tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5088401932644796072024-03-14T08:04:15.739-07:00Four Strings Good..A unique perspective on history and life through the eyes of a vegetarian bass playing journalist.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-51579515832299804832014-10-10T14:47:00.001-07:002014-10-10T14:49:16.929-07:00The music man who mends accordions ... and brings the past back to life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo19y7PIVcATS2-fUreX6CadeQGFpC5frqZM8eovs1VFYHcda1iBgfHNzO48ll1ODScH2w1CDUZvhoOLS62CQL0696W2BQ-3uLB4xa95e6Cq2D7dENQvptnm9aCELbvuE083DMTdEVSQ/s1600/P1070094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSo19y7PIVcATS2-fUreX6CadeQGFpC5frqZM8eovs1VFYHcda1iBgfHNzO48ll1ODScH2w1CDUZvhoOLS62CQL0696W2BQ-3uLB4xa95e6Cq2D7dENQvptnm9aCELbvuE083DMTdEVSQ/s1600/P1070094.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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--></style>It’s raining as I step through a heavy wooden door into a
workshop in the middle of the countryside. </div>
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Lining the walls are shelves laden
with a multitude of accordions - squeezeboxes, garmoshkas - call them what you
will. It’s part-sickbay, part-museum, part-stage, part-celebration. Some have
buttons, some have keys: all have stories.</div>
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Some of the boxes are top of the range and beautifully
finished – there are famous names I recognise. S<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>ome have intricate inlays of mother-of-pearl. Others are fairly rudimentary; mechanically
adequate but not exactly showcase items. They have the look of Soviet workmanship, if
I’m honest – a little basic.. but that doesn’t mean they’re not great
instruments.</div>
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The man for whom this space is home, work and almost a place
of worship is Gunars Iguanis, a musician who has turned collector and then,
over time, slipped into a role akin to a saver of lost musical souls. Now, instead of simply
playing instruments and performing for people, he rescues them, and then makes
them sing again. </div>
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I can understand why he does this. I’ve tried to do it
myself on certain occasions. I know that musical instruments are not simply
pieces of wood with wires on. They have characters and personalities, and can make
indelible impressions in peoples' lives. </div>
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--</style>Sometimes human beings and musical instruments can be
inseparable, fitting together like a hand in a glove. </div>
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At other times, perhaps
at the end of one’s life, an instrument may be discarded. “I’ll never play that
thing again,” a person might say. “What good is that to me now?”</div>
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Gunars Iguanis is a collector of these memories. He’s become
a receptacle for discarded musical instruments that have outlived their owners
or their welcome. </div>
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Sometimes they are gathered in house clearances: sometimes
they are traded with those who now prefer the music of bottles being unscrewed.</div>
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takes them as they are, sometimes with photographs of their former owners. </span>
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--</style>On this left wall there are the stringed instruments Gunars
has collected, restored or made himself.</div>
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Mandolins of all descriptions, a lovely semi-acoustic guitar; a classic, if battered, triangular balalaika.</div>
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This workshop is like a crossroads of music, where Russia meets Latgale, where travelling instruments meant to end up somewhere else but didn't. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGSjlzZjKXKYF1eP-ayWEkX8zbYyqxwxfmDc7hQhVTgFvmSo1K3wxvu_cOhWjVMWMz_X27wmXkkeoxhXfvAtbKfmEHtxm30M0E5Ei2n82vK4EPZno425ryfVXOeAhybyyo18m7-XDRfo/s1600/P1070092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGSjlzZjKXKYF1eP-ayWEkX8zbYyqxwxfmDc7hQhVTgFvmSo1K3wxvu_cOhWjVMWMz_X27wmXkkeoxhXfvAtbKfmEHtxm30M0E5Ei2n82vK4EPZno425ryfVXOeAhybyyo18m7-XDRfo/s1600/P1070092.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a> </div>
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It’s like an encyclopaedia of obscure
varieties: a dulcimer, a Latvian kokle, an American autoharp, a mandolin-zither
hybrid.</div>
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There's even a weird four-stringed mandolin-like instrument shaped like a cobra. I've never seen one like that before.</div>
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To engage and encourage the
youngsters, Gunars makes a variety of whistles and percussion instruments for them to play while he persuades their parents to bang drums and strum along</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIC4ovMcPy3kNUjceIHZQ0skI5iD4IVRH6AWLsyBqKjvrhk_gufytgsw5ECIYwgYt_2Uy9Z21ElQevsZRqSPUaSry8XOITRQZPwqoTOTc66Py3H7sPz8Lgsa6F8CmfOC42gXnRoF8dXk/s1600/P1070090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIC4ovMcPy3kNUjceIHZQ0skI5iD4IVRH6AWLsyBqKjvrhk_gufytgsw5ECIYwgYt_2Uy9Z21ElQevsZRqSPUaSry8XOITRQZPwqoTOTc66Py3H7sPz8Lgsa6F8CmfOC42gXnRoF8dXk/s1600/P1070090.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
as he knocks out tunes everyone knows: a bit of Beatles here - O Bla Di - a classic Latvian folk tune there .. Kur Te Tetse.<br />
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Gunars is a famous man in these parts. He’s appeared on
television with his family band and is well known for his music. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXqI8oBw_DF8lsf5ufXlJK4sgIACleue3_2zgMqWztJKQZz46acLTANJrrnMEg6j3vatz53anHGrbz3b__EQMsyaJU6HVJwFbL_HFHHTNm9epme-q6anjnrgNKrlmj8OcF_u7YoRNgY4/s1600/P1070102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXqI8oBw_DF8lsf5ufXlJK4sgIACleue3_2zgMqWztJKQZz46acLTANJrrnMEg6j3vatz53anHGrbz3b__EQMsyaJU6HVJwFbL_HFHHTNm9epme-q6anjnrgNKrlmj8OcF_u7YoRNgY4/s1600/P1070102.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>He loves to
get his visitors playing along with him as he demonstrates his instruments and
tells their stories, playing a different song on each one and by doing so, bringing
them into his own musical family. </div>
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As he takes each squeezebox from the shelf and plays it, the long dead people in the pictures look on, windows onto happier, black and white
times: a dance in full swing, accordion at full stretch, wide smiles to be seen
everywhere .. and how times have changed since then.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There those same instruments are, placed gently on
shelves lining this big room, carefully cleaned and polished with missing or
broken parts replaced, played again, brought back to life by Gunars, wheezing at first to clear the dust of half a century but then finding their voices and soon belting out tunes that once everyone
knew, that had toes tapping and skirts twirling ... and just for a moment it’s like
the old times again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The notes die away, echoing gently off the concrete walls,
and a gentle silence replaces the gaiety. </div>
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<br /></div>
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--</style>For a few moments their former owners live again,
beaming out from the photos on the shelves, alongside the instruments they
loved so much. </div>
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Now, thanks to Gunars, they will never be parted from them.</div>
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--------------------</div>
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Gunars Iguanis</div>
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Musical museum and workshop</div>
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Bikava 2,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gaigalava,</div>
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Latgale, Latvia.</div>
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<a href="http://www.baltharmonia.lv/par_mumsAn.htm">http://www.baltharmonia.lv/par_mumsAn.htm</a></div>
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+ 371 287 287 90</div>
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<br /></div>
vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-41132039295917413282012-04-24T01:27:00.002-07:002012-04-25T08:13:20.608-07:00Last stand at More.. the Latvian Legion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the space of three days over Easter 2012 I had been as far east as Latvia's border with Russia and made my way back west towards Riga, passing through Rezekne, Gulbene and now coming to rest overnight in Sigulda, a popular tourist town.<br />
<br />
In that short period I had stumbled inadvertently on the horrors of the Holocaust, visited woods where the cream of the Latvian Army was executed, walked through the forest of death at Ancupani and stepped into the massacre village of Audrini, where a mother's love for her Soviet soldier son led to 200 people being wiped out.<br />
<br />
Here, in the tourist map of the Sigulda region, I came across mention of a spot called More (pronounced MORE-RAY), where the Latvian Legion fought a battle which, it said, changed history. Now I was about to confront the historical complexity of the Latvians who fought alongside the Nazis.<br />
<br />
What I didn't know then was that More would be an heroic defence of their country's capital against a wave of invaders already with blood on their hands from their previous occupation just four years before.<br />
<br />
Latvia's wartime experience is confusing, tragic and brutal and the truth about what really happened is probably lost for ever.<br />
<br />
The Soviet Union occupied Latvia and assumed control of the country after the carving up of the Baltics in the Molotov-Ribbentrop Non-Aggression Pact of August 1939. In the Year of Terror that followed, 26,000 Latvians were killed, arrested or deported.<br />
The war between Germany and the Soviet Union began on June 22, 1941 and by July 8 Germany had occupied Latvia. Now began one of the periods in history which still causes problems today: that of Latvians fighting for the Nazis.<br />
<br />
Of course it's understandable that after two decades of Latvian independence (1919 - 1939) were extinguished by Soviet occupation - followed by mass deportation and brutal massacres, with death often the penalty in this class war for singing Latvian folk songs - that some might want to get a little revenge, or fight to ensure that the Russians didn't come back. Volunteer police forces were formed and Latvians sided with the Germans to fight Bolshevism, encouraged by German promises of a return to independence when the war was over. Latvians, I'm told, quite understandably pursued a policy of 'Stop the Russians first then turn our guns on the Germans.'<br />
<br />
There was a significant element of Nazi-sympathising thugs though, especially in the notorious Arajs Kommando, which, fuelled by unlimited supplies of vodka and a pitiless attitude towards their victims, helped the Germans wipe out Latvia's Jewish population almost as soon as they completed their occupation of the country. (see earlier post 'Rivers of blood in Rezekne' and below for more on the Arajs Kommando.)<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">See this statement on the position of the Legion in the war years from the Latvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs: http://www.am.gov.lv/en/policy/history/legion-kalnins/</span></b><br />
<br />
In February 1943 Hitler ordered all Latvian men of fighting age to be conscripted into the German Army. Because doing this directly violated international law, the Latvians were described as 'volunteers'. In effect, according to descendants of Legionnaires, this choice involved joining the new force... or being shot on the spot.<br />
<br />
The resulting 15th and 19th Waffen Grenadier Divisions of the SS fought in battles near Leningrad and into Russia but were deployed in defensive lines across Latvia as the Russians gained the upper hand and pushed the Nazis back.<br />
<br />
Things came to a head on either side of the field in central Latvia pictured at the top of this blog entry in late September and early October 1944.<br />
<br />
But first a word about the Arajs Kommando, gathered from Wikipaedia:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The <b>Arajs Kommando</b> (also: <i>Sonderkommando Arajs</i>), led by <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS" title="SS">SS</a>-<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sturmbannf%C3%BChrer" title="Sturmbannführer">Sturmbannführer</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktors_Ar%C4%81js" title="Viktors Arājs">Viktors Arājs</a>, was a unit of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latvian_Auxiliary_Police" title="Latvian Auxiliary Police">Latvian Auxiliary Police</a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_language" title="German language">German</a>: <span lang="de" xml:lang="de"><i>Lettische Hilfspolizei</i></span>) subordinated to the <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazi" title="Nazi">Nazi</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sicherheitsdienst" title="Sicherheitsdienst">SD</a>. It was one of the more well-known and notorious killing units during <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Holocaust" title="The Holocaust">the Holocaust</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">This group, composed of Latvian men, made contact with the leader of <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Einsatzgruppe_A" title="Einsatzgruppe A">Einsatzgruppe A</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Walter_Stahlecker" title="Franz Walter Stahlecker">Walter Stahlecker</a>, in early July 1941, immediately following the German capture of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riga" title="Riga">Riga</a>. All of the Arajs Kommando members were volunteers, and free to leave at any time.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-bettina_0-0"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arajs_Kommando#cite_note-bettina-0">[1]</a></sup></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Arajs Kommando unit actively participated in a variety of Nazi atrocities, including the killing of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jews" title="Jews">Jews</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romani_people" title="Romani people">Roma</a>, and mental patients, as well as punitive actions and massacres of civilians along Latvia's eastern border with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_Union" title="Soviet Union">Soviet Union</a>.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-bettina_0-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arajs_Kommando#cite_note-bettina-0">[1]</a></sup> The Kommando killed around 26,000 Jews in total.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arajs_Kommando#cite_note-1">[2]</a></sup> Most notably, the unit took part in the mass execution of Jews from the <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riga_ghetto" title="Riga ghetto">Riga ghetto</a>, and several thousand Jews deported from Germany, at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rumbula" title="Rumbula">Rumbula</a> on November 30 and December 8, 1941. (ED: Vilani is another: http://www.memorialmuseums.org/eng/denkmaeler/view/1012/Denkmal-Welonen)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Some of Arājs's men also served as guards at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salaspils_concentration_camp" title="Salaspils concentration camp">Salaspils concentration camp</a>.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-Strods_2-0"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arajs_Kommando#cite_note-Strods-2">[3]</a> (ED: see this obit from The Guardian: http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/2001/nov/12/guardianobituaries.warcrimes)</sup></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">As can be seen in contemporary Nazi newsreels, part of a
documentation campaign to create the image that the Holocaust in the
Baltics was a local, and not Nazi-directed activity, the Arajs Kommando
figured prominently in the burning of Riga's Great (Choral) Synagogue on
4 July 1941. Commemoration of this event has been chosen for marking <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holocaust_Memorial_Day" title="Holocaust Memorial Day">Holocaust Memorial Day</a> in present-day Latvia.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The unit numbered about 300-500 men during the period that it
participated in the killing of the Latvian Jewish population, and
reached up to 1,500 members at its peak at the height of its involvement
in anti-<a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_partisan" title="Soviet partisan">partisan</a> operations in 1942.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In the final phases of the war, the unit was disbanded and its personnel transferred to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latvian_Legion" title="Latvian Legion">Latvian Legion</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
It's important to distinguish between Nazi killers like the Arajs Kommando and regular Latvian youths forced into frontline battalions on pain of death following the huge losses suffered by the Germans at Stalingrad and in the push east.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g60ntycaPq27Oz8FtXBLp9wHOQ9dXjL7EFT7xHsy0TqT4iPS4ao6YM3eQ7qCj6DmX6VaAQBR2VUrLpPuJGfB2m6nIVtrQN9XFqAuqmiEispqb6xkKFSH2J0fr_P8wOwtBQtogSWSKUc/s1600/FOREST.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4g60ntycaPq27Oz8FtXBLp9wHOQ9dXjL7EFT7xHsy0TqT4iPS4ao6YM3eQ7qCj6DmX6VaAQBR2VUrLpPuJGfB2m6nIVtrQN9XFqAuqmiEispqb6xkKFSH2J0fr_P8wOwtBQtogSWSKUc/s320/FOREST.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene of the Legion's stand against the Red Army at More</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
As the Russians forced the Germans back the Latvian Legion was increasingly in the front line defensively: the Russians put their Latvian soldiers up against them so in some places there were Latvian-on-Latvian clashes. Valdis Lumans (author of <i>Latvia in World War Two</i>) puts the number of Latvians in German ranks at 110,294, including 31,446 in the front line Waffen SS battalions, with Legionnaires totalling 87, 750 and the rest police, border guards and auxiliaries.<br />
<br />
Though fighting for Hitler, these men were not short of courage. Of 67 men who received the highest German military decorations, 33 were Latvian. The remaining 34 came from ten different nations. <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(source: Janis Vejins, publisher, in an introduction to 'Battle at More' by Legion commander Rolands Kovtunenko)</span></b><br />
<br />
The number of Latvians fighting for the Red Army against the Germans (and their fellow countrymen) increased considerably as the Soviets occupied the country: Lumans puts this figure at around 100,000 as well. The Russians awarded 17,000 military commendation medals for valour to the Latvian Red Army brigade, which shows they did not take a passive role in this conflict.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YLLFReN-prNYVE28RSufzE1eY9jgyAy3p9J5rBOzQLkCN98v_XXlhFcpEROYHXLH41MCFAEjpoS9jW9gG5hvFvewavMhEz7Qj3ngjM8rRtjAboo2E9I1bxvdYI18L7SaNLXC9WkBQ7w/s1600/TRACK.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YLLFReN-prNYVE28RSufzE1eY9jgyAy3p9J5rBOzQLkCN98v_XXlhFcpEROYHXLH41MCFAEjpoS9jW9gG5hvFvewavMhEz7Qj3ngjM8rRtjAboo2E9I1bxvdYI18L7SaNLXC9WkBQ7w/s320/TRACK.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Legion faced the Red Army from this wood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In September 1944 the Red Army launched an assault towards Riga against the German-built defensive line at More, about 60k north-east of the capital. The extensive trench positions in this wood were filled almost exclusively by soldiers from the 19th Latvian division, outnumbered almost ten to one by Soviet forces.<br />
<br />
Artillery, aircraft and tanks supported the assault, across that stretch of no man's land in the top picture. The wood became a hell as men fought hand-to-hand, shells burst, tanks fired machine guns at close range and positions changed hands and then back. Heavy fighting continued for ten days until More was abandoned by the German army on October 5-6 and occupied by the Soviets, who lost 2,000 men in the action.<br />
<br />
There were indeed historical consequences: the Germans used the delay won by the Legion to withdraw from Riga and the Russian march into the city met with no resistance, so the capital was not destroyed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftfNgevoIC-awoAxz3AbZUwyZULL48WzWWpGG3HNyzdWnyfAGyXdHxC3qEwxmTKoFaRvQyFg7TZKOR0EXoLCljzb_ByNHN1d-US3lD2oN7g1lgeLS9p5uifo6h3OaJZkm5KE-8gpPv5A/s1600/LONG+SHOT+WALL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftfNgevoIC-awoAxz3AbZUwyZULL48WzWWpGG3HNyzdWnyfAGyXdHxC3qEwxmTKoFaRvQyFg7TZKOR0EXoLCljzb_ByNHN1d-US3lD2oN7g1lgeLS9p5uifo6h3OaJZkm5KE-8gpPv5A/s320/LONG+SHOT+WALL.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
At More there's a memorial stone which lists the 186 Legionnaires who fell or whose bodies were never recovered from the wood - or who perhaps slipped away in the night to take their chances as deserters.<br />
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There's also an informal and informative museum about the battle just nearby, which includes military hardware and weapons recovered from the wood and surrounding swamps, including a T-34 tank.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(More Museum is at www.moresmuzejs.lv: information leaflets which I've quoted from here are available in Latvian and English).</span></b><br />
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A little further down the road is a cemetery containing the remains of 117 of the Legionnaires killed at More between September 25 1944 and October 6, 1944.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6LWOyrp1rMb5js8uxCEqiIc7VsPuW7bgxq38XKSp5FDgAG40pxfYpXGq_atGwMMCrLpqOa8sqTsuHcSEQKMhNwkI06k1UrK_LSA-j079LHLXpNpV95K1Uz-iW8i-SRcO6tj7maJx0JA/s1600/NAMES+ON+WALL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6LWOyrp1rMb5js8uxCEqiIc7VsPuW7bgxq38XKSp5FDgAG40pxfYpXGq_atGwMMCrLpqOa8sqTsuHcSEQKMhNwkI06k1UrK_LSA-j079LHLXpNpV95K1Uz-iW8i-SRcO6tj7maJx0JA/s320/NAMES+ON+WALL.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
In 1988 the veterans' organisation Daugavas Vanagi organised the reburial of their remains with information about their grave sites, together with a monument, which was unveiled on November 11, 1990. Soviet special forces blew the monument up on December 5th, 1990. <br />
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Undeterred, the sculptor made another.<br />
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Memorials to the Legion have proved controversial, and modern politics have hijacked the memorial day of March 16, when fascist and anti-fascist parties demonstrate either for or against the Legion, while others simply lay wreaths and remember the dead.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>(More on Legion Day at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latvian_Legion_Day)</b></span><br />
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The war wasn't simple then, and it isn't simple now, and even remembering the dead has become twisted and difficult. Surely no-one wants to honour psychopathic brutes drunk on vodka and Jewish blood.. but isn't it time Latvians got a grip on this and sorted it out? It's twenty years since the end of the Soviet era and while today's recession may focus minds on day-to-day survival, there's a very twisted and painful past to straighten out.<br />
