleasant media stories or tweets do not add up to the opinion of a whole country. If politicians, celebrities or journalists took the trolls and criticism too seriously we would silence a whole population.
Harry has done such good work with his Invictus and other projects, Meghan was welcomed and, as an intelligent, articulate, successful and beautiful woman could have been an amazing role model for black, mixed-race and ethnic women growing up in the UK. She could have done so much to aid integration in our country, which, when you look at the far-right movements developing across Europe and the world, is, after all, a pretty tolerant place. And so I wish they had told themselves a different story.
As I enter my 70th year, I become aware of the stories I have been telling myself about ageing. I listen to the stories my friends are describing of what it means to get older and be reminded on a daily basis that one’s body is not what it was! I remember how, when I was in my early 40s and much slimmer than I am now, I decided I was too old to wear jeans. Where did that come from? I chose to open a new chapter and still happily wear jeans today.
There have been times when I have felt older than I do today, despite a younger body. That has reminded me that age is, in fact, a number and the stories we tell ourselves about what it might be like to reach a particular age can often be totally inaccurate. We have a delightful neighbour, Jack, of 90 who is lively and great company and looks about 70 years old. I am a colleague of Shirley Conran and, in her 88th year, she is still full of life, ideas and energy. And so I am having to re-adjust my expectations and associations of age and be open to the possibility (but not certainty) that it could be better than I had feared.
The stories we tell ourselves shape our daily existence, our mental and physical health. We need constantly to reflect on what scripts are running through our minds, stop and check whether they originated in our own hearts and minds or elsewhere, and whether they are useful or damaging.
I heard a few examples this week that made me think further about this:
When discussing a rugby player who had sadly died young, his team were putting on a match, saying “it’s what he would have wanted”. Of course, they don’t know what he would have wanted but it was a useful story as it brought the team together to comfort one another and to celebrate their lost friend.
The son of a friend of mine who had recently started a new job had an accident and broke both elbows. He comforted himself by saying it was a sign that he needed thinking time.
A friend broke their ankle on the ice the first day of their skiing holiday but rather than moan about how unlucky they were, they told themselves that they were lucky that they had not broken their neck!
We shape our identity around these stories of whether we are a lucky person, whether a meeting with a spouse was destiny, whether what we have achieved in our lives has been successful enough or not, whether our lives have been good enough. The important message, I feel, is to listen to what is in our mind, challenge outdated stories and create a narrative that helps us live well today, in the moment, and supports us in facing our future, whatever that may be.
I wonder what stories have you told yourself? And whether you have had cause to question and alter them over the years?