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<br />vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-67010600558426724742012-04-23T03:38:00.000-07:002012-04-25T08:13:20.613-07:00Whispering trees - Litene, the forest of death<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavqF3S6Fw0yA-VbUF5LzGO_Q6MQmGjUsJioaHD0bzzHou0jtDVGgBKwQH85hHmYCyidjMnXu1wkwxI8IKm1CcPuAN1FvfHzICtptUnVYmmH4B82a7eG7kTStL7DyJGmvt3vV5l0zL0Tw/s1600/MEMORIAL+STONE+LITENE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavqF3S6Fw0yA-VbUF5LzGO_Q6MQmGjUsJioaHD0bzzHou0jtDVGgBKwQH85hHmYCyidjMnXu1wkwxI8IKm1CcPuAN1FvfHzICtptUnVYmmH4B82a7eG7kTStL7DyJGmvt3vV5l0zL0Tw/s320/MEMORIAL+STONE+LITENE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The monument on the left is a small, easily-missed memorial by the side of a country church graveyard but it commemorates a dark day in the calendar of the Latvian army: the execution in spring 1941 of 100 officers by the Soviets at a camp in the forest of Litene, in Gulbene province to the north east of Latvia.<br />
The killings were a process of ratcheting up control over Latvian society, institutions and its people that began when the Soviets moved to occupy Latvia following the carve-up of the Baltics instituted by the Nazi-Soviet Non-Agression Pact of 1938 and the occupation of June 1940.<br />
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Valdis Lumans' excellent <i>Latvia in World War Two </i>describes how Soviet Russia carried out this process of physical and mental control. They banned national holidays and the flying of the Latvian flag, made Russian the first language, renamed the streets, adopted Moscow time across the country and even abolished Sunday as the day off, substituting Saturday instead.<br />
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The military was absorbed into the Red Army, Navy or Air Force, with the Russian Navy consolidating a major base at Liepaja. According to Valdis Lumans, all personnel now had to swear an oath of loyalty to Russia: "I swear to my last breath to be loyal to my Soviet homeland and worker-peasant government. I am always prepared to follow orders of the worker-peasant government to defend my homeland, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjry0RTsSnw4gFYH7uQX-J05umK_32JDhrKh9NOedVptqlyPrALpUx3ye-mPTVFygvBL50JhhinW4KODbAzxPXF7j3pq6v4NqPzJYYaHeEJJQHbb4wSsQJvUnWq2CoN7lO7VUuCWpasZLM/s1600/FOREST+OF+DEATH.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjry0RTsSnw4gFYH7uQX-J05umK_32JDhrKh9NOedVptqlyPrALpUx3ye-mPTVFygvBL50JhhinW4KODbAzxPXF7j3pq6v4NqPzJYYaHeEJJQHbb4wSsQJvUnWq2CoN7lO7VUuCWpasZLM/s320/FOREST+OF+DEATH.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Litene forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Senior officers in the army at the time would have been veterans of the Latvian War of Independence, and younger officers would have come of age in two-decade period of freedom that followed.<br />
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Soviet political officers were appointed, to ensure the reliability of the army in the 'socialist spirit'. What this meant was denunciations, disappearances and executions in a purge that reduced army numbers by a half. Gradually Soviet insignia replaced Latvian badges and Russian political officers replaced the Latvians supposed to be ensuring loyalty to the Soviet ideology. Patrols were accompanied by these Red Army personnel - to prevent desertions.<br />
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In spring 1941 Russian generals took over direct command of the army and the 24th Corps were transferred to Litene, a training camp in Latgale province.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCA93osz9Vd7mSSkCYVEF04b_d3ZRTDNYFSND-a7EsBzFmAjuzlHvAJBiUdxdSB3Lml9exctzqH7U0JSl_6OE9anNM-OdkS_RzhpTUqhtdpbc2BjDv5srQDfGQO3SeZOOp8pmD6I_-dI/s1600/FOREST+ROAD.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCA93osz9Vd7mSSkCYVEF04b_d3ZRTDNYFSND-a7EsBzFmAjuzlHvAJBiUdxdSB3Lml9exctzqH7U0JSl_6OE9anNM-OdkS_RzhpTUqhtdpbc2BjDv5srQDfGQO3SeZOOp8pmD6I_-dI/s320/FOREST+ROAD.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>On June 11 and 12th 1941, Latvian army commanders were replaced by Russians and sent to a slave labour camp at Norilsk in Siberia instead of being transferred to Moscow for training, as they were told.<br />
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On the morning of June 14, 120 Latvian officers were loaded onto trucks and driven into the forest, where they were disarmed, tied up and shot. The remainder - another 500 - were shot or sent to Norilsk. The lucky ones escaped into the forests.<br />
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At the same time as the army was being wiped out, so nearly 15,000 Latvian civilians were being loaded into cattle trucks to be deported to Norilsk, which became a slave labour death camp. These deportations were yet another dark chapter in Latvian history, but they were not alone: tens of thousands of Estonians and Lithuanians shared a similar fate.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDrqXiqZ6ATydnu9t70yw2k5sxVVt6Qw2De6rgFXV9onwYGOZwH3r0Ep0gKQ56tmvsT0vtWM2UoL6loreSG55robu3Rti0gWvSbOqi_2DpeRqCNwJvSyp4WXoM80fGhfz2Hx5IcemMWE/s1600/CAMP.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDrqXiqZ6ATydnu9t70yw2k5sxVVt6Qw2De6rgFXV9onwYGOZwH3r0Ep0gKQ56tmvsT0vtWM2UoL6loreSG55robu3Rti0gWvSbOqi_2DpeRqCNwJvSyp4WXoM80fGhfz2Hx5IcemMWE/s200/CAMP.JPG" width="200" /></a></div> Lumans gives a figure of 4, 665 officers, NCOs or enlisted soldiers arrested, deported or murdered during the period of Russian occupation <span class="st">June 17, 1940 to July 1, 1941</span>, generally referred to as The Year of Terror <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(see an online collection of gruesome photographs documenting some of the incidents here: http://www.angelfire.com/ks3/klubs/default.htm)</span>.</b><br />
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The Litene memorial at the top of this piece can be found at a turn off the road between Balvi and Gulbene. But the site of the shootings in the forest is more difficult to find. This is half a kilometre further out of Gulbene, then three kilometres down a track to the forest.<br />
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It's possible to walk through the woods and come to a clearing where a camp has been laid out next to the only building standing from 1941: a concrete bunker food store.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOnMh5ye-d807Ea-zxf0n-zvlQknHs0-IG_eCERLeWbG6J2ec22-zjL-r8Rg-cvUwxleb7YfNve9OomrpT9BjbIm2_vjea4_AHxu1fnIhn3FMRg3zezaYS1u6lqppSTURh_5VR6lFIOc/s1600/FOOD+BUNKER.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOnMh5ye-d807Ea-zxf0n-zvlQknHs0-IG_eCERLeWbG6J2ec22-zjL-r8Rg-cvUwxleb7YfNve9OomrpT9BjbIm2_vjea4_AHxu1fnIhn3FMRg3zezaYS1u6lqppSTURh_5VR6lFIOc/s320/FOOD+BUNKER.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The forest is a lonely, spooky place and I got the distinct impression I wasn't alone, particularly when it began to snow and hail and the wind whipped the hail into the branches with a strange tortured moan.<br />
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It's another of Latvia's forests of death which takes its place in the process of the subjugation of a nation: a process which would take another twist just a matter of weeks after Litene, when the Germans rolled across the border and began liquidating Soviet sympathisers and, as we've seen, Jews.<br />
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In their three-year occupation of Latvia the Nazis would also try to assimilate or absorb Latvian men of fighting age into their armed forces by creating 'volunteer' units: the controversial Latvian Legion Waffen SS.<br />
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With Latvian flags wrapped round their bodies - secretly concealed under their German uniforms - these men were sent into the fight against the Russians. Their courage in this fight helped stall the Russian advance into Latvia in September and October 1944 along the Sigulda Line and bought valuable time for tens of thousands of civilians to flee to Riga or escape the Red Army's advance but also for countless Germans to retreat back into Nazi Germany.<br />
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The Latvians of course had more at stake than helping Nazis flee. They were trying to prevent another Russian occupation of their country. In failing to stop the Red Army, half a century of occupation followed.<br />
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All of which leads to my next - again, accidental - port of call in my journey through Latvia's terrible wartime experiences which, in real time, has taken less than three days.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTRD1gpTnzSAy2OfaLybnNXpN75TpeQVOwyr6zvFaglYoZK8TtkCbmFFkI0RR0_iynlZKnBYbr8wMqiFClOtpIA92Oe-ot8zzLGVC7icCripFww5ISXwQU7ntKRM8URqLnNViIHF52N8/s1600/MEMORIAL+STONE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTRD1gpTnzSAy2OfaLybnNXpN75TpeQVOwyr6zvFaglYoZK8TtkCbmFFkI0RR0_iynlZKnBYbr8wMqiFClOtpIA92Oe-ot8zzLGVC7icCripFww5ISXwQU7ntKRM8URqLnNViIHF52N8/s320/MEMORIAL+STONE.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial stone at Litene forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But before we leave the lonely forest of death, another mystery.<br />
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Though the forest is three kilometres along a single mud track, and there's only one house on the way, this memorial stone appeared one night to mark the men who died here... and no-one knows who put it there....vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-82786279804264294052012-04-22T01:45:00.000-07:002012-04-25T08:13:20.618-07:00Rivers of blood - the Holocaust in RezekneRezekne is a city with happy memories for me. It's where my wife went to university and where I discovered the charming habit of celebrating your marriage by locking a padlock onto a bridge. With several of those college friends to see in Rezekne, I was happy to check into the Kolonna Hotel and explore the city. This is the point at which our friends suggested we visit the Ancupani Hills and our tour of massacre sites began (see previous two posts).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxnVR7QvdRkI_a-0WgO7LR2cGqa8Xr8kjIW1W2dYrQ4kM8xzmoi33hbACmEj0n_-ps2BmmC1vDxoh4hWIrowzgk2hb5pSZVb8bFT7KaqZI4Hhx42559TaEv4hBE1LPuavgAxMaTUtVkU/s1600/cobbled+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxnVR7QvdRkI_a-0WgO7LR2cGqa8Xr8kjIW1W2dYrQ4kM8xzmoi33hbACmEj0n_-ps2BmmC1vDxoh4hWIrowzgk2hb5pSZVb8bFT7KaqZI4Hhx42559TaEv4hBE1LPuavgAxMaTUtVkU/s320/cobbled+street.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>As we arrived back in town for a tour on foot, I hoped we might discover happier tourist attractions. Not so.<br />
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Having climbed down from the remains of the 13th century castle, where local youths now congregate to drink - because they can see the police coming - we took a left along the river, with the Cathedral high up on the other bank.<br />
It's an untidy river bank with little development along here: the odd wooden house, old cars and wood yards, until you reach the bottom of a cobbled street.<br />
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And there at the corner of the street there's what looks like a black marble gravestone. It reads: '120 Rezekne's Jews were shot down on this place by the local Nazis on July 15, 1941.'<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">While marking the scene of what would have been (by my standards) terrible carnage, this stone also implies that local people who were either Nazis or working for the Nazis were involved. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSwvdPTYoDvGwyZ8tKQA72r9JBvwDZ7TSiRLt-KPHpb8LGcHyq_Tkhtcc2rbJ98j2DkL-xQLJQe76jX5OpfaQcDFlLwSm8qv9UIZWZzA0yFMDFosXluLT9UnGFHV-2th3MLKPQ0DKRtg/s1600/stone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSwvdPTYoDvGwyZ8tKQA72r9JBvwDZ7TSiRLt-KPHpb8LGcHyq_Tkhtcc2rbJ98j2DkL-xQLJQe76jX5OpfaQcDFlLwSm8qv9UIZWZzA0yFMDFosXluLT9UnGFHV-2th3MLKPQ0DKRtg/s320/stone.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>And so it proves to be. In this instance, research shows that the massacre of Rezekne's Jews is well-documented and turns out to be - sadly - an unexpected window onto the Holocaust in Latvia that reveals such barbarity, savagery and cruelty that it's difficult to imagine.<br />
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But these things happened, and we have an obligation to ensure they are remembered. Those who want to forget the past - for fear it will upset the present, or the future - ignore the hindsight that history brings.<br />
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I knew that Latvia's Jews were more or less wiped out in the war. I read about that in the Occupation Museum in Riga on my first visit to the country. But here in Rezekne, there's barely a word.<br />
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What follows are eye-witness accounts or testimonies taken from the Yad Vashem archives on the Jewish Holocaust in Europe.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Jewish community of Rēzekne (called Rezhitsa until 1917) dated from the end of the 18th century. <br />
During the period of the independent Latvian republic (1919-1940), several Jewish schools with different political and cultural affiliations operated in Rēzekne. In 1935 3,342 Jews lived in Rēzekne, comprising approximately 25 percent of the town’s population. <br />
After the Soviet occupation of Latvia in June 1940, all private enterprises were nationalized and Jewish community institutions were closed. Some Rēzekne Jews were arrested during the night of June 14-15, 1941 and exiled to locations deep within the Soviet Union. <br />
During the first week of the German-Soviet war the old border between Latvia and Russia was closed for everyone except Soviet workers and their families. Nevertheless, many Rēzekne Jews who had fled from the town gathered in the frontier area until the border was opened again on July 4. Many Rēzekne Jews managed to flee into the Soviet interior. <br />
The Germans occupied Rēzekne on July 3, 1941 and, with the assistance of Latvian collaborators, began murdering Jews almost immediately. On July 4 the Germans ordered all Jewish men from the age of 18 to 60 to assemble on the market square. Latvian policemen rounded them up and took them to the local prison. On July 8 the town’s Jews were ordered to wear a yellow badge and banned from walking on the town's sidewalks and from wearing hats. On July 9 (according other sources, July 5), about 30 able-bodied young men were sent to the NKVD building and were murdered after being subjected to public humiliation. On August 3 the women, children, and elderly were rounded up and taken to the same prison, with the exception of women with little children, who were moved to ”the old prison.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2G-IPWCVltg69GfUVRwYG6bTFpnviFE466GjvlLpYa4653M7hX-tvZXdiPt8tsrD76j4ZF3bsDHy3jYqaVG8XxsiU3yLJu_RyHJXiMIaqEQPZHYFC6e0NWiGniKJJe8uZVMj6EH9MYo/s1600/massacre+site.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2G-IPWCVltg69GfUVRwYG6bTFpnviFE466GjvlLpYa4653M7hX-tvZXdiPt8tsrD76j4ZF3bsDHy3jYqaVG8XxsiU3yLJu_RyHJXiMIaqEQPZHYFC6e0NWiGniKJJe8uZVMj6EH9MYo/s320/massacre+site.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Most Rēzekne Jews were killed by the Germans between July and November of 1941 with the active assistance of Latvian policemen, including the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/hyperlinks/victors_arajs.html?width=280&height=520" title="Victors Arājs">Arājs Kommando</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">, in three main locations in the vicinity of the town: the Jewish cemetery, Leščinska Park, and the Ančupānu Hills. Several dozen Jewish craftsmen were forced to work until they were killed in the autumn of 1943. Only three people from the entire Rēzekne Jewish community survived – the child Motya Tager, 57-year Chaim Izraelit, and his teenage nephew Yakov Izraelit. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">So this massacre happened within two weeks of the Germans occupying Rezekne, with the thugs of the Nazi-supporting Latvian militia, the Arajs Kommando, doing the dirty work.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Early in the morning of July 15, 1941 members of Einsatzkommando 1b (of the Einzatzgruppe A), commanded by Erich Ehrlinger, with the assistance of local policemen, took between 100 and 120 Jews to the town’s park, situated not far from the Leščinska mill. The owner of the mill, together with his family, had been deportated to the Gulag by the Soviets in June 1941. The local authorities considered the killing of the Jewish workers from the two main factories of the town to be revenge for the deportation. The Jews were shot at the site and buried in a pit that had been prepared in advance. In April 1944 the bodies of the victims were exhumed and burned by the Germans from <a href="http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/hyperlinks/operation_1005.html?width=600&height=460" title="Aktion 1005 (Operation 1005)">Special Unit 1005</a>.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;">http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/murderSite.asp?site_id=115)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Here's an account of a Wehrmacht soldier who was stationed in Rezekne.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The report of Johanes Becker, witness from Wehrmacht headquarters: <o:p></o:p></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QZ3Wqjs2ascxsyFNzrxe_flWXEdVMm97t0OQcXxVVpNHUwIoBWprLIfnujK2RFZ7PKczGV_PEp3qUK4v6HK3V8Xs-8A35ldzLVGBD4qvAD3VXMWLyGtFP9G3Lh7rwgEw9tj0mQbNVTo/s1600/rezekne+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QZ3Wqjs2ascxsyFNzrxe_flWXEdVMm97t0OQcXxVVpNHUwIoBWprLIfnujK2RFZ7PKczGV_PEp3qUK4v6HK3V8Xs-8A35ldzLVGBD4qvAD3VXMWLyGtFP9G3Lh7rwgEw9tj0mQbNVTo/s320/rezekne+river.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rezekne's river of blood</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">... About fourteen days after we came to Rēzekne, the SS appeared. They belonged to the “famous” Security Police. They had SD initials on their sleeve. We, from local garrison headquarters, lived right across from the city [town] prison. We could, after the arrival of the SS, observe in detail the happenings that took place in the prison. At first the Jews from Rēzekne and the vicinity were brought together. There were people of all ages, the gray ones and babies. Among them were also women and children. The people were pressed together like sardines in a can. They were so closely compressed that nobody could topple over. <br />
One day, it was about 4:00 or 5:00 a.m., we were awakened by shots. We ran outside and then to the headquarters. From there we went to the place from where the shots were coming. We saw there that people had dug a pit (a huge grave), and that people had to kneel before the ditch. Then they received a pistol shot from the SS in the back of their heads. Those that were not dead the Latvian soldiers had to finish off with rifle shots. The people were killed by the SS with pistol shots. As we found out, the people were subordinated directly under the <i>Reichssicherheitshauptamt</i> in Berlin. <br />
I did not see the number of the dead in the pit. At the side of the ditch, there were still some fifty living people. They were gradually pushed by the SS men to the pit. <br />
Finally, about ten victims were left. They had to shovel up the ditch, and then were brought back to the prison. There they told the other inmates about the killings. This brought on an intolerable wailing ....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From Andrew Ezergailis, <i>The Holocaust in Latvia 1941-1944: The Missing Center</i>, Washington, 1996, pp. 282-283.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The killing became so intense the river ran with blood and local people urged the Germans to stop the executions in that area because it was becoming polluted. This account gives some idea of the situation in Rezekne at the time:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">On July 9, 1941 (according to other sources, July 5), members of Einsatzkommando 1b collected local policemen at the former NKVD building. About 30 strong young Jewish men were then brought from the prison. On orders of the SD the Jews dug up between ten to thirty bodies of local people, including members of the local Latvian intelligentsia and former Latvian policemen, who had been killed by the NKVD before the Soviets left the town. The Germans wanted people to believe that Jews had killed these people and to encourage local policemen to actively participate in the ensuing murder operation against the Jews. One member of this group of Jews, 18-year Yosl Silno, jumped over the fence and tried to swim across the river, but was shot. Boruch Veksler, a 30-year old pharmacist, poisoned himself. The SS-men beat the other Jews to death. The murdered Jews were buried at the same place where the NKVD victims had been buried. In accordance with the order of a German officer, only Khanon Izraelit, a dental technician, was returned to prison.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;">http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/murderSite.asp?site_id=113)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Research and testimony gathered after the war can even put names to alleged killers and outline the horror endured in this city.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal;">The following report of the ChGK from October 9, 1944 contains a description of the mass murder of the Jews in Rēzekne:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Testimony of <i><u>Ivan (Jan) Matusevič</u></i>, who was born in 1906, a Righteous Among the Nations (he rescued Chaim and Yakov Izraelit): <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">… In 1941, while working in the forge of the roads department on First of May Street, number 74/84, I heard a conversation between three local policemen, Pavel Pavlov, Ivan Kraul, and Petr Petrovskiy. I didn’t know where the two first lived, but I knew that the third lived on Lyutsin Street number 52. They bragged about shooting 110 Jews in the park near the Leščinska mill. The grave is located southwest of the mill, about 100 meters from the mill.… <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The following report of the ChGK from September 29, 1944 contains a description of the mass murder of the Jews in Rēzekne: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Testimony of Petr Boiko, a Latvian who was born in 1892: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">... In 1941 I worked at the Leskovskii [Leščinska] mill. I was there on July 15, 1941, when Germans shot between 100 and 120 Jews in the park near the mill and buried them there. Before the Red Army arrived on July 2 [27], the bodies were exhumed and burned.... <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/chgkSovietReports.asp?cid=182&site_id=115">http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/chgkSovietReports.asp?cid=182&site_id=115</a>)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">The killing went on and on..</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During July 1941 the Germans and local policemen took groups of Jewish men who were incarcerated in the prison to the Jewish cemetery, where they were shot. On August 3, 1941 the Jewish women, children, and old people who had remained in the town were also imprisoned. On the next day the Germans began taking them in groups from the prison to the Jewish cemetery. Over a period of ten days, under guard by local policemen, they were taken on foot or by truck to the cemetery, where they were forced to undress and then shot. Approximately 2,000 Jews, a majority of Rēzekne's Jews, were killed in the cemetery. In April 1944 the Germans opened the mass-grave and burned all the bodies.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>(http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/murderSite.asp?site_id=117)</b></span></div><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">...with no mercy for men, women or children:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The fascists burned all the synagogues in town. When an old Jew tried to save a Sefer Torah, a German kicked him in the stomach and the old man died immediately. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> The Germans did not spare 25- [sic, for 75]-year-old rabbi Chaim Lubotski. At the end of July the fascists came to take the rabbi. He refused to come with them. “Tell me where to go, and I will go there myself,” he insisted. He was ordered to go to the Jewish cemetery. The Germans brought ten more Jews there, and murdered them along with the rabbi. Before his death the rabbi said: “Our end has come, but every one of your crimes shall be avenged…” then he started saying the confession [that a Jew says before his death]…. <br />
When the cemetery was filled with bodies, the Germans moved their killing site to the Anchipanski [Ančupani] Hills, five kilometers from the town. At that location they shot to death 18,000 Soviet prisoners of war. Over one hundred Jews were murdered at the Yaskivski [Leščinska] Mill. <br />
The women’s turn came on the day of Tisha b’Av. The Germans forced their way into the houses and took the women and children to prison. Many of them were taken directly to the cemetery and shot. Twenty women were taken to a brothel and were shot a day later. <br />
Horrifying sights took place at the prison. In the morning the executioners would pass through the cells and take several children at a time. The poor mothers begged, screamed, and fought the Hitlerists, but to no avail. The children were loaded onto trucks, taken to the cemetery or the hills, and buried alive. <br />
On August 23 all the women from the prison were taken in 33 trucks to the Anchipanski Hills and were shot. Only a few Jews remained alive in Rezhitsa after this killing: the tailor Lotz, the tinsmith Treyzon, the brothers Yizhak and Zalman Peyris, the tanner Kopilov, the engineer Mulya Lifshits and his father Zalman (who died later at the age of 85). In 1943 they were also murdered. Before the Red Army arrived, the Germans exhumed and burned the bodies.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">B. Hertzbach<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><u><b><o:p>(</o:p><a href="http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/writtenAccounts.asp?cid=182&site_id=117">http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/writtenAccounts.asp?cid=182&site_id=117</a>)</b></u></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p>... and continued for months, a nightmare gathering in intensity:</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>From the diary of I. Kolosova (Mikhaylovskaya), who was born in 1926 and lived in Rēzekne during the war: </b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>November 10 [1941]</i>. … Today, Jews who fled from Rezhitsa [Rēzekne] were brought back again…. <br />
<i>November 16, Sunday</i>: Indeed! Either matters are getting worse for the Germans, or they have been driven absolutely crazy by blood. Yesterday they eliminated the last Jews [in town]. They gathered all of those who remained, even wives and children of Christians. They didn’t spare Tanya and Vera Mikhailova [two sisters age 22 and 18 whose mother Lyubov Mikhailova (née Polak) had been Jewish but was baptised]. <br />
The murders continued all day yesterday at Ančupāni. This morning 22 Red Army political instructors were shot. An orgy of bloodshed is taking place. Now the policemen are carrying away the clothes that were taken off, but the people are no longer here. Human life costs nothing – only one rifle shot…. <br />
<i>November 19, Wednesday</i>: Is this the Western culture that is being hailed in all the papers? With the temperature outside 12 degrees below zero, they brought people (women and children) to a field, forced them to take off their clothes (including socks or stockings) and shot them. Their brutality must represent some kind of record…. One policeman said that, after she had to undress, Vera Mikhailova had voluntarily stepped into the first line of victims….<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>From Yuliya Aleksandrova, “Rezhitsa literally flows with blood, the houses are intact but the people are gone" (in Russian),” published in <i>Relga</i>, November 16, 2005.</b></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Again the Ancupani Hills are used as a site to murder innocent civilians, this time in the systematic killing of the Holocaust.</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In August 1941 a large number of Rēzekne Jews who had been incarcerated in the town’s prisons were murdered in the Ančupānu Hills - about four kilometers from the town. On August 23 the final local mass murder operation against the Jews began. The Germans and their Latvian collaborators took a large group of Jews, some on foot and some by truck, to the site, where they were forced to undress and then shot. On November 15, 1941 an additional group of Jews was taken to the site and shot. Among them were a woman who had been baptised and her two adult daughters from a mixed family. Jews from other places in the area were also killed in the Ančupānu Hills, as were many people of other nationalities, including Roma and Latvians, along with Soviet prisoners of war. In April 1944 the Germans exhumed the bodies of the victims and burned them.</span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">http://www1.yadvashem.org/untoldstories/database/murderSite.asp?site_id=116</span>)</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The stench in April 1944 with the Germans exhuming all these bodies and burning them to destroy the evidence must have been nightmarish. And having murder on this scale taking place on your doorstep, with a blood-crazed local Nazi commander ordering the mass execution of Jews, Russian prisoners of war and Roma, it's possible to see how little a human life would mean if that human is a Soviet partisan or escaped POW seeking refuge in the nearby hamlet of Audrini. A megalomaniac wielding such power of life and death would surely think nothing of ordering a village of 200 people to be wiped out.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJADQJSR9MSz6lnzOKXoBZy9bWGchHSctzuYHEECsgzs2YwwcktOshHn4Fl-Rp-pvWni6hC9k1ZvJLsbQ8Sk8G1LOmGxGPGG8_-AzEkvDY-qvB3csT1TT2oUaSKAl9qDOXycmDiwNCtXc/s1600/centre+of+town.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJADQJSR9MSz6lnzOKXoBZy9bWGchHSctzuYHEECsgzs2YwwcktOshHn4Fl-Rp-pvWni6hC9k1ZvJLsbQ8Sk8G1LOmGxGPGG8_-AzEkvDY-qvB3csT1TT2oUaSKAl9qDOXycmDiwNCtXc/s320/centre+of+town.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another unmarked massacre site in Rezekne?</td></tr>
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The systematic extermination of Jews ended when Red Army liberated Rēzekne on July 27, 1944. But in our tour of the city, our friend added a footnote. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we passed a site in the centre, next to the Kolonna Hotel, bordering on the excavations for a new concert hall and arts centre, down the hill from the statue celebrating Latvian freedom, he said: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"When the Russians pulled out of Rezekne as the Germans moved in (in 1941), they rounded up all the people they didn't like.. and shot them."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The wartime horrors of Rezekne go on and on, unnoticed and mostly unremembered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-61091406281556628252012-04-20T01:49:00.002-07:002012-04-25T08:13:20.610-07:00Latvia's tragic war 2: The silent scars .. Audrini's secrets revealedFrom the sombre killing field of Ancupani, we drove two kilometres down country roads to Audrini. Ahead, on the right, a large statue marked the turn off for the town.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7b5pFeL6EeNXqYm3cgnPfrjeDMTzI83G7XkF7tMcgHxula9v2MkEIabkkyZnPWGiv-j9PwVyC1RiaMYAaaSLo03kdTurnivckv8UeyfYbhPk1deeEVxvAvRqsIhXZYqAfvZO5cFwuYc/s1600/AUDRINI+STATUE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7b5pFeL6EeNXqYm3cgnPfrjeDMTzI83G7XkF7tMcgHxula9v2MkEIabkkyZnPWGiv-j9PwVyC1RiaMYAaaSLo03kdTurnivckv8UeyfYbhPk1deeEVxvAvRqsIhXZYqAfvZO5cFwuYc/s320/AUDRINI+STATUE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As in Ancupani, there's no public explanation of what happened here, or what this statue marks. Those who want to know have to do some research.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In December 1941, while Germany and the Soviet Union were at war, Soviet partisans hiding in the Latvian village of Audrini, then under German occupation, killed at least two Latvian police officers. As a reprisal for those killings and as a warning to other villages not to harbour Soviet partisans, the Nazis ordered swift and brutal retaliation: All the villagers of Audrini, some 200 to 300 men, women, and children, were arrested and shot, and their village was burned to the ground. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Boleslavs Maikovskis, a Latvian native, had been installed by the Nazis as chief of a police precinct for the area that included Audrini. Maikovskis ordered his Latvian police officers to assist German soldiers in arresting the villagers and burning their town. It is not clear whether he or his police officers played any role in shooting the villagers.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">At the time of the Nazi Germany invasion of the Soviet Union, Maikovskis lived in Rezekne. In July 1941, German forces reached Rezekne and established a local Latvian police unit under the command of the SS. Maikovskis volunteered for and obtained the position of Chief of the Second Police Precinct of the Rezekne District for the Nazi-created police force, a full-time job he held from about July 1941 until 1944.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkS8tcg6X_CcTVn6JQzolAwGxg2GuUOUx22du0pnZUCQRbff-6MHknCTEQ7OGiRcDJ2bDxUZFas8alCPJdlk43mCz7nmxEUvz0L_i_75Xns6A74lO-Tr8qsyxio9YWWWmd6sTRcX9Ckc/s1600/AUDRINI+TOWN.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkS8tcg6X_CcTVn6JQzolAwGxg2GuUOUx22du0pnZUCQRbff-6MHknCTEQ7OGiRcDJ2bDxUZFas8alCPJdlk43mCz7nmxEUvz0L_i_75Xns6A74lO-Tr8qsyxio9YWWWmd6sTRcX9Ckc/s320/AUDRINI+TOWN.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Maikovskis was responsible for an area that included the village of Audrini, which had an ethnic Russian population of the Orthodox faith believed by the Germans to be inclined toward Communism. In December 1941, altercations occurred between Latvian police and Soviet partisans believed to be harbored in Audrini, and at least two Latvian police officers were killed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Nazi authorities ordered that action be taken against Audrini, and, on or about December 22, 1941, Maikovskis ordered his Latvian police to join with German soldiers in arresting all of the Audrini villagers, totaling 200-300 men, women, and children; on or about January 2, 1942, pursuant to Maikovskis's orders, his policemen assisted the Germans in burning the village to the ground. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Maikovskis testified that he had had no choice but to order the mass arrests and burning of the village because the Nazis, through his Latvian superior, had ordered him to do so. Subsequently, in events with which Maikovskis denies involvement, about 30 of the Audrini villagers were publicly shot in the Rezekne market square, and the remaining villagers were transported to the nearby Anchupani Hills where they too were shot.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(from an appeal against deportation to the US Appeal Court, Board of Immigration 1985 by Boleslavs Maikovskis: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://bulk.resource.org/courts.gov/c/F2/773/773.F2d.435.84-4143.674.html">http://bulk.resource.org/courts.gov/c/F2/773/773.F2d.435.84-4143.674.html</a>)</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLe9SQXpQpYpIAUbKSIVdTSci3wfyw1wsx71FbfNpH4xYuAbV7Iovszix8jPiy0EwSEz08TIr_AEyn1UyORbZbgNRyypnNFtQ9xxzxXDVkvUorunCyOzW81uEtLxHdFx7F7aZvHYKvgJ8/s1600/PLAQUE+IN+AUDRINI.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLe9SQXpQpYpIAUbKSIVdTSci3wfyw1wsx71FbfNpH4xYuAbV7Iovszix8jPiy0EwSEz08TIr_AEyn1UyORbZbgNRyypnNFtQ9xxzxXDVkvUorunCyOzW81uEtLxHdFx7F7aZvHYKvgJ8/s200/PLAQUE+IN+AUDRINI.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's a plaque in the town square - in reality, little more than a small car park - which details the bare facts of the Audrini incident, along with a map which shows the road that the villagers would have been marched along to their deaths. As I remember there's also a plaque by the Post Office (now closed) which lists the names of the villagers, but in Russian, and that at least a dozen of the victims, maybe more, had the same family name.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha48x3uk-hOVJv2A9hcnXwQsWyqP95gJCw1D7zsr9-wN8stJT-oPR2pchASLGHR2uzqP4A-czMSsS1x5U2R1rBzo8i-0b5UqP0R9iWfIO-t8VK8tomGxw2sMWOF6s0E0b_CShkMUFniQQ/s1600/audrini+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha48x3uk-hOVJv2A9hcnXwQsWyqP95gJCw1D7zsr9-wN8stJT-oPR2pchASLGHR2uzqP4A-czMSsS1x5U2R1rBzo8i-0b5UqP0R9iWfIO-t8VK8tomGxw2sMWOF6s0E0b_CShkMUFniQQ/s200/audrini+house.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I asked our friend who lived in Audrini nowadays. He said: "Russians".. but not knowing the facts of the massacre, we didn't stop any of the few people around to ask them what it's like living in Audrini today.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's a strange place: a mixture of ancient wooden houses - probably dating back to 1945 though, no later - with a scattering of three to five storey Russian-built flats. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblXJ9WmNls5GMNaZGjHTCkCMhrRX-Cp4hucqSEUiGg6DMUgy5mB1SKqH5mk_0rsNXtMlLbK4mc25DUwwB45DITgB0k3NKhFmsPi6C0rlEXlIk8PpBX1gKnws2LMCBzqrehiu8fiMM3WM/s1600/ROAD+OUT+OF+AUDRINI.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblXJ9WmNls5GMNaZGjHTCkCMhrRX-Cp4hucqSEUiGg6DMUgy5mB1SKqH5mk_0rsNXtMlLbK4mc25DUwwB45DITgB0k3NKhFmsPi6C0rlEXlIk8PpBX1gKnws2LMCBzqrehiu8fiMM3WM/s320/ROAD+OUT+OF+AUDRINI.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It would be inapppropriate to say the town has seen better days, but the recession has forced the closure of the Post Office and the nearest place to get a stamp is all the way into Rezekne. There's not much going on, apart from the odd dog barking.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In one final research sweep for this article, to try to confirm the number of Soviet POWs executed in the Ancupani hills (18,000 according to one contemporary account), I came across this Russian website:</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">http://www.russkije.lv/en/lib/read/the-tragedy-of-audrini.html</span><br />
<br />
which may hold the secret to all this. It gives perhaps the simplest account of why such a terrible fate befell Audrini.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">The village of Audriņi in Eastern Latvia, populated chiefly by Russian Old Believers, was burnt in January 1942 by local collaborators, and 215 of its inhabitants were shot. The reason for this bloody act – one of the women from the village, Anisya Glushneva, had concealed her son, a Red Army soldier, and five of his comrades. When they were discovered by policemen they put up resistance, killing several of them. The chief of the German security police gave the order to ‘wipe the village of Audriņi off the face of the earth’. The Nazi policeman-collaborant Boļeslavs Maikovskis was put in charge of this action. 30 residents of Audriņi were shot on the market square in Rēzekne, the others in the Ančupāni hills. The village of Barsuki in the Lūdza District suffered a similar fate.</span></span><br />
<br />
So in its simplest terms, a mother's love was the catalyst for Audrini being wiped out.<br />
<br />
Reading about Lidice I saw a sentence which said the Nazis chose to boast about Lidice to show the brutality of their reprisals against those who chose to act against them (1,300 deaths for the assassination of the very senior Nazi Heydrich), but - tellingly - other massacres were kept secret. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Because of the Nazi propaganda, Lidice was picked up immediately by the Allies. The liquidation of Audrini was known locally but doesn't seem to have reached a wider audience. Try googling both.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;">So why is this? Perhaps amid the horrors of the discovery of the concentration camps, the euphoria of the ending of the war, the division of Europe between Russians and Allies along pre-agreed lines and the probably daily discovery of yet another act of barbarism, the wiping out of 200 men, women and children suspected of harbouring Soviet partisans was a mere drop in the ocean on the atrocity scale.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;">My Latvian friend's resigned sigh - "but this happened everywhere" - seems to be borne out. But awful as it is, Audrini is nothing compared to the horrors of the Holocaust to be uncovered in Rezekne.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
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</span></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-72612542893346532782012-04-19T01:17:00.002-07:002012-04-25T08:13:20.616-07:00The forests hide deep secrets...Ancupani<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYAqAe9uRnpqmjINBaKGi-hvjwlF3cfkNEHZXKRh5XNkoTwtHzVTJ1M1Ln-64mwuGL2W3RWy7OUrREHP4IVvrE9k7qEfA-6IbpbRMjM-CuaCWE7HbbgFHla57bvXQWreHQ-SYmpB01EA/s1600/IMG_0123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYAqAe9uRnpqmjINBaKGi-hvjwlF3cfkNEHZXKRh5XNkoTwtHzVTJ1M1Ln-64mwuGL2W3RWy7OUrREHP4IVvrE9k7qEfA-6IbpbRMjM-CuaCWE7HbbgFHla57bvXQWreHQ-SYmpB01EA/s320/IMG_0123.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
I think it was my sixth visit to Latvia when I realised that I was actually quite puzzled that there was very little evidence of all the terrible things that have happened there in the past century. There are very few memorials, for instance. And on closer inspection, the ones there are don't tell either the full or the true picture.<br />
<br />
Most of them, like this liberation monument in the eastern city of Rezekne, were put there by the Russians. This one reminds Latvians who it was that liberated them, in a tone suggesting they would do well to remember that.<br />
<br />
While the Russians certainly pushed back the Nazis and ended the wholesale slaughter of the city's Jews (more on this later), it ushered in fifty years of suppression which smothered discussion of what really happened in Rezekne (more on this too.)<br />
<br />
The truth is that Russians and Germans alike slaughtered Latvians in their tens of thousands. I'm not Russian and I'm not German: I don't have an axe to grind or points to score against this or that murderous totalitarian regime. I'm an English journalist married to a Latvian and in my visits to a country I never expected to go to I have stumbled across episodes of history that have shocked me. And I might add, I've seen a few things already: Rwanda, South Africa, Northern Ireland, Germany.<br />
<br />
I was shocked firstly because of what happened in Latvia - virtually everywhere - and secondly, because no-one seems to want to remember.<br />
<br />
I said to one Latvian friend: "Why isn't there a memorial there to this shocking thing that happened?". To which she replied: "It wasn't the only place that it happened. These terrible things happened in lots of places."<br />
I guess that might be one explanation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYIOE-lQpRvRi_EUWUockiHLhDDRHW6h-pI8e7H9MmHiAoXnTJoukqE4YeioTnLF2rIbMoWO2NE3J22cYkPI87-v3gKiVAs__03H9tVOi2mH0CJxyQ2vccoybsfLHIgpCZOA8td5_YzWw/s1600/CLEARING.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYIOE-lQpRvRi_EUWUockiHLhDDRHW6h-pI8e7H9MmHiAoXnTJoukqE4YeioTnLF2rIbMoWO2NE3J22cYkPI87-v3gKiVAs__03H9tVOi2mH0CJxyQ2vccoybsfLHIgpCZOA8td5_YzWw/s320/CLEARING.JPG" width="320" /></a>A friend in Rezekne offered to show us round the city. After we'd looked at the castle and the market and the bus station he said: "Would you like to see the forest where the Germans took a whole village and shot everybody?" A little taken aback, because this wasn't something I knew about, we drove a short way out of town. He led us along a path and into the forest for a short way until we reached a clearing.<br />
<br />
"Here it is," he said. "Here WHAT is?" I replied, not sure what he'd brought us to.<br />
"This is where the Germans machine-gunned all the villagers," he said. There were fresh roses and floral tributes - at Easter 2012, seventy years later.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUUE1bIuoLN4cizn78clR4ZTFqaX3JHreX_av5AasvAyztKd6YoVFHRO_0BPP6o3NLJ8JQfKZ6RVqcy3uHP4ZgKHH3rT55Hz0ykLeJMGTuVBKk5v6Rn5kROxbj2J9d7J9QlIbbJI2vWU/s1600/ANCUPANI+ROSES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUUE1bIuoLN4cizn78clR4ZTFqaX3JHreX_av5AasvAyztKd6YoVFHRO_0BPP6o3NLJ8JQfKZ6RVqcy3uHP4ZgKHH3rT55Hz0ykLeJMGTuVBKk5v6Rn5kROxbj2J9d7J9QlIbbJI2vWU/s200/ANCUPANI+ROSES.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
But no information.<br />
<br />
"This is Ancupani," he said. "The Germans marched 200 people from a nearby village, including children, and shot them."<br />
At Ancupani, there's not a word of this. Ancupani was where the inhabitants of the nearby village of Audrini paid the price for Soviet partisans shooting two Latvian policemen, in January 1942.<br />
The chief of police Boleslavs Maikovskis ordered everyone to be arrested after the two policemen were shot, and the village was burned down. The 215 villagers, including 53 children, were then executed here.<br />
The savage reprisal was ordered because Audrini was known to harbour Soviet<br />
partisans.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPx5NDs6oYbUNblS4qJOp8I-nPWqfsQvyyQSDBXHEnKE0qNqvyYWkyOH0e3ODMKnnQBvK64zSICLutU9-Sd1l93yse7Xmh9UHoV2o_GIbFkatpMW4x5GzrR0oeDrBBf2J6tABGP2m6Q-I/s1600/ANCUPANI+THEY+DIED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPx5NDs6oYbUNblS4qJOp8I-nPWqfsQvyyQSDBXHEnKE0qNqvyYWkyOH0e3ODMKnnQBvK64zSICLutU9-Sd1l93yse7Xmh9UHoV2o_GIbFkatpMW4x5GzrR0oeDrBBf2J6tABGP2m6Q-I/s200/ANCUPANI+THEY+DIED.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
On the wall of the memorial garden at the end of the execution site are mounted the words 'Vini mira lai dzivotu tu' - They died so you can live.<br />
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The doorway leads through to a staircase rising to a stark, simple garden, with no flowers or decoration, simply a statue of a mother with a baby holding an apple in her hand.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymau1Ekw83obNX153-b02o3j4RsIAlrf_DXl6JKJcIlC5btlRV360azfQLSeMuIrkGBniEAxQWW1KrVE2iL6PR6vZjvyEb3Nwowa1RhWgTWpiRGzoRVOCvuUkxyHAmmGteQl6qPIBU1A/s1600/APPLE+STATUE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymau1Ekw83obNX153-b02o3j4RsIAlrf_DXl6JKJcIlC5btlRV360azfQLSeMuIrkGBniEAxQWW1KrVE2iL6PR6vZjvyEb3Nwowa1RhWgTWpiRGzoRVOCvuUkxyHAmmGteQl6qPIBU1A/s320/APPLE+STATUE.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
The child's outstretched hands seem to emphasise the brutality of what happened here.<br />
<br />
<br />
And again, there's no explanation of why this statue is here. Not in Latvian, Russian, German or English, like the information boards you find outside Catholic churches or manor houses in some Latvian provinces.<br />
<br />
One of those wreaths by the feet of the mother mentions Lidice, the Czech town wiped out in June 1942 in a Nazi reprisal for the killing of the brute Heydrich. The whole world knows of Lidice: its very name a byword for terror, synonymous with mass Nazi murder and cold, callous reprisals. I've never heard of Audrini but the same thing happened here - five months before - by murderers reporting to the same bosses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmTT30n8mFSHYk7l9eGdhTysTLzzeWnldwtevs98vtypSKqnB046eeiNonKPeJj3-uz7Uy3-6xqETGN5u6JD0Lu21CF0RybHDQxDBJCDOHo2AS9nRK4NhVAnDoCBoLvQiabMPjwyihxU/s1600/LONG+SHOT+STATUE+FOREST.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmTT30n8mFSHYk7l9eGdhTysTLzzeWnldwtevs98vtypSKqnB046eeiNonKPeJj3-uz7Uy3-6xqETGN5u6JD0Lu21CF0RybHDQxDBJCDOHo2AS9nRK4NhVAnDoCBoLvQiabMPjwyihxU/s320/LONG+SHOT+STATUE+FOREST.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancupani's forests of death</td></tr>
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It's like this all over Latvia. There were massacres everywhere but the fact that Audrini and Ancupani don't rate even a matter-of-fact plaque left me feeling quite shocked. Surely people can't just shrug and say: "Well, this happened everywhere. There's nothing particularly special about this." Can they?<br />
<br />
Ancupani was the accidental starting point for my brief journey into the wartime horror of Latvia, with killers German and Russian alike, who divided the country up as the spoils of war then set about murdering everyone in it, or deporting them to slave labour camps.<br />
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The sad thing that makes it all so much worse - and I haven't even mentioned the mass murder of possibly 18,000 Russian PoWs, thousands of Jews and an uncounted number of Roma here yet - is that there's not a word that says what happened here.<br />
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Time and again, when I see those trees, I know that Latvia's forests hide deep and very dark secrets.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">SOURCES: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 32px; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Latvia in World War II </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 32px; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small; font-weight: normal;">By Valdis O. Lumans</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.eurekaencyclopedia.com/index.php/Category:20th_Century_Occupations">http://www.eurekaencyclopedia.com/index.php/Category:20th_Century_Occupations</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-86699553865569393492012-04-13T14:58:00.002-07:002012-04-13T14:58:53.838-07:00Painters from the past..So that's where I've been the past four months, not blogging. In the end I asked the builders to get to a certain point in the renovation and then stop, because I was spending shedloads of money without really considering what I was doing.<br />
<br />
I like to know the corners of my house and what's around me. I'm planning on spending a large part of my life living here and while I'd love it to be clean and comfortable, part of the journey is in making it yours.<br />
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When I began stripping the old paper off the walls I came across a strange, almost ghostly experience. There were messages written on the walls underneath the paper that hadn't been seen by anyone for seventy years. Spooky.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vHfhkCt_LmFBqvXrLxb9ZDFEgUEQFeltGNnMJ9D4qhWro7C_t7ZDgCpfB3RmG2B4g-C-Nbw40rYf-Ar6hn2E2zq1LFLbpb51h8Q6kko76DSEhimFfV3lCtSKs0KOV6iyeiVLcNirG2A/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vHfhkCt_LmFBqvXrLxb9ZDFEgUEQFeltGNnMJ9D4qhWro7C_t7ZDgCpfB3RmG2B4g-C-Nbw40rYf-Ar6hn2E2zq1LFLbpb51h8Q6kko76DSEhimFfV3lCtSKs0KOV6iyeiVLcNirG2A/s200/IMG_0001.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Here's the painter, Albert Taylor, signing the bedroom wall.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BIm8oRHijWSQkdc7_paNIg5PZ_7qfHjuBDA04kZ5Kvj5mCuXvhuTk29fNcllEuNBWTCSUEHwZ8ya-QPitXkrBVvAB_QAr87Koq7jIX9R6HZZb2A6GjpvU5tpwZ_36GRfknI9H0iPDqw/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BIm8oRHijWSQkdc7_paNIg5PZ_7qfHjuBDA04kZ5Kvj5mCuXvhuTk29fNcllEuNBWTCSUEHwZ8ya-QPitXkrBVvAB_QAr87Koq7jIX9R6HZZb2A6GjpvU5tpwZ_36GRfknI9H0iPDqw/s200/IMG_0002.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Then underneath either he or one of his mates has dated the message<br />
3rd June 1938 and added: 'NICE DAY' and then to the left, perhaps as<br />
an after thought .. 'GORTON'.. maybe he lived there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz7AyGzKcMdq83LkuRDxihqpRHGE4zSbNOsJSKMVtOyz1MioZZsNXdnwbG_eLZQf1Lrnv-THxlWf4Dz1eE7JHeMX-O6h8wPPYYUNwOh7q_0qsm0Rmu0juSaLfgX1npDtUDZ_NDTX9V6k/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz7AyGzKcMdq83LkuRDxihqpRHGE4zSbNOsJSKMVtOyz1MioZZsNXdnwbG_eLZQf1Lrnv-THxlWf4Dz1eE7JHeMX-O6h8wPPYYUNwOh7q_0qsm0Rmu0juSaLfgX1npDtUDZ_NDTX9V6k/s200/IMG_0003.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Painting the bedroom must have taken a couple of days - it certainly took ME a couple of days - because close by on the wall there's another message.<br />
'June 6 1938: Foggy all day'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1qtitVOVfUPSsmmSpj7Mhq_xbBA-NpuMp0b0Z6yRg9GPV6ydBkfAX9I63_gwbTqWktzlzHuYazxiFvEYOfYkNM6MvXHAUNQT2aYkfYr-l1kc7zwsDqEcHnM-3yDSuuDu49yhPREj94Q/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1qtitVOVfUPSsmmSpj7Mhq_xbBA-NpuMp0b0Z6yRg9GPV6ydBkfAX9I63_gwbTqWktzlzHuYazxiFvEYOfYkNM6MvXHAUNQT2aYkfYr-l1kc7zwsDqEcHnM-3yDSuuDu49yhPREj94Q/s200/IMG_0004.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Then - and this is what made me laugh so much - there's a response<br />
separated by 20 years. Another decorator has left his own message on the wall, again in pencil, almost as if to stay in keeping with Albert Taylor's message: 'Jan 1958 - still foggy'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaV-BT82zV8w0KYBtXmN4u192WmY5J2pnqEopsNBw66Io4cmDbe1Eozqi8lNOhKPqW2uFA82CgJRP8tzSF4qEY1dMtYNEMjlIYmyrewL1kKC6Gyqr173jubX0P5gxz_jTGUrEdXAtb5kA/s1600/IMG_0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaV-BT82zV8w0KYBtXmN4u192WmY5J2pnqEopsNBw66Io4cmDbe1Eozqi8lNOhKPqW2uFA82CgJRP8tzSF4qEY1dMtYNEMjlIYmyrewL1kKC6Gyqr173jubX0P5gxz_jTGUrEdXAtb5kA/s200/IMG_0005.jpg" width="150" /></a>It was almost a shame to interrupt these messages from the past by painting over them. I guess in the days when these guys were decorators you papered the bedroom to keep it a bit warmer, and so the messages stayed on the walls. But considering that we're only the third people in this house in the 90 years since it was built, we're not far from the original stuff considering that the last guy lived here for fifty years.<br />
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Albert certainly left his mark on the house. On the wall in the front room downstairs I found instructions in thick pencil: 'ALL WOODWORK DEEP CREAM.'<br />
And so it was. The last guy just slapped more on top of that. I've spent the past four months burning it back to the wood.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-24519256999396164482012-04-13T14:27:00.000-07:002012-04-13T14:27:49.714-07:00Now for some decorating...People say the three most stressful things in life are getting married, moving house, or someone dying. Well, I didn't find getting married too stressful - did I?<br />
I've moved literally several dozen times in my life. I've had 25 addresses in as many years.. and I lived at the last place for a decade. Moving house is stressful because of all the other people involved in it.<br />
This time moving wasn't stressful because of the move itself: that went pretty much like clockwork. It was all the repairs and the renovation..THAT was a nightmare.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYWKHL9MagSQIVuBmXD-cqoHMv6adlR-_M0THWE2at3mjXfjzo8w-uUX50Hk10_CZ-6MGyrR9tcUKQCAfMsiTNUGaPJeDw0W2K1W2BR2tUJm3UwtHBXdcSKh3jWxYRDWmAfJmYRMdBiM/s1600/IMG_6342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYWKHL9MagSQIVuBmXD-cqoHMv6adlR-_M0THWE2at3mjXfjzo8w-uUX50Hk10_CZ-6MGyrR9tcUKQCAfMsiTNUGaPJeDw0W2K1W2BR2tUJm3UwtHBXdcSKh3jWxYRDWmAfJmYRMdBiM/s320/IMG_6342.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Take the front bedroom upstairs, for example. Rain had been leaking in for YEARS. When we peeled off the wallpaper all the plaster fell off too. We decided to re-wire, re-plaster and just get to the bottom of what turned out to be a very serious case of neglect.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0pdcr8gts2pXxt6ezsHkQnJdQLM3WD00v56bWYKd4YIPVy9N2qSWZsRTQnRE3zfEDBkcBr2sP3tmbRQZUBQc3xOKkJrw90p_C3gaFYHO2QxaaRMEDfEs8BCTvd5w0G08olacuFT0Zm8/s1600/IMG_6308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0pdcr8gts2pXxt6ezsHkQnJdQLM3WD00v56bWYKd4YIPVy9N2qSWZsRTQnRE3zfEDBkcBr2sP3tmbRQZUBQc3xOKkJrw90p_C3gaFYHO2QxaaRMEDfEs8BCTvd5w0G08olacuFT0Zm8/s200/IMG_6308.jpg" width="111" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRq850AgE5bBo4Gc4vU_zpDEaxe9qf8whHsZnnz9yHF1vKSHbVEb1QbUKCqJD7_Y1HvLbiO3ts_mEfGPZlpnkW_GvoSmkylGme8KhHLn4cYDWzSYQ_eh8hxq2zt9K1VV9DEKaRQft1QI/s1600/IMG_6309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRq850AgE5bBo4Gc4vU_zpDEaxe9qf8whHsZnnz9yHF1vKSHbVEb1QbUKCqJD7_Y1HvLbiO3ts_mEfGPZlpnkW_GvoSmkylGme8KhHLn4cYDWzSYQ_eh8hxq2zt9K1VV9DEKaRQft1QI/s320/IMG_6309.jpg" width="179" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiji5RttvuJEZgQtKZ6nyLXEW3R9UGYaOfW6XRwjmAEc2ouNN5M9kmnMcvGjzCkrrzuHztNvO8ndzpLQ2W2Z0i0HpZm11rgwFGRDQtLFtDAtShyphenhyphenHczGQYHbZU8HYkP5jLxRxgnwu_ko9Qo/s1600/IMG_6367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiji5RttvuJEZgQtKZ6nyLXEW3R9UGYaOfW6XRwjmAEc2ouNN5M9kmnMcvGjzCkrrzuHztNvO8ndzpLQ2W2Z0i0HpZm11rgwFGRDQtLFtDAtShyphenhyphenHczGQYHbZU8HYkP5jLxRxgnwu_ko9Qo/s200/IMG_6367.jpg" width="150" /></a>In the kitchen we took out a chimney breast where an Aga had once been, shifted the boiler - <br />
shifted everything in fact - and redesigned the rectangular space in a sort of U-shape.<br />
This needed all kinds of supports, steel inserts and structural calculations by an engineer after the boys had made short work of the chimney breast with a sledgehammer.<br />
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The dust was gritty, dirty stuff that gets into your skin and grinds away. Before long we were all showing skin problems - me especially.<br />
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My skin was just splitting open, especially on my fingers. I did a gig around this time and during the soundcheck my fingers started to crack and bleed while I was playing.Yuk.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQl0ZwfXlk-4_SIfJWUuzm3fcbysbgg74b2AME78-OSYCp4ipP96ZNTTdc1X0eVJhbhLbFRgv4E-5LxP3haih4DH3S8s-wgpZVr05BWjhPDbC5Vr3THOcXyNkJydvBFYPWCnpyyqSEqlM/s1600/IMG_6327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQl0ZwfXlk-4_SIfJWUuzm3fcbysbgg74b2AME78-OSYCp4ipP96ZNTTdc1X0eVJhbhLbFRgv4E-5LxP3haih4DH3S8s-wgpZVr05BWjhPDbC5Vr3THOcXyNkJydvBFYPWCnpyyqSEqlM/s400/IMG_6327.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
While we had the sledgehammer out we also converted a double window into a double door at the back of the house.. a few strokes is all that's needed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcWTgirUhnFxn5EDLm_FS4vd18nGrg6Ah-89YJlV-Km2G9X8UCVccFM7ALy2MDg2FS6UEWsFdXiuMTJ3F_EcPUdCngwYBtvck80_yUK_poxW2MsHU4SgcET0bZ3tvA9uNrycyMjN0Bl_A/s1600/IMG_6345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3vjH0R3uE7dN3ZpH5umzK1-q1E36NdwOjqvnxSx_plwkX9W4CBN02I_0-O8jk3kiz0JUoK4OpfwuaoA16AXtTQHAiYNhIKCzgfVC4XTFfUe4hDPDDrVNL_sxFeulWa8fOQHZI6L5EX0/s1600/IMG_0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv3vjH0R3uE7dN3ZpH5umzK1-q1E36NdwOjqvnxSx_plwkX9W4CBN02I_0-O8jk3kiz0JUoK4OpfwuaoA16AXtTQHAiYNhIKCzgfVC4XTFfUe4hDPDDrVNL_sxFeulWa8fOQHZI6L5EX0/s200/IMG_0012.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU2_e5qouLS-bw57LtHmJ5cJHDpbDbAWJcj_snBmLZz8vWLZPh50FGlwTz5Xufjlduk_g4Gmp9icovsOtgBhPjrMxQfSeYvlqS5dDBrF6bSkSJ-rEJvCcxMzCTItgLSKLUL1h1le5XP4/s1600/IMG_6355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU2_e5qouLS-bw57LtHmJ5cJHDpbDbAWJcj_snBmLZz8vWLZPh50FGlwTz5Xufjlduk_g4Gmp9icovsOtgBhPjrMxQfSeYvlqS5dDBrF6bSkSJ-rEJvCcxMzCTItgLSKLUL1h1le5XP4/s200/IMG_6355.jpg" width="150" /></a>While the khaki was awful and condemned anyway, we didn't expect the plaster on either side of the wall to collapse when we removed bathroom tiles and wallpaper. But it did.<br />
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Plaster board is wonderful stuff, you know.<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcDFRqL9lCSSTVFqDKL6JhzZvIsgk4nCnm8NrMun-j8zdfm258h_lw2fKmlJJZTf7Xl1iqAbCsEXEoXFf0jKkN5Z-7Iu6ZSizia151IEP-ogg6tVTuCHXK9_n894BKWDk5yb_me2iNDU/s1600/IMG_0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcDFRqL9lCSSTVFqDKL6JhzZvIsgk4nCnm8NrMun-j8zdfm258h_lw2fKmlJJZTf7Xl1iqAbCsEXEoXFf0jKkN5Z-7Iu6ZSizia151IEP-ogg6tVTuCHXK9_n894BKWDk5yb_me2iNDU/s200/IMG_0014.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
All this is happening while we're trying to live and work in this house and while Martins is starting at a new school! Yeah, and it's pouring down with rain every day for ten weeks and the bill is going up and up and up....<br />
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We made Martins' bedroom a priority so he could settle down quickly in the new house, and a generous application of plaster board, laminate floor and Manchester City-coloured paint has given him a bedroom any teenager would surely be proud of.<br />
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And we called a halt in time for Christmas so we could enjoy a happy time in our new home....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFN1MoH8hNOqtKfa7cTRmeBwQewO6fjA1yeMP31DQjovt0_NxE-iJCZoUeTQon5CwrKLEd23rFnsx7bOVUs0YKn6Xynbjpn-HHbdN-BJQ5WlmV-_n4FkXco6YpLVnQXzfBd7QgL_LdPo/s1600/IMG_6409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFN1MoH8hNOqtKfa7cTRmeBwQewO6fjA1yeMP31DQjovt0_NxE-iJCZoUeTQon5CwrKLEd23rFnsx7bOVUs0YKn6Xynbjpn-HHbdN-BJQ5WlmV-_n4FkXco6YpLVnQXzfBd7QgL_LdPo/s320/IMG_6409.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martins likes his new room</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuDINlwW8-Z71an_oLvnk8sNJ4HAVVkzECwZHPsXgeQutSc3kHXlAGt8RlBswWq-Oeufs7dewG6DJt25f8i9vYUaaLzGcIDjapNIxMZuhSKMitEd7ndIhj9QQ1nbxaPnP9vA9ReADUDE/s1600/IMG_6552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuDINlwW8-Z71an_oLvnk8sNJ4HAVVkzECwZHPsXgeQutSc3kHXlAGt8RlBswWq-Oeufs7dewG6DJt25f8i9vYUaaLzGcIDjapNIxMZuhSKMitEd7ndIhj9QQ1nbxaPnP9vA9ReADUDE/s320/IMG_6552.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daiga and Kristine masterminded the menu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJAgAfsD76Q61piv8gXF-3avVMMX8XXxQEOBsZ7ra-3Y0Lp2Gg81LE4Pyh9sJusDVD3vwDjGqUdPZOH7DHGNaPJKZG2Eb7Fu4KhNiJ0fdtsaZrq18qsYWIrPf2iGm_e2Xb_j2DCP4XE0/s1600/IMG_6555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJAgAfsD76Q61piv8gXF-3avVMMX8XXxQEOBsZ7ra-3Y0Lp2Gg81LE4Pyh9sJusDVD3vwDjGqUdPZOH7DHGNaPJKZG2Eb7Fu4KhNiJ0fdtsaZrq18qsYWIrPf2iGm_e2Xb_j2DCP4XE0/s320/IMG_6555.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groaning with goodies....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The End... (except it wasn't, because the builders started again a week after New Year...)vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-28932811593578866952012-02-06T15:32:00.000-08:002012-04-25T08:14:43.199-07:00At the Gates of Babylon - Berlin 3<!--[if !mso]> <style>
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</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cXKFtjp402H4cfQL9Arjg3EgeZH62-LdYn1JFBfzj0R76vyAHBeTF-6HwVkSRIezn54ZX4Yp8_PfK6QRzs0U-7C9OBdoX79XiP4gYI6PrG4R4z5hiiihSECs9jFGxl7X0k8OGMoR54U/s1600/GATES+OF+BABYLON+1jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5cXKFtjp402H4cfQL9Arjg3EgeZH62-LdYn1JFBfzj0R76vyAHBeTF-6HwVkSRIezn54ZX4Yp8_PfK6QRzs0U-7C9OBdoX79XiP4gYI6PrG4R4z5hiiihSECs9jFGxl7X0k8OGMoR54U/s400/GATES+OF+BABYLON+1jpg.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ishtar Gate: impressive</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The sense of history that pervades Berlin is not all Fuhrer Bunkers and Reichstags. The German capital is home to one of the most amazing collections of architecture from antiquity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One enduring memory from my previous visit to Berlin in 1992 was seeing the Gates of Ishtar, one of the routes into Babylon. On my visit earlier in 2011 the Pergamon Museum where these treasures are displayed was absolutely packed, so I seized the chance to go back.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Pergamon Museum sits on an island of three museums, around the corner from the Unter den Linden and the Berlin Cathedral. It was built to house the vast amount of relics excavated throughout the ancient world by German archaeologists between 1899 and 1917, and while there’s always the problem of the stuff not actually being where it should, it is an impressive collection.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Ishtar Gate (left) was the eighth gate leading into the ancient city of Babylon, built in 575 BC on the orders of King Nebuchadnezzar. It was glazed in blue tiles decorated with lions on glazed bricks and has been restored to how it once looked – it’s an amazing construction.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Gate straddled the Processional Way into Babylon along which statues of gods were paraded on feast days and the New Year celebrations. It’s difficult to get a sense of the size of the Gate from photographs.. this video helps convey the scale:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kGxDHB_wvU">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9kGxDHB_wvU</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYOSxwikoLh26pEArKM9SYwBcNnZ3D0ydgdeqCpXwIA4mdESTCVrYJwvwE8gkHsGYy7XOcQV38Ud9oMyeD1aYWbM0XPBuAACLilV4a43n7NrRHkyEIQcfNm2JDwyLRMVxcPC06XSKjdA/s1600/LION+DETAIL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYOSxwikoLh26pEArKM9SYwBcNnZ3D0ydgdeqCpXwIA4mdESTCVrYJwvwE8gkHsGYy7XOcQV38Ud9oMyeD1aYWbM0XPBuAACLilV4a43n7NrRHkyEIQcfNm2JDwyLRMVxcPC06XSKjdA/s320/LION+DETAIL.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail of the lions decorating the Processional Way</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Babylon collection raises a number of questions in my mind. How could so little remain of a city so fabled, so central to the ancient world? In-fighting following the death of its final conqueror, Alexander the Great, meant that Babylonian fortunes took a severe downturn from 275 BC onwards. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Babylonians were forcibly removed to another city. The change in the course of the river took out one side of the city. And the Tower of Babel and the legendary Hanging Gardens? It seems likely that the Gardens were exactly that: a legend. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were considered to be one of the original Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">They were supposedly built by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II around 600 BC for his homesick wife, Amytis of Media, who longed for the trees and fragrant plants of her homeland Persia. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL8ETlUx5-maPdCL9vaJg26hkemGj8cJUimUB-PLfGVTe8ukQG8sBzbEP7ajLA02nn82oH3XaywCm-H6oflgR2wY97BtyPObBLbf0ODrfEatcuzInImKlF0dDmow0qldWLVm5UoP9Iqs/s1600/LION+DETAIL+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL8ETlUx5-maPdCL9vaJg26hkemGj8cJUimUB-PLfGVTe8ukQG8sBzbEP7ajLA02nn82oH3XaywCm-H6oflgR2wY97BtyPObBLbf0ODrfEatcuzInImKlF0dDmow0qldWLVm5UoP9Iqs/s400/LION+DETAIL+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Processional Way of lions from Babylon</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">No contemporary accounts of them exist, nor any archaeological evidence and the noted writer Herodotus, source of choice for most students of antiquity, doesn’t mention them. It’s likely the Gardens weren’t in Babylon but actually in Nineveh. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The Tower of Babel was probably a ziggurat or tower in a temple complex, destroyed during a rebuilding attempt by Alexander the Great, whose death halted the project. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The base remains, visible from Google Earth, which places its location at </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="plainlinks"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://toolserver.org/%7Egeohack/geohack.php?pagename=Tower_of_Babel&params=32.5362583_N_44.4208252_E_"><span class="geo-dec">32.5362583°N 44.4208252°E</span></a></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> just south of Baghdad. (source Wikipaedia)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Here’s a good feature about the Gardens: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDY5q2mMiTM&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDY5q2mMiTM&feature=related</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The latest indignity meted out to Babylon has been a good stomping at the hands of US troops occupying the area after the fall of Saddam, who 'restored' Babylon, using bricks stamped with his name. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Unimaginable damage has been caused to the site, which now houses a helipad and a parking lot. Good job, guys.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-56909863176231383142012-02-03T13:58:00.000-08:002012-04-25T08:14:43.201-07:00An afternoon in the Death Strip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn95IJf5ChlqBzD9dfEFJl0ZU1_spy5GpimedOgjtY2pCAJ4x84OACIyWP4ZBVelBpRMq_V_XZ0e4RksHqeu-FaiqRUsb0IE7LdmplG9bmTe0Xd8h2dgXXLRIRa2bAyXA9n7I1j5JUVM/s1600/BIG+WEST+TO+EAST.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn95IJf5ChlqBzD9dfEFJl0ZU1_spy5GpimedOgjtY2pCAJ4x84OACIyWP4ZBVelBpRMq_V_XZ0e4RksHqeu-FaiqRUsb0IE7LdmplG9bmTe0Xd8h2dgXXLRIRa2bAyXA9n7I1j5JUVM/s1600/BIG+WEST+TO+EAST.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">(<img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn95IJf5ChlqBzD9dfEFJl0ZU1_spy5GpimedOgjtY2pCAJ4x84OACIyWP4ZBVelBpRMq_V_XZ0e4RksHqeu-FaiqRUsb0IE7LdmplG9bmTe0Xd8h2dgXXLRIRa2bAyXA9n7I1j5JUVM/s400/BIG+WEST+TO+EAST.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I suppose a time will come when no one remembers the Berlin Wall or the division of the city into Occupied Zones. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I was 23 when I first went to Berlin – to play there in my band, A Witness – and it was still divided then. We took a U-bahn to the East and were amazed to see a city free of advertising hoards and yes, the shelves in the shops really WERE bare. I would swear you could still see bullet holes in the walls. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment--><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">But I guess we didn't really think too deeply about what day to day life was actually like for East Germans or what that regime was ACTUALLY doing to its own people. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">It's only since I've been travelling to the East a lot that I've stopped to think about this in depth, and read some of the stories. It's pretty bad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I didn’t have time last time I was in Berlin to visit the preserved areas of The Wall. I was too busy wandering round Alexanderplatz and Checkpoint Charlie muttering to myself in amazement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">It might have been twenty years ago but it all seemed SO LONG AGO. Berlin? Divided? Unthinkable nowadays. And all those poor buggers trying to crash through checkpoints in Trabants, pole vault the Wall or swim across the Baltic just to get away? Oh my God. What right did these people have to keep an entire population prisoner?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVKLM1bQ6w0uTi9b9LomK2JaZafRGA5Bfg3YBNXke3O422RphdFz1luGapg14zn2xaci3nwvATr7ncq81whpQ4xSOAeTXwcL66dGGkjtwT2XZkegQZTyGrMTBbCeg7n6E7iIPI132kZA/s1600/WALL+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVKLM1bQ6w0uTi9b9LomK2JaZafRGA5Bfg3YBNXke3O422RphdFz1luGapg14zn2xaci3nwvATr7ncq81whpQ4xSOAeTXwcL66dGGkjtwT2XZkegQZTyGrMTBbCeg7n6E7iIPI132kZA/s320/WALL+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">The sections of The Wall that have been preserved make for a fascinating afternoon imaging how miserable life could be. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">The first picture shows visitors hecking out the space that used to be where the wall was: the second photograph shows what went into that space. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">This is the Original Death Strip: landmines, machine guns, trip wires, floodlights, dogs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m sure sprinters will have looked across this pace and thought: ‘Ten seconds. That’s all I need’ but those walls are pretty high.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pAGq7rDP_OVwHCeloFu63kJwdsx9p7OZ4jsWdZrnjZoHQv1R0agX-uNA6VFmCgQIlovL334dD4MA40wjLn9E5zmMIfw_bV6PrCQBhC_mPQCHnmIhF5FEnlUZsfKsfpyV-sTF5X1yl_U/s1600/WALL+MAP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pAGq7rDP_OVwHCeloFu63kJwdsx9p7OZ4jsWdZrnjZoHQv1R0agX-uNA6VFmCgQIlovL334dD4MA40wjLn9E5zmMIfw_bV6PrCQBhC_mPQCHnmIhF5FEnlUZsfKsfpyV-sTF5X1yl_U/s320/WALL+MAP.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">Walking along the Wall is a strange but sobering experience. At intervals there are monuments to people who tried to escape the East and were shot down, or were fatally injured, by the rifle-toting East German guards.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">To get a better look at the dimensions of everything I climbed up the three storey watchtower across the road, which doubles as a visitor and research centre. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">One corner of the city block it faces is a road leading into the heart of Berlin, a well-known pre-war route into the centre, first damaged by the war and the bombing, blocked off by the Russians, then bricked up by the East regime. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62Xuzx2-F9NooZTyTPDsnEm9JTT4jmrwE0n7EYr1EOrXva047TsxxjkFrJoQpypoS5m7qRP2cLtge-mykrizzUiWKhYCw6ncdlRO4o9mEdW0MO-SHGHw4bm4Hzv-e69tSy8xc9RG3BwU/s1600/WEST+TO+EAST.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62Xuzx2-F9NooZTyTPDsnEm9JTT4jmrwE0n7EYr1EOrXva047TsxxjkFrJoQpypoS5m7qRP2cLtge-mykrizzUiWKhYCw6ncdlRO4o9mEdW0MO-SHGHw4bm4Hzv-e69tSy8xc9RG3BwU/s200/WEST+TO+EAST.jpg" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">It really is like someone built a 10 foot wall across your local main road and put armed guards on it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">Who then really DID shoot your mum and dad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;">World War Three nearly broke out in Berlin because this wall was a line in the sand. American and Soviet tanks came face to face at Checkpoint Charlie: this stretch of wall was where a lot of escape attempts were made. And I guess none more famous than East German soldier Conrad Schumann who saw the wall going up in 1961 and clearly saw the writing on it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZykTp4FdHGWmcTuVe32e4MbDNq_1hSpmDusiy_A2ltNLCcZM1T61YlV45gpAzLQh9lI3gy4Ke5JIyvVHKe0Uuy9dJm_EZdA-yMNeXHl2CUUzoa7ZfxPZIzUjvqbPuf3JHF1goGVoRaDM/s1600/COP+JUMPING+BERNAUER+STRASSE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZykTp4FdHGWmcTuVe32e4MbDNq_1hSpmDusiy_A2ltNLCcZM1T61YlV45gpAzLQh9lI3gy4Ke5JIyvVHKe0Uuy9dJm_EZdA-yMNeXHl2CUUzoa7ZfxPZIzUjvqbPuf3JHF1goGVoRaDM/s320/COP+JUMPING+BERNAUER+STRASSE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Here’s the place where he did it (left) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">at the corner of Bernauer Strasse, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">and h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">ere’s </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">an account of his defection:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="mw-headline"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;">On 15 August 1961, Schumann was sent to the corner of Ruppiner Straße and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bernauer_Stra%C3%9Fe" title="Bernauer Straße">Bernauer Straße</a> to guard the Berlin Wall on its third day of construction. At that time, the wall was only a low <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbed_wire" title="Barbed wire">barbed wire</a> fence. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">From the other side, West Germans shouted to him, "<i>Komm rüber!</i>" ("Come over!"), and a police car pulled up to wait for him. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Schumann jumped over the barbed wire fence and was promptly driven away from the scene by the West Berlin police. West German photographer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Leibing" title="Peter Leibing">Peter Leibing</a> photographed Schumann's escape, and this picture has since become an iconic image of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cold_War" title="Cold War">Cold War</a> era.” </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">(source: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conrad_Schumann">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conrad_Schumann</a>)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Sadly Conrad suffered from depression and hanged himself in 1998 aged 56.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">To the left of the picture is a U-bahn that was closed through the Cold War, bricked and boarded up, finding itself at the epicentre of the Superpower confrontation. It’s open now, and all very normal. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_ItEz6ICmt4PV0gqgvM51TFgiv4VU-jWS8hYQxU7j1az5gDQyfIKuY_gW5jb2PHktWtJ9X8to8PpCYxF9ZUyak1CBjQ3pPOCK8SYsWss-TnpwAHcjySk7vpvAHNX_I2lmSjPDp5Ppug/s1600/VIEW+EAST+TO+WEST.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_ItEz6ICmt4PV0gqgvM51TFgiv4VU-jWS8hYQxU7j1az5gDQyfIKuY_gW5jb2PHktWtJ9X8to8PpCYxF9ZUyak1CBjQ3pPOCK8SYsWss-TnpwAHcjySk7vpvAHNX_I2lmSjPDp5Ppug/s320/VIEW+EAST+TO+WEST.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">East Looking West.. watch the watchtower</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I wish I could say that about all of Berlin, but there’s just something skewed about a place that’s seen so much history.. the sense of bad things happening in days gone by just never seems to leave me, whether it’s the Wall, or the Alexanderplatz, or the Unter den Linden leading down to the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Berlin is a fantastic, matchless city with history everywhere. There's still one post in this blog which will deal with the visit I made to the Pergamon Museum, revisiting the Babylon exhibition I last saw in 1992 when it had only recently reopened. Germans and archaeology go together like dal and chapattis. That Pergamon Museum, on the island of museums, is well worth a visit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Once again I didn’t get through enough Berlin and I need to go back: next time I’m checking out the Tempelhof area and having a look at the Airlift in a bit more detail.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><!--EndFragment-->vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-26740838719197300182012-01-25T04:29:00.000-08:002012-04-25T08:14:43.196-07:00Three Must-See Sights of Berlin - A Four Strings Good special (1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiuIyfDKZugbxA8RLrzbzQbBhkDTRtHa-SqgOIZ4zbwt9eD3IKvZSy8jR6_ZqLQmXSN8EOZaX4r0MOrN4dK3lPmVkYU2D2gsorKcCiUlrbqCkbksfwJjA-yZabc58h7tmTbwZv-lPiRQ/s1600/ENTRANCE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiuIyfDKZugbxA8RLrzbzQbBhkDTRtHa-SqgOIZ4zbwt9eD3IKvZSy8jR6_ZqLQmXSN8EOZaX4r0MOrN4dK3lPmVkYU2D2gsorKcCiUlrbqCkbksfwJjA-yZabc58h7tmTbwZv-lPiRQ/s320/ENTRANCE.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Berlin is an endlessly fascinating city, a treasure trove of history. But sometimes that history tells of unimaginable loss and death on a scale that’s hard to digest.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The gigantic Soviet war memorial in Treptower Park is a monument to the death and destruction involved in the savage fight to snuff out the Nazis at the end of World War Two.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The memorial - Sowjetisches Ehrenmal in Pushkinallee - lies to the east of Berlin in the area where the workers’ rising of 1919 took place, led by among others Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg. I’m told it’s always been a Red area and that German Communists used to meet up there in the 1930s before doing battle with the National Socialists, who were quickly becoming a force in the country.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have been to many war cemeteries and all share the same air of dignified mourning and respect for the loss. But Treptower Park is a huge open air arena of loss, a stadium of mourning, on a scale which in a way matches the blood shed in the Battle for Berlin, which effectively won the war.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPGkpkr5EXH3_tD5sRuucd5U6pURLcN9oxavUjN1I37iL7FAzzfPw2UIBMnFrd1_0d-tx47a2_eTxZ4YsGO7UOnI9vSTmtIsN0QRd3YxsHdvcCWDx0PRXseKeSFiOLcNIbv1x_JUTY9M/s1600/LONG+SHOT+STATUE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPGkpkr5EXH3_tD5sRuucd5U6pURLcN9oxavUjN1I37iL7FAzzfPw2UIBMnFrd1_0d-tx47a2_eTxZ4YsGO7UOnI9vSTmtIsN0QRd3YxsHdvcCWDx0PRXseKeSFiOLcNIbv1x_JUTY9M/s320/LONG+SHOT+STATUE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">According to figures displayed on information boards in the park, between April 16th and May 2<sup>nd</sup> 1945, more than 70,000 people were killed in Berlin alone in the final phase of the Second World War. As the Russians tightened their stranglehold on Berlin, 22,000 Soviet and 20,000 German soldiers died, along with 30,000 civilians. The war in total claimed a mind-boggling FIFTY MILLION lives, 25 million of whom were Russian. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Historian Anthony Beevor puts the total dead in the Battle for Berlin at 250,000, with 50,000 German soldiers and civilians wiped out in a massacre at Halbe alone: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/worldwars/wwtwo/berlin_01.shtml">http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/worldwars/wwtwo/berlin_01.shtml</a>)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg22WT2HzF_iUs_g8ezklfGjqevzYvlwL0TH503eWe-uxqmJqggWPgdmyhwE8jchdfxi2VQ3RoOdj1XUbx2Oro8ASXtkO7hOadzNGHY_nlY-TzdV6rKtbh2oUo0FzR6X93Jn9JkNwUZ-o/s1600/KNEELING+SOLDIER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg22WT2HzF_iUs_g8ezklfGjqevzYvlwL0TH503eWe-uxqmJqggWPgdmyhwE8jchdfxi2VQ3RoOdj1XUbx2Oro8ASXtkO7hOadzNGHY_nlY-TzdV6rKtbh2oUo0FzR6X93Jn9JkNwUZ-o/s320/KNEELING+SOLDIER.jpg" width="240" /></a>From the banks of the Spree I entered through a vast arch, framing a path into the centre of the park. Turning to the left is a granite statue of Mother Russia grieving for her lost children. A vast concourse is flanked by two huge statues of kneeling soldiers in battle dress holding submachine guns, heads bowed alongside dipped Soviet flags. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The memorial opens out across a sunken plaza lined by 16 marble sarcophagi representing the 16 Soviet republics engaged in the vicious struggle against the Nazi Germany. Each is carved with an inscription from Stalin and a relief showing images of the treatment meted out by Germans to the republics. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There was no love lost in this vicious fight between ideologies once Hitler ordered Soviet political commissars to be shot out of hand, and their response was just as ruthless. Five thousand Soviet dead from the Battle for Berlin are buried inside this corridor of coffins.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyf9r-j2vNAJ6x0bqXj5xZ6yZr7nMEVvbBOxQMNMkmeB4fJ52opSATQ6U_EM1D2ekHukzfpaaTyIqVrS5yidSvevT3gQd5TnKogVbclXDraRa2IAiqbyc1YT8U-A3eVYK743DuGuAtqQ/s1600/BIG+SOLDIER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyf9r-j2vNAJ6x0bqXj5xZ6yZr7nMEVvbBOxQMNMkmeB4fJ52opSATQ6U_EM1D2ekHukzfpaaTyIqVrS5yidSvevT3gQd5TnKogVbclXDraRa2IAiqbyc1YT8U-A3eVYK743DuGuAtqQ/s200/BIG+SOLDIER.jpg" width="111" /></a>The focal point of the park is a colossal statue 13 metres high of a triumphant Russian soldier holding a child while his sword rests on a broken swastika.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4InXCVZLViTLrmu7eo-NRCZ5ipWwfUlaHbiV8NJA8qxfmLEL8xvV5c2TfsOf-zGsghL0Tv88aS3kxL8Adzd9bpw2e4_935xEYY0WezLU6wdK8hNItKsjtQsRn8nEOeEAOQN7SR6n5TXk/s1600/CEMETERY+LANDSCAPE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4InXCVZLViTLrmu7eo-NRCZ5ipWwfUlaHbiV8NJA8qxfmLEL8xvV5c2TfsOf-zGsghL0Tv88aS3kxL8Adzd9bpw2e4_935xEYY0WezLU6wdK8hNItKsjtQsRn8nEOeEAOQN7SR6n5TXk/s320/CEMETERY+LANDSCAPE.JPG" width="320" /></a>Climbing the steps up to the base of the statue reveals a small memorial crypt lit with candles and even now strewn with red roses, a reminder that this is still a memorial used to this day to commemorate the fallen.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Scenes from the sarcophagi lining the sunken area:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiae5FBABhcwxcoH2i0nNY44fJphUcc-MutB8raJ531Cr0wxt3hMgCtmFyh1I8_LhWYoBXVrYGw3c8ayDZuseXE-6GjQXH_-7bqgTOodyPmhrWDWsPyl76u3FdcS-ZYT9zHA-UWwE1bS3E/s1600/SARCOPHAGI+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiae5FBABhcwxcoH2i0nNY44fJphUcc-MutB8raJ531Cr0wxt3hMgCtmFyh1I8_LhWYoBXVrYGw3c8ayDZuseXE-6GjQXH_-7bqgTOodyPmhrWDWsPyl76u3FdcS-ZYT9zHA-UWwE1bS3E/s320/SARCOPHAGI+1.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Russian retribution, with a mortar team attacking.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GFDNksvWuNkKFDvXP-1P8AObYQ7gsDsnF8VG0FmwmcFHidszzbTzp-APxKiuiHIs-sLfYrh_hpM9UxGLgJLDC6BEFcFhYOEyYbvaCzr1Jd5RgIgRETaKWmXrwBBLwGM6L46kCPMW7Dg/s1600/SARCOPHAGI+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GFDNksvWuNkKFDvXP-1P8AObYQ7gsDsnF8VG0FmwmcFHidszzbTzp-APxKiuiHIs-sLfYrh_hpM9UxGLgJLDC6BEFcFhYOEyYbvaCzr1Jd5RgIgRETaKWmXrwBBLwGM6L46kCPMW7Dg/s200/SARCOPHAGI+2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Sacrifice in battle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7C1jp-hyYm4ldae5I7Pjxht9y1Jx8gTnkzOLbdxbpoZgbgFdj2U7cbdkauo3CUBdypoLxCxiAuwirWymH8fIUJlKzVaWcAeW_ihyYruLitYp_PWBCyvDniN2rrnJ9I823GBq8ln-Fds/s1600/SARCOPHAGUS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7C1jp-hyYm4ldae5I7Pjxht9y1Jx8gTnkzOLbdxbpoZgbgFdj2U7cbdkauo3CUBdypoLxCxiAuwirWymH8fIUJlKzVaWcAeW_ihyYruLitYp_PWBCyvDniN2rrnJ9I823GBq8ln-Fds/s320/SARCOPHAGUS.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Suffering on the home front.<br />
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Turning to see the vast sunken garden with the corridor of coffins and above that the stone soldiers kneeling in respect to their dead comrades framed by the dipped flags is quite emotional… and yet not triumphal or religious. With the sun going down as I walked through the park it's a reminder of the price the world paid to bring the war to an end... and no wonder the Russians were determined to hold on to what they'd fought for.<br />
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The Youtube video I have added a link to below gives a good idea of the human scale of this memorial in a way the pictures can’t.<br />
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The scale is massive. The symmetry is humbling, poignant and mournful. The loss this park expresses is gigantic. Whether so much blood needed to be spilt securing Berlin is another, possibly political, argument.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFEHHCJysmA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFEHHCJysmA</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">PS: For those considering a visit to Berlin, here’s a guide to some of the ‘alternative’ sights of the city I came across while researching these posts.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.berlinfo.com/Traveltime/Sights/sights/divided_city/index.htm">http://www.berlinfo.com/Traveltime/Sights/sights/divided_city/index.htm</a></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-73958702379080525492011-12-29T09:20:00.000-08:002011-12-29T09:20:59.198-08:00Mr Spizz, The Ghost Effect, Incas in Milan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qIqWVs3vUL0/TvydLzi_GvI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Ve8wAiCavYw/s1600/IMG_6123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qIqWVs3vUL0/TvydLzi_GvI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Ve8wAiCavYw/s320/IMG_6123.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The metallic blue van deposited us safely on an industrial estate way out in the suburbs of Milan, as unpromising a venue as I have been to in many a year.<br />
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The gig in Milan had been arranged by promoter Alessandro Kamo, who’d flown us out for our first appearance in the city two years before at the Cox 18 Club with Bettina Koster. There are a couple of numbers from that 2009 gig on YouTube (have a look at http://www.facebook.com/incababies - it’s in there somewhere.)<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UN1R13jFAzU/TvyY5PwtExI/AAAAAAAAAOk/jLxVfv7SxhU/s1600/IMG_6130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UN1R13jFAzU/TvyY5PwtExI/AAAAAAAAAOk/jLxVfv7SxhU/s200/IMG_6130.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If it's Saturday it must be an industrial warehouse complex in Milan</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">Although there weren't many positive signs of a good turnout when we arrived, there were positive signs that things would turn out fine. These were:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">*Kamo seems to know what he’s doing</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">*It wasn't raining</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">*UK punk legend Spizz Energi were on the bill, appearing as Spizz Italia</div><div style="text-align: justify;">*Everybody else seemed positive about it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">*Er, that’s it. </div></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> One of the great things about Kamo’s gigs - in addition to them being well-run, well-attended and well worth doing of course - is that everyone gets treated with respect and fed. Everyone. In Milan that meant when the sound checks were over we all sat down and tucked into spaghetti and salad with wine and cakes: bands, helpers, PA men, the works. An attitude like that means you remember that in this type of scene you are all relying on each other. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> In this case that meant 30-odd people from four bands, the sound men and PA crew heading for a family-run restaurant nearby and getting stuck in to some food.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I think the family were a little overwhelmed when 29 people plus a short guy with bleached white hair wearing a huge leather jacket with SPIZZENERGI painted across the back, colossal boots and a belt with flashing lights spelling SPIZZITALIA waving a laser pen walked in demanding to be fed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> But I guess that’s a sign that you have a ‘mercurial punk survivor’ at your counter (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/SPIZZ/20570444970">www.facebook.com/pages/SPIZZ/20570444970</a> and <a href="http://www.spizzenergi.com/">www.spizzenergi.com</a>). The food was great and Kamo, that was a nice touch, but it played havoc with the running order. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_0eU6eLhEc/TvyZWqF5HZI/AAAAAAAAAO8/2qzEDtWBniE/s1600/MILAN+RUNNING+ORDER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_0eU6eLhEc/TvyZWqF5HZI/AAAAAAAAAO8/2qzEDtWBniE/s320/MILAN+RUNNING+ORDER.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never believe stuff like this. Optimistic at best!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">One of the bands that impressed me most that night were a five-piece from Torino called The Ghost Effect (<a href="http://www.myspace.com/theghosteffect">www.myspace.com/theghosteffect</a>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">These people have their shit together. They film everything, sell merchandise, look great, sound great. Wow.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Laura the singer is a great presence fronting the whole thing and they create this multi-layered very impressive sound. It’s a high-tech well-produced experience which reminded me in parts of Xmas Deutschland, and great to watch. They’ve been going a few years now but I’d be surprised if they didn’t figure on a European level. They were great. Here’s one of their songs from the night, Korsakoff Syndrome: </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyddGkDT7bw">www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyddGkDT7bw</a><o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">As Mr Spizz related proudly, he’d put his band for this gig together almost overnight and through an appeal on Facebook for musicians. And not just any musicians. His drummer didn’t know the stuff but learned it from being sent an MP3 by email. His bass player was simply awesome. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The whole band were scarily tight for musicians who met basically at the soundcheck. That’s why Spizz’s soundcheck seemed more like a rehearsal than a check.. because that’s what it was. So they were second and they were very, very good – especially ‘Where’s Captain Kirk’.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NAeE5b0JM68/TvyZM8trBvI/AAAAAAAAAOw/6yoIRnYgrJU/s1600/MILAN.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NAeE5b0JM68/TvyZM8trBvI/AAAAAAAAAOw/6yoIRnYgrJU/s320/MILAN.JPG" width="320" /></a>Then on with us and quite a hard crowd to get going.. more willing to be drawn in than in Rome, where people seemed more aloof – well, it’s Rome, isn’t it – but also waiting to see what you do. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So we got stuck in and worked at it, as you can see here, with this new song, Bikini Quicksand: </div><div style="text-align: justify;">(<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JaQEzinBiA">www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JaQEzinBiA</a>). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">By the end of the set people were dancing and things were going well.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We got back to our hotel at 3am and were up again at 930 to catch breakfast and head off to Milan Cathedral, La Scala and all points central Milano before a good lunch in town, a cab to the airport and a long trip home – via London – (promoters please note… that way takes ages to get to Manchester) with the Month of Gigs now over.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Ahead of me lay a house move and months of disruption. Ahead of Harry the simple task of mixing the tracks Rob and I laid down back in July for the next album. What could possibly go wrong?</div></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-50869923559436253952011-12-29T08:43:00.000-08:002011-12-29T08:43:14.034-08:00Inca Babies in Rome: gallery<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-GB</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3G2Tnrz5d9M/TvyVxBJkX4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/w5u7ItJ7Nzc/s1600/IMG_6080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3G2Tnrz5d9M/TvyVxBJkX4I/AAAAAAAAANQ/w5u7ItJ7Nzc/s320/IMG_6080.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9owpM0XWd-0/TvyV6VtptoI/AAAAAAAAANc/yWGGu-prwag/s1600/IMG_6109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a></div><div>Pictures of Rome: Vince, Harry and Rob in St Peter's Square (left) on a day's sightseeing before the gig. The weather was great.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xf_Oy3N4S7s/TvyW-QrujvI/AAAAAAAAAN0/IKFaU7kqTPQ/s1600/IMG_6109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xf_Oy3N4S7s/TvyW-QrujvI/AAAAAAAAAN0/IKFaU7kqTPQ/s320/IMG_6109.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>Club Closer was a basement club on the outskirts of Rome which didn't look too promising at first. But gigs in Rome start and finish very late so clubs take a while to fill up.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4cxxEQrFweM/TvyWENGUnzI/AAAAAAAAANo/x5Vy7eVaXCc/s1600/IMG_6110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4cxxEQrFweM/TvyWENGUnzI/AAAAAAAAANo/x5Vy7eVaXCc/s320/IMG_6110.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div>The Rome end of our mini-tour was arranged by a great bunch of people (left) who made sure we were fed and watered.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>Incas in action onstage at Rome.</div><div><br />
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<!--EndFragment-->vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-50414124480056002712011-12-28T11:12:00.000-08:002011-12-29T02:32:14.482-08:00Et tu, Harry? The Incas in the Eternal City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oumcRPc-6LY/TvtnDJz3zjI/AAAAAAAAAMg/_iCPujgB5gc/s1600/IMG_6023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oumcRPc-6LY/TvtnDJz3zjI/AAAAAAAAAMg/_iCPujgB5gc/s320/IMG_6023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">September to October 2011 was an incredible month for the Inca Babies, with gigs in Amsterdam (Sept 17) and Warsaw (Oct 1) quickly followed by two dates in Italy: Rome, then Milan (Oct 7, 8).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Flying into Rome we bunked up in what seemed to be a workers’ flat close to the centre – ie one big room, three beds. It was on a big main road and walkable to the Colosseum, which is always a selling point in my book. Our hosts supplied us with a curious goody bag of supplies: fizzy drinks, chocolate buns, a family pack of crisps. Strangely, they'd forgotten the crate of beer and bottle of Jack Daniels each that we normally specify. And the iron. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LhMAI0z0g8/Tvtnqli0rQI/AAAAAAAAAMs/Di7ZkoDFfVU/s1600/IMG_6031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LhMAI0z0g8/Tvtnqli0rQI/AAAAAAAAAMs/Di7ZkoDFfVU/s200/IMG_6031.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry strikes his Caesar pose</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The Friday was a day off until the soundcheck, so we checked as much Roman history as we could: The Forum, Trajan’s Column, Bread and Circuses, the Colosseum. Then we switched to modern history: the Wedding Cake, La Dolce Vita, St Peter's Square... we beat those streets until we were knackered, winding up in a pizzeria near our flat supping a few Peronis. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We came back to the flat to find we’d been locked out by the Polish guy who’d been staying there for several months, so after we eventually knocked him up we warned him we’d be back even later the following night and there would be serious repercussions if he did the same thing. Just to make sure he got the message I repeated it the next day, complete with fingers slicing across throats and gruesome noises. International language, you know.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H5_MtjhACUY/Tvtm0GsUm9I/AAAAAAAAAMU/2Wmp3rRwV30/s1600/IMG_6008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H5_MtjhACUY/Tvtm0GsUm9I/AAAAAAAAAMU/2Wmp3rRwV30/s200/IMG_6008.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eventually back in our bunks Rob inspected the punishment meted out to his sticks during the course of battering away for the Inca Babies and Goldblade.. he doesn’t chuck them into the crowd every night… at least not till they’re a bit more worn down than these pencils…<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The gig in Rome was in a club on the outskirts of the city called Club Closer. It started really late because everyone goes home after work for their tea and they get home really late because there’s so much traffic. Tea takes about two hours, then everyone sits round for a bit before heading out somewhere, which takes ages because there’s so much traffic. So no one really expects anything to get going until about one o’clock, so a gig in Rome will finish pretty late. I think in the end we got back home about three, but of course we had to be up early the next day for the six hour trip to Milan.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This show was quite well attended because the first act was a guy who’d been quite popular in the 1980s and who was now finding his way back onto the live circuit. PAOLO TABALLIONE he was called and he’d called some old pals to be sidemen for his acoustic set. Nice guys all, the set was half in English, half in Italian and went down well enough, though I’d have to admit I wasn’t familiar with his material. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-33QApRdyuXY/TvtpOXFtZZI/AAAAAAAAAM4/KVjMJd_GdqU/s1600/IMG_6033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-33QApRdyuXY/TvtpOXFtZZI/AAAAAAAAAM4/KVjMJd_GdqU/s200/IMG_6033.jpg" width="150" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The second band THE BEATBREAKERS were a ‘nuova band milanese’ which is always going to be a tough fit in Rome, but they gave it their best shot and took the stage with attitude, apart from the lead singer (Sebastian, I think his name was) who appeared to have been on the wrong end of a bottle of Jack Daniels beforehand and who delivered most of his vocals lying on the stage writhing and screaming. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While showtime is the moment to show people what you’ve got, it didn’t seem to impress the Roman crowd a great deal, and when he chucked his shoe into the audience I feared for his safety. Amazingly, after a couple of songs without it, someone threw it back. We gave each other knowing looks because had he done that in Manchester he might not have seen that shoe again, at least until he’d had it removed from where the sun never seems to shine.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQDGfjs_JoA/Tvtpa4A-f0I/AAAAAAAAANE/KxxP-r59RmU/s1600/IMG_6124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQDGfjs_JoA/Tvtpa4A-f0I/AAAAAAAAANE/KxxP-r59RmU/s320/IMG_6124.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sadly I can’t find any mention of The Beatbreakers on the web to list details of the band but we found ourselves sharing a van with them on the trip to Milan the following day (left, dropping Sebastian off on the outskirts of Milan: he's on the right with the long hair and green velvet jacket).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> It turns out that the guitarist was an AC Milan fan and the drummer and bass player were Inter fans, so there was a fierce inter-band footballing rivalry not unlike that within the Inca Babies, where the all-important rhythm section are Blue while the singer is Red. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So we laughed about that, especially about the likely chances of a 6-1 demolition of Manchester United by the Blues which did in fact happen a few weeks later. At Old Trafford as well. United’s worst defeat since 1930, I read.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, six hours in a van on a motorway with anyone tests your nerves but these guys were great to travel with, and took care of us on the road. They had a driver who did Milan to Rome return in two days and out in a lot of hours making these gigs work. They pulled off at service stations so we could get food and shared their water, that kind of thing. Respect due, boys. Thanks.<o:p></o:p></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-47347790946245102702011-12-26T15:42:00.000-08:002011-12-26T15:42:30.252-08:00Inca Babies: Conkers, Chopin and military hardware<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBChUFB95Js/Tvj_cfqfhSI/AAAAAAAAAKo/jdsSmKaRaN4/s1600/1.+TRAM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vBChUFB95Js/Tvj_cfqfhSI/AAAAAAAAAKo/jdsSmKaRaN4/s320/1.+TRAM.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">While a night out in Warsaw is full of romantic adventure, fuelled perhaps a little with neat vodka, there’s plenty of raw material to keep three culture-hungry musicians going.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The morning after our carousing with promoter Tomek, we made our way into the centre by tram from the flat we had been very kindly loaned by his friend. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dropping our gear at the venue we strolled down Warsaw's poshest street, (Krakowskie Przedmiescie and Nowy Swiat) where the Hotel Bristol is, then took a cut through to the Chopin Museum. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Outside we found a bench under a horse chestnut tree that was dropping the biggest conkers literally like rain. They were huge – there’d be a sudden ripping, rending sound and a cluster of conkers would hit the ground and bounce dangerously towards us.. like coconuts falling from a tree. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We sat there for half an hour, flabbergasted. Conkers falling in October, when it’s dry and sunny, rather than pouring with rain and the ground sodden?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-euYU6h6sDTU/TvkAp5CoVhI/AAAAAAAAAK0/lOduzGKMIzc/s1600/2.+conkers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-euYU6h6sDTU/TvkAp5CoVhI/AAAAAAAAAK0/lOduzGKMIzc/s200/2.+conkers.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">At right angles to the Chopin Museum and directly in front of our conker-endangered bench was a strip of offices divided into study rooms for the student musicians at the Chopin Institute. As we sat waiting for conkers to fall we listened to trainee pianists straining to reproduce the works of a man who is reputedly one of the most technically difficult composers to master.. phrases clashing and competing with one another into a cacophony of piano on a Saturday morning, a little hung over. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having drained my bottle of hangover cure water as the conkers fell, I was glad we were outside, and able to walk away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Inside the museum there’s a beautifully detailed homage to the composer’s life and loves – mostly experienced outside Warsaw, it has to be said – but I’ve always been impressed by seeing the actual instruments these giants of music played, and there’s a Chopin piano in the museum, and many samples and examples of his music. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UzW5wi9tJu8/TvkBanUHdJI/AAAAAAAAALM/R26FXOUGV8I/s1600/5.+chopin+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UzW5wi9tJu8/TvkBanUHdJI/AAAAAAAAALM/R26FXOUGV8I/s320/5.+chopin+wall.jpg" width="240" /></a>It does tend to be presented a little like a Van Gogh museum.. you can buy merchandise in every format: books, CDs, pencils, cooking aprons etc. I bought a life history in Russian with a CD for my mother-in-law, whose ambition for her sixtieth year is to go where I was standing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Outside the museum there’s a garish mural that places Chopin at the centre of the tensions acting upon his art: this mistress, that mistress. He had a busy and twisted life, that’s for sure.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then around the corner and across the road for the Museum of Warsaw’s Violent Past which was extensive but very well presented. From the modern Migs and Soviet helicopters the casual visitor moves back in time to the Kubus armoured car used in the Warsaw Uprising – one of only two armoured vehicles in the Rising – which appeared welded together in a backstreet workshop but performed a distinguished role in action.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gnz-mZM-QEo/TvkCDUX96UI/AAAAAAAAALY/RaqlSMdBerk/s1600/6.+KUBUS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gnz-mZM-QEo/TvkCDUX96UI/AAAAAAAAALY/RaqlSMdBerk/s200/6.+KUBUS.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kubus armoured car from the Uprising</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The Museum of the Violent Recent Past then blends into the Museum of the Violent Past of the Past Thousand Years. Actually the museum closed before we got round all of Poland’s violent past: Poland has been a turbulent place since the 8<sup>th</sup> Century and while English history is bloody from the Anglo Saxons onwards, it’s nothing like what Poland has been through. Phew. Relentless.<o:p></o:p></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_zsreyl1NZI/TvkCmHe3BzI/AAAAAAAAALk/ej9kbBlJGkY/s1600/8.+butties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_zsreyl1NZI/TvkCmHe3BzI/AAAAAAAAALk/ej9kbBlJGkY/s200/8.+butties.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unbelievable hospitality</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So out into the sunshine of a Warsaw Saturday afternoon. Take a right at the palm tree junction by the Ricoh Building, then we’re on the right. Imagine a gig where there’s a plate of sandwiches waiting for you after your soundcheck, including plenty of vegetarian? Well.. that’s Warsaw people for you.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The gig was great and the support bands were – as always – excellent musicians and good company. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7o6fRWGMCQ/TvkC721L9oI/AAAAAAAAALw/Oa-bmNR22BY/s1600/9.+taxi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7o6fRWGMCQ/TvkC721L9oI/AAAAAAAAALw/Oa-bmNR22BY/s200/9.+taxi.JPG" width="200" /></a>We bade farewell to our excellent friend Tomek as we waited for a midnight cab on the main road and the journey back to our borrowed flat with a pint or two of Polish beer waiting for us. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbmSusUt7QI/TvkDsnJ5eJI/AAAAAAAAAL8/jFizrCVLA7k/s1600/10.+fry+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbmSusUt7QI/TvkDsnJ5eJI/AAAAAAAAAL8/jFizrCVLA7k/s200/10.+fry+up.JPG" width="200" /></a>Tomek would stay up drinking for several hours then go straight to the airport for a week in Crete – while we had a kip, flew home to Luton, picked up the car and went straight to a greasy spoon for a fry-up before the long drive home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we tucked into the English fry-up at a cafe across from the Luton airport long term car park we knew the weekend had been a success.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our second gig in Warsaw was over. We’d launched our album on vinyl, had a great night on the hammer, done a gig in the city centre to a hundred well-disposed fans and seen a lot more of the city’s culture and history than on our first trip. Bring on Warsaw 3. Respect is due.<br />
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</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNnXQUrNptg/TvkEAJ5mpjI/AAAAAAAAAMI/KHPJSfkAMFU/s1600/7.+palm+tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNnXQUrNptg/TvkEAJ5mpjI/AAAAAAAAAMI/KHPJSfkAMFU/s320/7.+palm+tree.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warsaw: we love this town</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-4153494865058470242011-12-23T15:20:00.000-08:002011-12-23T15:20:32.261-08:00Inca Babies, vodka, Tomek and Warsaw<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SKGkDZWY4Rc/TvUCEcDpLeI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/KVmlIdS3y1A/s1600/IMG_5929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SKGkDZWY4Rc/TvUCEcDpLeI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/KVmlIdS3y1A/s200/IMG_5929.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>So to European bass playing duties, and three men arriving at Warsaw Chopin Airport with musical equipment and intent to give it some.<br />
<br />
Here's Harry and Rob with the gear just collected from Outsize Baggage - I wonder if awesome and often prize-winning Large Vegetables need to go by this route en route to country shows? Perhaps taped together with gaffer tape?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSDqy5a0jeY/TvUD12fiZUI/AAAAAAAAAJU/iZoaQ05DxSA/s1600/IMG_5931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OSDqy5a0jeY/TvUD12fiZUI/AAAAAAAAAJU/iZoaQ05DxSA/s320/IMG_5931.JPG" width="320" /></a>We had such a good time in Warsaw the last time we were there - I was quite shocked to find that was two whole years ago - that spirits were high as we headed into town with our friend and gig promoter Tomek, a legendary figure in Death Rock circles across Europe. He's a man who also commands respect from us because he carries a considerable flick knife .. but he uses that to point to places on the map at various moments during our stays. So that's all right.<br />
<br />
We toasted our good fortune at meeting again and our return to Warsaw with a little vodka snifter at the bar where we were playing.<br />
<br />
We talked about stage times and equipment and how the soundcheck had gone, and then we had another quick one.<br />
<br />
"How was Tomek keeping?" we wondered. "Not bad," he said. "I'll tell you more later."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L45LS6wzfh0/TvUEpAcyZtI/AAAAAAAAAJg/iijuEsNCprE/s1600/IMG_5934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L45LS6wzfh0/TvUEpAcyZtI/AAAAAAAAAJg/iijuEsNCprE/s320/IMG_5934.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>For those who don't know Warsaw there's a very wide and long main street with bars at various intervals which becomes an evening promenade for lovers, friends, city visitors. Two thirds of the way down there's a cut through to the Chopin Museum, which is where Frederyk spent some time as a young man before making his way to Paris where he made his name.<br />
<br />
Like Vienna and Mozart actual downtime on these flagstones is quite limited but the museum is very tastefully done and there's a great research department... all that lay ahead, but on the Friday night we toasted the musicality of Chopin with a little salute in honey vodka, procured by Tomek from a liquor store a few minutes previously.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PmlR9IuCbWc/TvUF-HNrkwI/AAAAAAAAAJs/65Ddj3C7pzs/s1600/IMG_5940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PmlR9IuCbWc/TvUF-HNrkwI/AAAAAAAAAJs/65Ddj3C7pzs/s200/IMG_5940.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>By now things were going really well and we were heading through parks and back streets seeing parts of Warsaw we'd never seen before. This honey vodka was quite something.. and very portable.<br />
<br />
Obviously we discussed the people who would come to the gig and the set we would do, and how we might play a few songs from our latest album Death Message Blues that Tomek had pressed up on vinyl and we were here to promote.<br />
Oh yes. It was shaping up into a champion evening.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A3WWDPtIcJ0/TvUGwwmnPtI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4fUYTrBk8aQ/s1600/IMG_5943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A3WWDPtIcJ0/TvUGwwmnPtI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4fUYTrBk8aQ/s320/IMG_5943.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>But wait. We stopped for a pint outside one of Warsaw's oldest restaurants, parts of which dated back to the 14th Century.<br />
Except it wasn't a pint of beer, it was a pint of honey mead. We'd decided against that on our previous visit, which had begun with an 0400 alarm call and a drive from Manchester down to Liverpool Ken Dodd International. By the time we'd arrived in Warsaw we 'd been ready for a kip rather than a big session.<br />
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Not this time, we were having a great night out. Bring it on - delicious!<br />
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Perhaps Tomek might show us where we are on the map? "No problem," he said, producing the huge flick knife and jabbing to our whereabouts on the map. Classy. The waiter coming with the bill faltered... then headed over to another table.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ksCqg_Lds6g/TvUH-uYtZ6I/AAAAAAAAAKE/T6cL__eVlzk/s1600/IMG_5944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ksCqg_Lds6g/TvUH-uYtZ6I/AAAAAAAAAKE/T6cL__eVlzk/s200/IMG_5944.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Having been educated about the delights of 999 vodka on previous trips to Warsaw and Lithuania - also in the company of Tomek - we were enjoying the vodka libation enormously, as Harry was happy to note in the picture (left). We saw a few more sights then got our heads down in a flat kindly lent to us by one of Tomek's friends.<br />
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So a great night all round, spanning tourism, professional discussions about the gig the following night and catching up with old friends. Tomek did tell me what had been going on but to be honest it slips my mind now.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L8vANQbpB30/TvUJlVWlQWI/AAAAAAAAAKc/MmKh-afePPo/s1600/IMG_5951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L8vANQbpB30/TvUJlVWlQWI/AAAAAAAAAKc/MmKh-afePPo/s200/IMG_5951.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
The gig was fabulous, the Warsaw crowd were excellent, the sound men and the people working on the concert were first class - we even had food laid on. And I tell you what: after a night on the honey vodka, that is very, very welcome.<br />
<br />
Warsaw. What people, what a place. Great attitude. I can't wait for us to go there again.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-38717490363720005242011-12-23T10:23:00.000-08:002011-12-23T10:23:57.586-08:00Strings suspended for a strip down<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-GB</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="MsoNormal">Apologies for a blogging lay-off rather longer than intended. I've moved house, changed computer, criss-crossed Europe, had five weeks of building work done and damn near lost my mind .. but for those waiting with bated breath to see how the bass crisis turned out, take that sigh of relief now… THE BASS IS FINE.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_1krSd-y27o/TvTBp3vvrGI/AAAAAAAAAHU/Tf0kV5K316Q/s1600/BASS+STRIPDOWN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_1krSd-y27o/TvTBp3vvrGI/AAAAAAAAAHU/Tf0kV5K316Q/s320/BASS+STRIPDOWN.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ease those pegs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">We left the bass without strings being cleaned off after a two-year sting with flatwound strings, which makes a giant Ukrainian contrabass sound rather jazzy .. that’s an interesting combination .. think smoky clubs full of men in well-worn tweeds with leather elbow patches, cravats and horn-rimmed glasses sitting at tables crammed with rows of empty pint pots holding schnapps glasses to their lips while choking back tears, waxing their moustaches and murmuring along to the sounds of the Steppes.. The Gadfly, Kalinka,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Kamarinskaya, </span>Bereyuzoviye Kalyechke, Lara's Theme etc. These gigs can get rather emotional you know...<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had to take a break from the Russian repertoire for duties in Europe in the service of the Inca Babies so October was the perfect time to give the contra a breather, slacken off those strings and let it chew carpet for a couple of weeks. Now it’s back in the saddle with a refreshed fretboard and re-strung with the marvellous Moscow strings previously mentioned (see September 2011) just in time for the biggest gig of the year: the annual Kalina Balalaika Orchestra charity fundraiser for the homeless of St Petersburg at Manchester’s Royal Northern College of Music.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So here’s a brief resume of how we did it. First all the strings came off, then a bit of essential maintenance – a clean up of the body, check the neck, clean off any dust and dirt and ease the tuning pegs with some WD40 to keep them flowing (above). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The contra bass is so big that you can’t reach from one end of the instrument to the other so it's almost a Laurel and Hardy sketch to hook the loop of the string around the peg on the bottom while winding a very long and slack new string around the tuning peg three feet (1 metre) away. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O7B3tYXcvuQ/TvTGudd8AKI/AAAAAAAAAIE/ktXJLxPU3hg/s1600/ASSISTANT+READS+BROCHURE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O7B3tYXcvuQ/TvTGudd8AKI/AAAAAAAAAIE/ktXJLxPU3hg/s320/ASSISTANT+READS+BROCHURE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After a little trial and error I decided to enlist the help of a glamorous assistant (left) to get this bass beast under control. The danger then of course is that the loop slips off the grooved peg on the base of the bass while you’re tightening it and goes twanging through the air, slicing through necks, taking eyes out and so on and wreaking carnage.. when all you’re trying to do is change the sodding strings. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thankfully none of this came to pass and my glamorous assistant emerged unhurt.. that tiling brochure isn’t there by accident.. it’s a cunning first line of defence. </span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XK-wPK8RSNk/TvTE0eB972I/AAAAAAAAAHs/zR319GAzUhc/s1600/ROOM+FULL+OF+BASS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XK-wPK8RSNk/TvTE0eB972I/AAAAAAAAAHs/zR319GAzUhc/s320/ROOM+FULL+OF+BASS.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then with the onset of European Death Rock duties pressing I tightened the strings to the correct tuning and left the bass for a day or two to settle down before coming back with a pair of pliers to tighten up again and tidy up the surplus string wire above the peg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And that’s it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s a bit more of a struggle that re-stringing the Fender on the left of that picture but these Moscow strings are so thick I can’t imagine having to do it again for a good few years. Which leaves me free to concentrate on my vodka-lifting duties in between songs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-24473046123988816162011-09-29T02:32:00.000-07:002011-09-29T02:32:49.716-07:00The King of the Bass in strings crisis<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1iWeMz52rZ4NEqiI7oakjDCkorOJrehtEzIHM7FY5v1847t7aV08kHor5MlvBMdLDmr-3dq1P_nJBcjd1CbsXzbU9JRgXr3_Mhuz61L4QfR9wR8DHhgNrktBivQ-5K5OPGYV0ifa0Nw/s1600/IMG_5907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1iWeMz52rZ4NEqiI7oakjDCkorOJrehtEzIHM7FY5v1847t7aV08kHor5MlvBMdLDmr-3dq1P_nJBcjd1CbsXzbU9JRgXr3_Mhuz61L4QfR9wR8DHhgNrktBivQ-5K5OPGYV0ifa0Nw/s320/IMG_5907.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My contrabass<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Four strings are definitely good, but where does that leave three-stringed instruments, like this monster contrabass, my bass of choice in the Russian balalaika orchestra I play in?<br />
<br />
This magnificent beast is three feet (one metre) wide at the base, with an extendable metal spike in the left hand corner, which you balance the bass on as you play it.<br />
<br />
Learning Russian songs, reading from a score and balancing an unwieldy triangular bass on a metal spike all at the same time takes some concentration, I can tell you.<br />
<br />
But a strings crisis has overtaken me. The strings on this bass are the size of double bass strings and the bass is so big you can't hold the string in place at one end while turning the peg on the neck to tighten it.<br />
<br />
On Saturday our children's orchestra Kalinka was appearing at a concert for the Didsbury Arts Festival in Manchester. I've played this contrabass with jazzy flatwound strings since I bought it two years ago.<br />
<br />
As we played through our first number I noticed a strange notch on the top string - D - and felt the winding sliding imperceptibly up and down the string. Then as we played more numbers I felt the notch get bigger and the sliding get more and more pronounced. Which is quite off-putting when you're trying to concentrate on playing.<br />
<br />
When the interval came I had a look at the string and found the very light wire winding had snapped and was gathering in bunches along the string - right where your fingers go on the second fret to play an E.. and there were a lot of Es in the second half.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtv3BaB2T7TQKpFk-WNkZvLi0vhrh3JhNjdcI9CO1a6e8RXZqsjTOuR3XyAUcxzTWKOT3LzJfK9m5csdT7Sf3XoUL8_oKLhANHXWAjPzPIfkp49hXiFALkrvkPNlrk2wAu9NraAdMzVI4/s1600/IMG_5913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtv3BaB2T7TQKpFk-WNkZvLi0vhrh3JhNjdcI9CO1a6e8RXZqsjTOuR3XyAUcxzTWKOT3LzJfK9m5csdT7Sf3XoUL8_oKLhANHXWAjPzPIfkp49hXiFALkrvkPNlrk2wAu9NraAdMzVI4/s200/IMG_5913.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knackered third string</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I was glad to get the gig finished. Though the wire was light, it was chewing my finger up. Double bass strings can cost £100 a set and I was wondering whether to replace the flatwounds or get some others when the orchestra leader Brian offered me a set of proper contrabass strings he'd bought on a trip to Russia.<br />
<br />
The contrabass is the king of the bass. They don't really make instruments any bigger, and mine isn't even the biggest. The biggest is another size up from mine, and the strings Brian gave me were made for one of them: I can cut the strings down to length, but the strings alone are on an elephantine scale. I'll be taking about a foot (0.3m) out.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiK6k-hUJ3YAI4Qj5HVa4DrZRL_GtI6fqYrscn03j9-EDEwd_TVUnwI1BtvKn-6wVSf22tleZ_0May316kh0d7X-SzOZSIMaKTj5f0grE5f_aVSmXdNL9N9rF_oVox8yj9IGXuvnAW2w/s1600/IMG_5903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiK6k-hUJ3YAI4Qj5HVa4DrZRL_GtI6fqYrscn03j9-EDEwd_TVUnwI1BtvKn-6wVSf22tleZ_0May316kh0d7X-SzOZSIMaKTj5f0grE5f_aVSmXdNL9N9rF_oVox8yj9IGXuvnAW2w/s200/IMG_5903.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Russian strings</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This is the packet of strings, direct from Moscow, with the price tag still on: 500 roubles. Believe me, that's nowhere near £100.. I'll be getting my strings from Moscow in future.<br />
<br />
The bottom E string is like a trawler cable. It's as thick as something you'd tow a caravan with or waterski with.<br />
<br />
And these babies are made with typical Russian ruggedness. They are double-wound, so round wound outer over a steel string core.. no doubt to survive the temperature-plummeting depths of a Russian winter, as burly bass players swing their contrabass into the back of a Lada Riva with two metres of snow on the ground in -30 degrees.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcST8NuHsWzTNYLUsRe9UJtBq2Ky7tWT-nrvA7s0HsJ7dRjAgfsWWeeULqJyUBxwptwtU6_50Yt3SvVfa8HOfejlLmahf0S-u5y5i_qjfi5aXaucZjXXa8gR1xs2-rl4H8xifIJLAqU8/s1600/IMG_5906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcST8NuHsWzTNYLUsRe9UJtBq2Ky7tWT-nrvA7s0HsJ7dRjAgfsWWeeULqJyUBxwptwtU6_50Yt3SvVfa8HOfejlLmahf0S-u5y5i_qjfi5aXaucZjXXa8gR1xs2-rl4H8xifIJLAqU8/s200/IMG_5906.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trawler cables for strings</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TvTMiJOqzwIByH_EpQoOqPHJDr811Kz-aFQZVt1zREejstJB4gqRFJVgapDdoyDPzBlwYOYDOMRNYJ66vo3v3QnrUl2jChL3sVFgxgNQkYg8OTgzthdi3TGVrLYL76sr_slPeds1OLU/s1600/IMG_5916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TvTMiJOqzwIByH_EpQoOqPHJDr811Kz-aFQZVt1zREejstJB4gqRFJVgapDdoyDPzBlwYOYDOMRNYJ66vo3v3QnrUl2jChL3sVFgxgNQkYg8OTgzthdi3TGVrLYL76sr_slPeds1OLU/s200/IMG_5916.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doublewound for strength</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Whatever, these strings are built to last. I reckon the only way one of these is going to snap is if I connect it up to an ice-breaker leaving Helsinki harbour and chain the bass to a lamp post.<br />
<br />
Actually changing these strings is a job in itself, somewhat reminiscent of Laurel and Hardy. That's the subject of my next post. But the next destination for connoisseurs of bass is Warsaw, where the Inca Babies are appearing in concert on Saturday night.<br />
<br />
Next stop Luton airport for premier travel courtesy of... WizzAir.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-77798783694279920972011-09-22T03:35:00.000-07:002011-09-22T03:35:35.915-07:00The crazy sights of Amsterdam<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi562ApjbDUJXMawZuC3AO7xoqGPp6Y_FmLfZKJBgwtH_D3PRT7wdYkB6EvZJemRUPUOrCejnMvdnVaOHuI7qcVmXYlLmu2xY8-c_V0j7NXLN9M0AbxvXN7zx_4Wblq7RNsja5YvR1umxc/s1600/HOTEL+ROKIN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi562ApjbDUJXMawZuC3AO7xoqGPp6Y_FmLfZKJBgwtH_D3PRT7wdYkB6EvZJemRUPUOrCejnMvdnVaOHuI7qcVmXYlLmu2xY8-c_V0j7NXLN9M0AbxvXN7zx_4Wblq7RNsja5YvR1umxc/s200/HOTEL+ROKIN.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get rokin' then...<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Inca Babies jaunt to Amsterdam was my first visit for a few years and I'd forgotten what a crazy place it is. Here are a couple of the sights we came across in our few hours there.<br />
<br />
First, for a band playing Amsterdam, where better to stay than the appropriately-named Hotel Rokin? Very convenient for throwing TVs into the canal, easy to get the van to the front door and being on a big road near Dam Square you'd be able to find your way back here after a mind-altering night on the town.<br />
<br />
Or a taxi driver would know it. Surely this is where we book into next time?<br />
Can you get a bass amp up those stairs? Anyway, looks like a nice place.<br />
<br />
Just across the bridge from Dam Square we came across a restaurant which had a spooky statue in it of a stuffed fox dressed up as a waitress. Apart from thinking stuffed animals are a bit disgusting as a concept, when they're old and dusty with their fur bleached by the sun, the fox-waitress idea becomes more revolting the more I think about it.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-cM8u_rA4Q_bViaeVD_ptMbTdhhIH8NRcGtgY_tctXAWewmAk5oi56FMK9buKa5KBiBhcJPickmc7pyGxk9NzBqtx7HhWSdys_EI8m-9uz7GnaREaCgLD0GmrLfQVD8eSZ0857ae8bU/s1600/STUFFED+FOX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-cM8u_rA4Q_bViaeVD_ptMbTdhhIH8NRcGtgY_tctXAWewmAk5oi56FMK9buKa5KBiBhcJPickmc7pyGxk9NzBqtx7HhWSdys_EI8m-9uz7GnaREaCgLD0GmrLfQVD8eSZ0857ae8bU/s200/STUFFED+FOX.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ugh. Not weird, sick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The restaurant was closed - perhaps the owners only see the fox-waitress by candlelight and think it's cool.. well, it ain't... so I couldn't get a real-life close-up view of it. Or smell the musty, mangy stink of ancient fur as soon as I opened the door.<br />
<br />
But through the window I could see the apron was moth-eaten, tatty and dirty, which made the stuffed animal even LESS appealing. Ugh.<br />
<br />
That's all a bit weird and spooky, isn't it? I'll probably get a rude email now from the owners telling me how great they think it is. Or perhaps it was a family pet, preserved forever.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't have my old black cat from London Eb stuffed and put on display for years, however much I missed him. That's just sick.<br />
<br />
But how about this? We spotted one apartment with a ZEBRA for a pet! Wow. Imagine what it's like having a zebra running round the flat all day while you're out at work. They're really crazy in Amsterdam...<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDOokxxoC6APgHQk5eOmVMrl02wyQ9nhGDSU1PGFWKce4CxmQwz5w2SgB7bXhmaYcXXNPLkfQyrbyGUT1iidESWqHNwUg7PQR68UBydReJ1gaOGJBkkOQfXNXz1IGqk-QSfU-7XE6DmE/s1600/ZEBRA+IN+THE+WINDOW.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDOokxxoC6APgHQk5eOmVMrl02wyQ9nhGDSU1PGFWKce4CxmQwz5w2SgB7bXhmaYcXXNPLkfQyrbyGUT1iidESWqHNwUg7PQR68UBydReJ1gaOGJBkkOQfXNXz1IGqk-QSfU-7XE6DmE/s640/ZEBRA+IN+THE+WINDOW.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zebra alert! Crazy pets of Amsterdam...<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>PS: The views published in this blog about stuffed animals being disgusting are the author's private views and don't necessarily reflect the opinion of blogger.com.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-54897493260085006882011-09-19T15:29:00.000-07:002011-09-19T15:29:42.621-07:00Inca Babies in Amsterdam<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz1I3prqzDebYdgR-Q_gjJ69Qp9DOSDr_ugr3qhTAvuA4DM5Qr75HWmQXbjS0EyE0AIF48uQ28d_yEboazIOYXI80iqTPph8qlzkdhX2018haEEHCl6Um5V8CM3re9yHhI9AF_DLBUtlw/s1600/IMG_5793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz1I3prqzDebYdgR-Q_gjJ69Qp9DOSDr_ugr3qhTAvuA4DM5Qr75HWmQXbjS0EyE0AIF48uQ28d_yEboazIOYXI80iqTPph8qlzkdhX2018haEEHCl6Um5V8CM3re9yHhI9AF_DLBUtlw/s320/IMG_5793.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">17th Century Dutch houses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A forty-five minute flight separates Manchester from the capital of hedonism that is Amsterdam. It's been a few years since I've been there but the huge clouds of ganja smoke and creepy brothel windows are still a central feature, and make the city such a weird cocktail of other people's pleasure-seeking.<br />
We had a five o'clock cab but by ten thirty (that's an hour ahead, European time) we were relaxing with coffee and cheese sandwiches in the garden of promoter Natasha TrishTrash, enjoying warm and pleasant sunshine, after meeting up at one of rock'n'roll's great meeting places: outside Burger King at Schipol Airport.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJ1TUWvkL7du6m552lShTJq8jAMbz7dHHhuWYEbQFUFDp1j9deNlCGL4RgHP_1qo_k1Fnh67DZSPQe5YfDmLPonJbfvaoqe7aT8solblK6W9WjrRwJMJduaQqKRAiP_KdBXrgjrCoa5U/s1600/IMG_5767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJ1TUWvkL7du6m552lShTJq8jAMbz7dHHhuWYEbQFUFDp1j9deNlCGL4RgHP_1qo_k1Fnh67DZSPQe5YfDmLPonJbfvaoqe7aT8solblK6W9WjrRwJMJduaQqKRAiP_KdBXrgjrCoa5U/s320/IMG_5767.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Could you be mistaken..?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were on our first Dutch jaunt as the current line-up of the Inca Babies, and looking forward to it. Amsterdam's a capital of music in northern Europe: everyone goes through there and it's a great place to be playing. I hadn't been in Holland in a band since 1986 and my days in A Witness, when we just had the night off in Amsterdam and didn't actually play there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcTlvfgvdVv5M9yGqmzM2OF-eiKsqkGY9ikFttrhtcvmkopxoQ7wfP1w6Nxd9qySngRppQdXFBJLXD6S84m5vePoHwp_xelZNcHNehJLJuiqOXSK-LDnkEa_PKoq6hE_1eWuyoNRb1bU/s1600/IMG_5769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcTlvfgvdVv5M9yGqmzM2OF-eiKsqkGY9ikFttrhtcvmkopxoQ7wfP1w6Nxd9qySngRppQdXFBJLXD6S84m5vePoHwp_xelZNcHNehJLJuiqOXSK-LDnkEa_PKoq6hE_1eWuyoNRb1bU/s200/IMG_5769.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
The venue was called Winston Kingdom, down a side street from Dam Square. It was a good size, clean and had - most welcome of all things - a good sound man.<br />
<br />
I hate sound checks as a rule but here the mix was quick and easy and sounded good. There's only so far you can take a soundcheck, so we headed out to see more of the sights.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iO4gteobe7wkufD5XP_arr2IlflgYfbmsY7ev5qw5-eZmPvHxABScbXfFKLMJgehn6LrQwyNvBkUCxigLKasRNVMR85GfiCJKaLfK6fyn_GwbVuHKTCXT-MTKycZtXudV_TmwuqJ9Bw/s1600/IMG_5801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8iO4gteobe7wkufD5XP_arr2IlflgYfbmsY7ev5qw5-eZmPvHxABScbXfFKLMJgehn6LrQwyNvBkUCxigLKasRNVMR85GfiCJKaLfK6fyn_GwbVuHKTCXT-MTKycZtXudV_TmwuqJ9Bw/s320/IMG_5801.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob and Harry soundcheck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We arrived back from our post-soundcheck stroll in time to catch the set from Yokocola, fronted by a great singer called Sidhi. Her style reminded me at times of Siouxsie Sue and the band's material of Suicide.. insistent and repetitive but with good vocal hooks.<br />
<br />
<br />
After our last gig in Blackpool (when we had to cut the set short to 30 mins due to band over-runs earlier in the evening) we wanted to play what we'd gone with.<br />
We started with The Judge and Opium Den and then a couple of new ones; Bikini Quicksand and But Not This Time. They'll be on the album we were recording earlier in the month.<br />
Harry slipped on his bottleneck for the slow slide of Tumbling Man and Can't No Tombstone before Phantom Track and Monologues of Madness led into our ending of The Interior, Buster's On Fire, Some Kinda Reason and, to end with, Bewildered.<br />
People in the crowd danced, shouted and generally interacted, which always makes you give more yourself, so we went back on and did two encores - Grunt Cadillac Hotel and Lung Knives - before calling it a day and giving way to DJ TrishTrash.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3aNxBOQW9I2MRQYHcsaYy_DkvdMfAqvWiCAX4Gb_ASeIqL3b0TlTT3X4BpXSFhdi5qr79lLwNjyF6KLj6qnrpnAGq_rLsUfnud8W51kFIbShycuYz9Ze498CIWmh8aD4rRVm4iEjCNA/s1600/IMG_5770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3aNxBOQW9I2MRQYHcsaYy_DkvdMfAqvWiCAX4Gb_ASeIqL3b0TlTT3X4BpXSFhdi5qr79lLwNjyF6KLj6qnrpnAGq_rLsUfnud8W51kFIbShycuYz9Ze498CIWmh8aD4rRVm4iEjCNA/s320/IMG_5770.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry, Natasha TrishTrash and Rob</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Natasha's got a good thing going there. We met half a dozen English people passing through on their way from or to other gigs, football matches or heading through town, and a host of really enthusiastic music fans. It's good to go to Amsterdam if only to see a city where - it's been said for decades - people appreciate creativity and culture and the conditions exist for it to thrive.<br />
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We came back to the UK on Saturday buzzing about the gig, and keen to go back out next year when the new album's ready. Next on the list is the launch in Warsaw on October 1st of the vinyl version of the current Inca's album 'Death Message Blues' which is the work of Polish promoter Tomek, who is one of life's absolute characters. We're looking forward to seeing Tomek again, but I'm planning to get a few early nights in beforehand. That guy never sleeps!vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-2175493870375423252011-09-07T15:21:00.000-07:002011-09-07T15:21:46.812-07:00Bass player leaves studio, wants peace and quiet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzTtPg20f9uRwUWDNMXhw5FzxwObGct9-Rq9riLaTWFfj5t57tk-Fw9lhnyIYzwouggdBIlM5QbA0EEiyJnG0YIQxAOI2kThVrXKVdI3YfnZbQw2RYdy1nPByAg5Ge8oouo1nBb1h0GI/s1600/IMG_5702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzTtPg20f9uRwUWDNMXhw5FzxwObGct9-Rq9riLaTWFfj5t57tk-Fw9lhnyIYzwouggdBIlM5QbA0EEiyJnG0YIQxAOI2kThVrXKVdI3YfnZbQw2RYdy1nPByAg5Ge8oouo1nBb1h0GI/s200/IMG_5702.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sing into this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Once you finish in a studio, that's not always the end of your involvement with the songs. Even though you may have got most of them down second or third take, sequences and parts of those tracks go round your head for days afterwards. I was getting something out of a cupboard today, three days after this latest Inca Babies session with the same part going through my head, round and round. That had been going on since Sunday. And just the process of isolating your playing or singing on a single track can be quite .. well, 'instructive' is perhaps a kind way of putting it. It's like looking at yourself very, very close up in one of those shaving mirrors. Sometimes not nice.<br />
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In the creative crucible of the studio, band members often seem to default to their popular stereotypes. Take for example, the bass player. Bass players are generally easygoing people, used to holding a song down while flamboyant guitarists or vocalists (or worse, both) show off their showbusiness chops. Bass players apply certain mottos to their lives - perhaps because they have to - like 'Less is more' and 'It's not what you play, it's what you DON'T play' (copyright A. Brown of Doncaster). Both these mottos are true to some extent, both to the art of bass playing and the experiences of bass players.<br />
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Most bass players turn up to rehearsals, learn their parts and then work on getting the best groove or flow out of the bits they've got to play. This is often done at high volume in a cold and draughty rehearsal room with an often-psychotic drummer battering seven shades of merry hell out of a practice kit on one side and a guitarist playing at ear-splitting volume on the other. Hmm. Maybe Monday night Coronation Street isn't such a bad option after all. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3xZfQQ27DCYI0yb83PCncG1e4VuwWDA-cv57iPNPG3nIbpVP3wvQqxHZkUyrANjwuR71AtlNHtwhq18KEKS2Ak_R2cGimm97kRw8uyy7arPi17HzDGH3POUJvMKV9slAwfRL_qqogk4/s1600/IMG_5676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3xZfQQ27DCYI0yb83PCncG1e4VuwWDA-cv57iPNPG3nIbpVP3wvQqxHZkUyrANjwuR71AtlNHtwhq18KEKS2Ak_R2cGimm97kRw8uyy7arPi17HzDGH3POUJvMKV9slAwfRL_qqogk4/s320/IMG_5676.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drummer and guitarist at rest</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
In recent years I've taken to wearing ear plugs in the practice room. Excessive volume is just part of the business I'm afraid but I'm less willing than I used to be to be deaf all week for the sake of a practice. I met a guy who was training for the Olympic clay pigeon shooting finals who fired 200 shotgun cartridges at clay discs in an evening. He gave me some expandable ear plugs that cut out the deafening crack of a shotgun fired countless times right underneath your ear. They work a treat against a Fender Strat through a distortion pedal with the treble right up. Now I just need some flesh-coloured ones.<br />
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Such an intense workspace as the studio leads to pressure, and the pressure starts to mount when bands or band members don't get their playing right. Once you've stumbled over a part twice you might as well forget it, because you're either going to have people standing over you cursing that you get it right, or - perhaps worse - praying silently in the control room with their fingers crossed that this time you don't mess up. Which you invariably do. They tend to be the ones who are paying for the studio, and will often follow you outside while you get a breather and kick a few doorframes to encourage you, tell you how good your playing's been and how when you go back in they really believe you'll get it right.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrx2OZ-WlIQRDfG_Dk3ggGgcLstkqrD9qQIXmC4aRDUQTFMmJ4fYs7gWqJailmDsE2LP-4iqkkD3llMXGgLd0ymqvYLmWoWBsVIUC58vFJI7iunv-EF_vpgD1i7Ww7qdHXnrcttejjd18/s1600/IMG_5677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrx2OZ-WlIQRDfG_Dk3ggGgcLstkqrD9qQIXmC4aRDUQTFMmJ4fYs7gWqJailmDsE2LP-4iqkkD3llMXGgLd0ymqvYLmWoWBsVIUC58vFJI7iunv-EF_vpgD1i7Ww7qdHXnrcttejjd18/s320/IMG_5677.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Engineer Tim tweaks his eq settings</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Then you have the engineer, the poor guy who has to get the whole sorry episode on tape and make something usable from what is often a total shambles. Engineers are notably and noticeably eccentric: they walk that fine line between genius and despair every day... or more commonly every night, as studio night rates are cheaper.<br />
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Someone like Tim Woodward at Courtyard (above left) has been doing it so long there's not a sight he hasn't seen, and that's great, because instead of letting a band corner a musician who's messed up he'll just run the tape back and get them to patch up their mistakes with barely anyone noticing that he's done it. At least that's what he does with me. There's been many a Mexican stand-off in the courtyard at Courtyard and Tim's too wise and too experienced a hand to let the bickering get to that stage nowadays. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fg1LK04RHSeWIzVzaZy0gJ_E2-ZWb_3ObSIAuWf-fujZf_bIWgpJxcdlM52QzcEHhUARYNgM5QE33AENUQUWY5zOFEVFfOoBqgZ0tnVLb20QWUerc-8jMH6vCbH4yTfTTGwaEIJHiyg/s1600/IMG_5713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fg1LK04RHSeWIzVzaZy0gJ_E2-ZWb_3ObSIAuWf-fujZf_bIWgpJxcdlM52QzcEHhUARYNgM5QE33AENUQUWY5zOFEVFfOoBqgZ0tnVLb20QWUerc-8jMH6vCbH4yTfTTGwaEIJHiyg/s320/IMG_5713.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Band members celebrate completion of recording</td></tr>
</tbody></table> And finally, of course, where does all that nervous tension go, having been stored up for days while you record and before that while you write, shape, nurse and deliver your musical baby, clocking up countless pints and miles and texts and phone minutes in its genesis.<br />
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Some people celebrate in time-honoured fashion: by going off and getting absolutely hammered. Others go home to their families and carry on where they left off. On Sunday I packed up my bass and headed down the stairs with the strap engineer Tim very generously gave me to replace the one I snapped at the gig in Blackpool - he also sells guitar strings and accessories online - with a quiet sense of achievement. And all I wanted was some fresh air and some peace and quiet.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-84037315237117763492011-09-06T09:43:00.000-07:002011-09-06T09:43:39.260-07:00Backing tracks and studio backstories<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RGmHbvQi690fzSd8NE_mQEibqPQgnnqLWjIeURZEn0tOqMEOgyXfrAjLgJFNDtQMqj8wA43frWSinrsPl4UobYCIP2T7dMFRk5atydtMxg5gRApQgdWuGPOnXeoUEgwwn3rvhfVcsnQ/s1600/IMG_5655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RGmHbvQi690fzSd8NE_mQEibqPQgnnqLWjIeURZEn0tOqMEOgyXfrAjLgJFNDtQMqj8wA43frWSinrsPl4UobYCIP2T7dMFRk5atydtMxg5gRApQgdWuGPOnXeoUEgwwn3rvhfVcsnQ/s320/IMG_5655.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob makes final adjustments</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When you're a kid starting out in a band, going into the studio is a dream come true: it's the very culmination of why you do it (except for those who do it because they love playing live). For my first sessions I was filled with a mixture of trepidation yet excitement, full of uncertainty.. how will the songs come out? Will they be any good? Will my bass sound good the way that engineer has miked it up?<br />
Even after the first couple of times I still found myself getting nervous going to the studio. Each time the sound seemed different, the engineers worked in a different way, the pressure was different. For our first A Witness session for John Peel we went into Maida Vale after staying with a friend who had a houseboat on the Grand Union Canal near Rickmansworth: we got absolutely slaughtered in the pub the night before. Perhaps this wasn't the best preparation for an eight-hour slog at 11am the next day with Dale Griffin producing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCe4x90y7uyEt-Y_4HKlGbDC9ZlMlA__Nwu-dGYuXHiCbc6RSRVCu0hL_LB_6vQEnT3K5raYg2KMBTTj1JS02KqyKPO3_eF4oDJdglBt8lK6cCbRiJh-7cHIM6j-LD6ReAHA_c9qWhako/s1600/IMG_5652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCe4x90y7uyEt-Y_4HKlGbDC9ZlMlA__Nwu-dGYuXHiCbc6RSRVCu0hL_LB_6vQEnT3K5raYg2KMBTTj1JS02KqyKPO3_eF4oDJdglBt8lK6cCbRiJh-7cHIM6j-LD6ReAHA_c9qWhako/s200/IMG_5652.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This bass means business</td></tr>
</tbody></table> No-one ever got tapes of the Peel sessions afterwards so I didn't hear it again until one night a few months later when I was driving through Heald Green and Peel announced he was playing the session... it's weird to hear songs you've written and played on for that recording coming over the radio into your car .. and then a God-like figure like Peel says he thinks your band's good! That's quite a high at the age of 23. It's a shame no-one's ever really taken over Peel's role as a champion of the strange and the avant garde in the same way.. but now the guitar-driven 'independent' scene has become the mainstream.<br />
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Having done all the things you do when you're younger, like getting smashed the night before a session, then feeling like death all the way through it... turning up without food, drinks, milk or teabags and having to survive on crisps and tea with dried milk, or (perhaps worse) camomile or nettle tea or revolting chicory coffee or whatever's been left in the cupboard by the previous band .. well, having done all that, I've always tried to prepare myself for a studio session. I rehearse the songs.. practice the hard bits... make sure I have a tuner, some butties, some tea bags, spare strings and all the essentials a musician needs. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsTXV9aV3Vq6EDiIZho9kzd-ObBB4fuggWi3TIC_HGV1txl82mFQYJRx9mhM_t-DSvqttC2FBvW6d4S3WmOK70c1_ia9p-Nmb3Wcu-SSsyvzy6uk62GjkrNJeLSqRAEoUWB1Fck6bDw0/s1600/IMG_5659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsTXV9aV3Vq6EDiIZho9kzd-ObBB4fuggWi3TIC_HGV1txl82mFQYJRx9mhM_t-DSvqttC2FBvW6d4S3WmOK70c1_ia9p-Nmb3Wcu-SSsyvzy6uk62GjkrNJeLSqRAEoUWB1Fck6bDw0/s320/IMG_5659.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry gets a guide vocal and guitar down</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Having got my provisions in before the Blackpool gig on the Friday, I slept in a bit on Saturday morning having not gone to bed until 3am, and on Saturday afternoon I joined Rob and Harry at Courtyard in Stockport to set up the bass. Rob got there earlier to check his drums so we'd be on course to be ready to record a batch of songs on Sunday.<br />
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When we were set up we ran through a couple of songs and it sounded good enough to get a track down on tape so we rolled on it ... then another, and then another. Within the space of an hour we'd laid backing tracks of bass and drums for four songs, so went home well ahead of ourselves.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't forget the words...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sunday we'd booked a long-ish session to get more bass and drums down, having left everything set up and channels open etc.. and we just got our heads down and worked at it. Suddenly all those Monday nights of rehearsal through the spring and summer paid off as we clicked through the gears and got all the songs down sounding really good.<br />
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Some bits were tough - concentrating in such depth for so long can be exhausting - but then all of a sudden the songs were down and I was free to go... my input was no longer needed. That's quite an odd situation when you've been shaping these songs and getting the feel of them in your head, working your part out so it feels right and fits, or trying to work out how to change something so it does fit .. and then there's just free time and you don't have to remember the number of verses before a chorus, or whether this song has a double chorus.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC3z6Ek_5vOgGfLVTSBpHAk6WqALFtS5auf66S9N8cvrM_Fbm7RLN91F4bOm9r5fYQ6GPfXWLwn80ap0BwKn0X55fa5ABOxQGazzDjiC0q0cUJVwHd7M6tkTaX0tbrnZvf3-NLYHLuSA/s1600/IMG_5700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC3z6Ek_5vOgGfLVTSBpHAk6WqALFtS5auf66S9N8cvrM_Fbm7RLN91F4bOm9r5fYQ6GPfXWLwn80ap0BwKn0X55fa5ABOxQGazzDjiC0q0cUJVwHd7M6tkTaX0tbrnZvf3-NLYHLuSA/s320/IMG_5700.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
And the notebook that you've worked out the song structures and modifications along the way can be heaved into the box under the bed along with all those updates the singer's given you of the lyrics, and that old H+H bass amp can go back into the cupboard under the stairs (for another week, at least) and maybe I can start doing other things on a Monday night now for a bit. Like.. er.. watching the match. Or going for a pint. Or...I dunno.. I'll think of something.vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-2671753152325929862011-09-04T16:05:00.000-07:002011-09-04T16:05:28.200-07:00Work starts on new Inca Babies album<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NmunYJnk4mH3Yve7JGZU3iNt-LhqQPh8onH-uWeI3gEji6fTgh28aoxeWSlmKHyx3FcS6BHWaO0fdTuAf-C7VoZpUb9YyWWb3UK2e2DD81qLwrYM0lJc_Nf4zKNRLvYVteadF2O3yog/s1600/IMG_5711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0NmunYJnk4mH3Yve7JGZU3iNt-LhqQPh8onH-uWeI3gEji6fTgh28aoxeWSlmKHyx3FcS6BHWaO0fdTuAf-C7VoZpUb9YyWWb3UK2e2DD81qLwrYM0lJc_Nf4zKNRLvYVteadF2O3yog/s320/IMG_5711.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>September the third, 2011: work starts on the new Inca Babies album, the day after a live appearance at The Beat Club in Blackpool. This was an interesting affair in a well-run club just north of the Tower. The Friday night was also the night of the Illuminations switch-on, so we had a plate of chips and curry in a cafe overlooking the 'Switch-on Arena' also known under normal circumstances as the 'Central Car Park'.<br />
The switch-on seemed to go quite well though the lights only came on halfway up the prom at first. When they eventually came on there was a big cheer from the crowd of people walking along it: then they flickered off again. Deep groan. Lights back on: big cheer. Lights off again.. deep groan. On. Off.. until finally.. on. Hurray.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGzcn3GQAfYD8AIbG_f1XlThfsj6oqlCSKtcz7l5wGj-u8rWIg3xHN6G7FUAbSyvwEvDCsOGR49P9_QwE0tMNSLmvgrlYZmaWoPIaCRk73X7x2co_Cm1FCGTnOORoxQEl_lJ0mm2gFmU/s1600/IMG_5651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieGzcn3GQAfYD8AIbG_f1XlThfsj6oqlCSKtcz7l5wGj-u8rWIg3xHN6G7FUAbSyvwEvDCsOGR49P9_QwE0tMNSLmvgrlYZmaWoPIaCRk73X7x2co_Cm1FCGTnOORoxQEl_lJ0mm2gFmU/s320/IMG_5651.JPG" width="320" /></a>Anyway. On a four-band night we finally took to the stage at 2330, with a midnight curfew, so had to cut chunks out of our set to finish in time. That's always a shame because you shape a setlist for good reasons and having to whack ten minutes out because of a slow changeover or because one band went on ten minutes later than planned (who knows what the reason was?) is a bit of a drag.<br />
We had a few new ones in the set from the album we're recording now and actually they're shaping up really well. There's only really one way to get a song in shape and that's to play it live. That irons out all the shaky bits because you have to make it work in a live situation.<br />
The gig was fine and the people were great so we headed back from Blackpool quite happy with the night's work, though a bit disappointed that we didn't get to work through the full forty minutes, as we have a hectic autumn coming up in Amsterdam, Italy and Warsaw and it really helps when you're slick with the order.<br />
So just ten hours after we arrived back in Manchester from Blackpool, Harry (guitar and vocals) and Rob (drums) reported for recording duty at Courtyard Studios in Stockport (above).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_lP41E4LNr7NAtllL-drweNOuY3JMLRrO7XFJ95rq1aqxGjunD5cAJfKxqNaxAoDeiZ36WMfFJhFVd9zNoNVLYZ_e7BOfyRsc4rLTyNrOBWAQsLP5Bzo7r4OLH54mRLqIqKqfUnKo0k/s1600/IMG_5674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_lP41E4LNr7NAtllL-drweNOuY3JMLRrO7XFJ95rq1aqxGjunD5cAJfKxqNaxAoDeiZ36WMfFJhFVd9zNoNVLYZ_e7BOfyRsc4rLTyNrOBWAQsLP5Bzo7r4OLH54mRLqIqKqfUnKo0k/s320/IMG_5674.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Courtyard's run by Tim Woodward (right), a guitarist and engineer who's been beavering away in the air crash district of Stockport for .. well.. I've been going there since the mid-1980s when I used to rehearse there with my first band A Witness and we'd write songs for Peel sessions in the gently-collapsing practice rooms. Hopes Carr, the area is called. There was once a nasty shotgun murder at a scrap yard up the hill: Tim swears he used to see the ghosts of the air crash on those quiet, spooky winter nights.<br />
Nowadays no-one remembers the Stockport air crash and only a pair of troll-like stones just before the turn for Gorsey Mount Brow marks the disaster, still one of the worst in British aviation history.<br />
Strawberry Studios is just up the hill too, so it's a pretty famous part of Stockport we're talking about here. Round the corner from the Rhythm House.. you know...<br />
We recorded our first album of this Incas line-up with Tim: Death Message Blues, starting the winter before last, and we've played it through Poland, Italy, Los Angeles, in Milan, Manchester, Brighton, London, the Lake District.. all over. So it seemed a reasonable idea to go back there. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kZ3ThSoPjAn2JXgPqfuAqoFLVoKqJRuGIJi3jO9Bqd6EYxLW6Myn_ZNiEQGHA_GaHHRUjByI_mwfQ8dPwycnNa5VroxAnpJhNZRWsIuVBjizKIvn8Z9OYoOzbM-1bTnpsoo-0-q1jhU/s1600/IMG_5654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kZ3ThSoPjAn2JXgPqfuAqoFLVoKqJRuGIJi3jO9Bqd6EYxLW6Myn_ZNiEQGHA_GaHHRUjByI_mwfQ8dPwycnNa5VroxAnpJhNZRWsIuVBjizKIvn8Z9OYoOzbM-1bTnpsoo-0-q1jhU/s320/IMG_5654.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Going into the studio is exhausting, exhilirating and profoundly odd all at the same time because it messes up your focus. Suddenly you have to concentrate like a madman on a passage of music like your life depends on it and a string keeps buzzing.. it never did that before.. why is it doing it now.. and you're distracted because someone is walking in front of you during a take, or gesturing towards you and you can't afford to stop concentrating or you'll make a mistake.<br />
And then I looked at the tuner I was using to tune up with and realised that actually, yes, that really belongs in a museum. My old bandmate Keith Curtis - yes, Keith from Goldblade - gave me that in about 1985 and I've used it ever since. It's about the only thing he did ever give me but I'm grateful for it.. and I've got good use out of it. And, as you'll see in the days to come, it's not the only piece of ancient equipment we found in Courtyard....<br />
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vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-83745937667427054572011-08-28T15:43:00.000-07:002011-08-28T15:43:21.276-07:00No business like shoe business<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQWc5wS7qdqv_VZS2fH0Etk1dntqRJHmUi8rX9qKvEwdLltw6oajKfiVkahMc3R9xcJsHtoJIGD2TalbXkK82jXoQoJWhUhb-SwsXDyPMk1lDlZWvYm1tb4__5ViDJMDpL9N065nwiqo/s1600/IMG_5469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQWc5wS7qdqv_VZS2fH0Etk1dntqRJHmUi8rX9qKvEwdLltw6oajKfiVkahMc3R9xcJsHtoJIGD2TalbXkK82jXoQoJWhUhb-SwsXDyPMk1lDlZWvYm1tb4__5ViDJMDpL9N065nwiqo/s320/IMG_5469.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lady shopper considers smash'n'grab</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I wasn't in the UK during the riots (your honour) but I did see some highlights on the TV when I was in Hungary. It's strange seeing a load of kids in hoodies and balaclavas smashing up and then looting places you know. And it's even stranger to watch these riots spreading across the UK while you're exploring a European city riding the trams, eating ice cream and having a honeymoon in the sunshine.<br />
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When I was a kid there were still cigarette machines outside newsagents, and I'm sure in those days looters were shot. It was like glass bus stops: as they started to get smashed up on a regular basis by the angry youth so everything that wasn't nailed down was moved out of reach.<br />
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Now benches are chained down. The computers are chained down at a college in Manchester town centre. Barbers' advertising signs are chained down in the suburbs. Why would anyone want one of those? A guy I know on the seafront in Brighton had a huge palm nicked from outside his flat - his basement flat. We played a game in Budapest: "What would an Englishman do?" and most of the time it involved smashing up a place or nicking something and then throwing up in the corner or weeing in the plant pot. (This was before we knew about the riots, incidentally..)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBFLl1ihxDCqeKXyqJpujgSkexaIaV7WaVVjVufqlbltKZJB4b6GNz2haXyXhlJjSg2AQ12ySCJIEsF62Fz2_TofV-kmXP8GNn-rflLoZPR2cEQFT652npgFTWZWzQjMd10vhBr_bfCE/s1600/IMG_5468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBFLl1ihxDCqeKXyqJpujgSkexaIaV7WaVVjVufqlbltKZJB4b6GNz2haXyXhlJjSg2AQ12ySCJIEsF62Fz2_TofV-kmXP8GNn-rflLoZPR2cEQFT652npgFTWZWzQjMd10vhBr_bfCE/s320/IMG_5468.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Also before we knew about the riots we came across (above and left) these wall displays outside a shoemaker's: glass cabinets displaying his wares, like craftsmen used to do in Days Gone By. Here you can see his expertise in making boots, or snappy gents' shoes. I think that's even a two-tone pair on the bottom shelf.<br />
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Can you imagine how long a display like this would last in Britain? It's a glass cabinet - and it doesn't have shutters on it? What's the shoemaker thinking of? He's just asking for those shoes to be robbed.<br />
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One of the amazing things about modern life is that now you could send that shoemaker in Budapest an email (www.toth-lovaglocsizma.hu) asking how his love of creating boots and shoes which he painstakingly sews by hand using traditional methods probably handed down over generations squares with the crazy lack of security and the irresponsible cabinet displays that are just asking to be smashed up by a passing Englishman.<br />
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But I guess there's one way Britain could retain old-style marketing methods like this, preserving traditional techniques and ensuring craftsmen survive: move all the shoemakers inside their local branches of Waterstones bookshop ... because there was no looting there, was there?<br />
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vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-508840193264479607.post-4554850118801623692011-08-25T15:59:00.000-07:002011-08-25T15:59:33.098-07:00The secret world of mushrooms...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_rLdzul59QfWrOePGfhFFJ6ZpH8gKaY-91eUVeE9-D6Nl9eHawYC8TU8TbJr34IFcracCjcsUKxwXbtiPxj0b5rFHgG6xTuT6puKrNfRvffxEBqULPm00BNnvnr2ntkB9LPzyvMKm2k/s1600/MUSH+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_rLdzul59QfWrOePGfhFFJ6ZpH8gKaY-91eUVeE9-D6Nl9eHawYC8TU8TbJr34IFcracCjcsUKxwXbtiPxj0b5rFHgG6xTuT6puKrNfRvffxEBqULPm00BNnvnr2ntkB9LPzyvMKm2k/s320/MUSH+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>One thing I love about life is stumbling into a world full of enthusiasts and experts: people with a passion or an appetite for something, be it an activity, a way of life or a consumption. <br />
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Arriving in Budapest recently, my new and lovely wife Daiga and I found ourselves in the city’s central market, an impressive two-storey building that’s seen its share of ups and downs but which can be supplied through thick and thin by tunnels from the adjacent Danube.<br />
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Built in 1896, it’s survived the end of the Austro-Hungarian empire, two wars and fifty years of Communism and has recently been refurbished and – as you can see here – is looking great. We allowed the sights and scents of Hungary to wash over us: excellent Tokai wine, the ubiquitous green pepper, the schnapps, caviar, Bull's Blood… the fancy linen, Ferencvaros football shirts and novelty key rings jostling for our attention.<br />
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But what really caught my eye - oddly enough, as I waited by the public toilets at the back of the market hall - was a display of specialist mushrooms, ranked according to their toxicity but offering a splendid opportunity to ponder that fine line between life and death a stroll in a Hungarian forest one afternoon might offer.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kMh4DwtPAb-ow8WSUdVzOanups28iXi-8_QHZytd_AnZfAV9hZCbb4MzEuU60-FRseg5e0HQ5thGdM4LcN7Z8q_tYM4EWjsITAK5U1HKl1wNNoI29-_0DB3V6JxQ-ynZ4d8Vk42JPtc/s1600/MUSH+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kMh4DwtPAb-ow8WSUdVzOanups28iXi-8_QHZytd_AnZfAV9hZCbb4MzEuU60-FRseg5e0HQ5thGdM4LcN7Z8q_tYM4EWjsITAK5U1HKl1wNNoI29-_0DB3V6JxQ-ynZ4d8Vk42JPtc/s320/MUSH+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
For example: these mushrooms (right). Would you eat them? (yes/no)<br />
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They’re brightly coloured, a particularly healthy shade of red, but that’s usually nature’s way of saying “Danger.” So: Yes or no? <br />
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As I remember they are perfectly edible, yet when I showed this picture to Daiga she thought they were the highly poisonous red variety. <br />
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Who would you trust: a dangerously ill-educated Englishman who’s only ever been into a forest on a mushroom-picking trip before in search of examples of the psilocybin variety, usually buying them for his lunch from the local greengrocer, or a mushroom-hardened savvy country girl for whom making delicious mushroom sauce to go with country spuds for lunch is almost a motor reaction on a daily basis? I know where my vote goes, and I'm the dangerously ill-educated Englishman reading a sign that says they're safe.<br />
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Mushroom pickers, beware. Health and safety is the prime concern. Mushrooms can kill. Check your mushrooms at http://www.rogersmushrooms.com and if in doubt, don’t.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hCSMGVvGwYhJO2upM5zWDD5l0Bqk3HulrbsphJe96dIJShnUWk1YE7YGznBMsTYkhsoKduenSRAvbfNwvKiKNz5pOL3hC2ub6Jv3hN0aizJSXumJC3xjsD4B-mwsSQ4KiKxJKL6-I7M/s1600/PURPLE+MUSH.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hCSMGVvGwYhJO2upM5zWDD5l0Bqk3HulrbsphJe96dIJShnUWk1YE7YGznBMsTYkhsoKduenSRAvbfNwvKiKNz5pOL3hC2ub6Jv3hN0aizJSXumJC3xjsD4B-mwsSQ4KiKxJKL6-I7M/s200/PURPLE+MUSH.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laccaria amethystina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Here’s the next specialist mushroom: would you or wouldn’t you fry these purple mothers up in a little oil and garlic and serve them to your precious child? Jimi Hendrix mushrooms, maybe?<br />
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This is Laccaria amethystina, also known as the Amethyst Deceiver. It’s found in North America and Europe, is edible and grows in woods or on the ground. That violet colour’s a bit off-putting though, isn’t it? And I'm not sure what the deception might be either. Perhaps that they might kill you slowly and in agony if you ate them? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUnWNR7FMlsd57Z9J1wLutEPTEJG68jQLp0yFSiktEm8JUi90uQaLz8kdreYVDdYfRFW70peFCjqf7BwsBPEpmu-1MbvLAli-Z6ABLyPoCEjrFooCHrwt2czXXNyLlTcGmmXb68Xyzwk/s1600/MUSH+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUnWNR7FMlsd57Z9J1wLutEPTEJG68jQLp0yFSiktEm8JUi90uQaLz8kdreYVDdYfRFW70peFCjqf7BwsBPEpmu-1MbvLAli-Z6ABLyPoCEjrFooCHrwt2czXXNyLlTcGmmXb68Xyzwk/s320/MUSH+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Common Stinkhorn</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><br />
Now for exhibit 4, a cheeky little item.<br />
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Phallus impudicus means .. well, I’ll leave you to look that up - but it involves ‘standing proud’. This mushroom also goes by the name of ‘the common stinkhorn’ appearing in forests and well-mulched gardens in late summer and autumn. It has a slimy olive-green head containing spores which are transported by insects attracted by its smell .. of rotting dead animals.<br />
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Despite the stink it’s not poisonous and it’s often eaten raw, pickled or in sausages in parts of France and Germany. Do they know that flies stamp around in the sticky secretions on the head and then defecate spores somewhere else?<br />
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I have to thank Wikipaedia for this next gem (and the quote): apparently the aunt of Charles Darwin’s granddaughter Gwen Raverat (Aunt Etty) used to hunt for stinkhorns in the Cambridge woods where she grew up:<br />
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“In our native woods there grows a kind of toadstool, called in the vernacular The Stinkhorn, though in Latin it bears a grosser name. The name is justified, for the fungus can be hunted by the scent alone; and this was Aunt Etty's great invention. Armed with a basket and a pointed stick, and wearing special hunting cloak and gloves, she would sniff her way round the wood, pausing here and there, her nostrils twitching, when she caught a whiff of her prey; then at last, with a deadly pounce, she would fall upon her victim, and poke his putrid carcass into her basket. At the end of the day's sport, the catch was brought back and burnt in the deepest secrecy on the drawing-room fire, with the door locked; because of the morals of the maids.”<br />
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So there you are: the secret world of the mushroom, and of the mushroom admirer. And if we hadn't stopped to use the loo at the market, we would have been none the wiser.<br />
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vincehunt01http://www.blogger.com/profile/05041850369028608007noreply@blogger.com0