The annual convention of the Guild of Organists had a very instructive afternoon discussing "Tonal Design, The Ideal." All had decided views. First to speak was Miss Monica Murphy, for 60 years organist of St. Peter's Catholic church, Higglesville, N.Y. She said her ideal was an organ with a good Swell, consisting of Bourdon 16', Stopped Diapason 8', Harmonic Flute 4' plus Voix Celestes and of course, Vox Humana for funerals. These with a good Bourdon 16' on the pedals and sub and super couplers was about all she needed. Of course, the Tremulant should be permanently connected so that it was on when the wind was in. She was seconded by Sister Proserpina of St. Kunigunda's Academy for Girls.
T. Bounderby F. McSwellpumper, FRCO, from Lytle Swynken-on-Rye, Lower Blooping, Hants., said his ideal was fine rolling diapasons, sending a flood of tone down the Nave. They should be large scale with leathered lips, and on a good pressure. High pressure reeds were also a necessity. When he pulled his Tuba stop, he said, all the congregation sat up and took notice. In fact, a really good Tuba would stand hair on end if kept up for long. This was an admirable antidote for the sermon.
The high point of the discussion was reached in a speech by ex-Senator (1929) Anderson P. Magnabellows. He said organs should have clarity and lots of harmonics. This was achieved by multitudes of small pipes and low pressure reeds. He mentioned the triumph of his ideas in the recent installation of a new organ in the Temple of the Splashdunkers. Whereas the old instrument could be taken for a pipe organ, the new sounded like an immense harmonium, except that it was far better because the speech was quicker than a harmonium could ever be.
Ernest Black then spoke. He said that Diapasons were really not necessary, and in fact, small instruments were better without them, as they tended to obscure the polyphony. Lots of mutations and perky little flutes were what was needed. In fact, he said, one could get effects with these that compared favorably with a Hammond. At the mention of the word "Hammond" screams of rage rent the air, cries of Boo! Hurray! Pooey! Hear, hear! were heard, followed by sounds of breaking glass, thuds and blows. The very interesting meeting was closed with an address by Police Chief Brannon, assisted by 80 Special Constables.
* * *
* * *
After seeing the old farms, my visit came to an end. In a way, it was good to come back to the heat of London, because the Icelandic summer weather had turned pretty chilly and gloomy. My next trip was with Dad in 1981; nothing much had changed and we met more interesting relations. Since then, both Dad and his double cousin Jon passed away, within hours of one another. That trip was an interesting experience as all trips with Dad usually turned out to be, but I will leave that for another time*. There are bound to be many changes in these last few years; all of us growing older and nearer to the end of the trail.
To my eyes, the country is rather bleak and severe. It must have been a miserable place before they took advantage of the hot springs and the abundant hydro power. I thought the Merid country was rather bleak, but now I can understand why the Icelanders were quite at home there until driven out by drought and low prices for grain.
As with all northern countries, booze is a problem, and they have tried to counter this by charging outrageous prices; a bottle of cheap California wine costs 24 dollars U.S. Everything is twice as expensive as here, so if you visit be prepared for the shock!
Our Grandparents took a big risk, coming to Canada. It must have been frightening at times. We can be eternally grateful they took a chance in helping to develop this new country.
The relatives were fascinated by Dad's speech. They said it was the old classic tongue and recorded it for others to hear. The relatives said our Grandparents were well versed in the classics, both poetry and prose, using words not now used in common speech but familiar to those who have studied the great sagas.
I doubt that I will return. We can be proud of what our family has accomplished, in both countries, and I have nothing but happy memories of my visits to the old land, and its people.
* * *
* Stephen Kolbinson was in his 90's. Somehow, he managed to talk his way through Customs in both New York and Reykjavik with an expired passport. He had misplaced his new one.
* * *
1975
"An Amazing Oversight"
It's no secret that everything is going to pot these days. Pick up a newspaper or magazine, turn on your TV set, listen to the radio ---- pollution, crime, drugs, inflation, strikes, artificial additives to our food, and so on and on.
Physicists tell us that to every action there is an equal and positive re-action. So we have anti-pollution groups, anti-crime, anti-drug, anti-strike, and natural food organizations. Like all good citizens of our great democracy, I heartily approve of these organizations.........provided, of course, that they don't affect my standard of living.
Yes, it is our duty to be anti-something, but we should be consistent, don't you agree? I am thinking in particular of those good folks who are getting more recruits to their ranks every day, to wit: the Natural Food People. It is to these fine citizens that I am about to reveal my dread secret, which has hitherto been kept in darkness by who knows what sinister interests. The secret is this:
ALL OF OUR DAIRY PRODUCE, AND MOST OF OUR BEEF, IS PRODUCED AS A RESULT OF
ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION !!!
There, I have brought it out into the open at last. Ralph Nader, Rachel Carson, move over. Nobel Prize Committee, take note. As for the Society of Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, where have you been? Laying down on the job, it seems to me. There is some excuse for the Natural Food people, because most of them never lived on a farm, or have the slightest idea of the food-growing business.
It is quite useless for the SPCA to plead innocence, because today everybody has heard about sex. Every magazine worth its salt has at least one article on the subject in every issue, not excluding that quintessence of family magazines, the Reader's Digest. Even the Pope in Rome has come out in favor of natural sex, within the guidelines he and the other celibates in the Curia have set, of course.
It is therefore amazing to me that hitherto, no one besides myself has raised their voice against this cruel and unnatural development. How can the SPCA people sleep at night, without seeing the millions of reproachful eyes of the bulls done out of their livelihood?
Why have the Natural Food enthusiasts not taken to the streets and to the halls of the legislatures to protest against this "artificial" business?
The above-mentioned organizations are powerful, I admit, but I believe that things have come to such a pass that we need all the help available to reverse the modern practises. Therefore, I appeal to the Womens' Liberation Movement for their powerful support!
No, I am not naive enough to believe that Womens' Lib would be concerned with the fate of our bulls, far from it. But surely they would be interested in the state of the feminine gender of the species Bovus; she has been called, and rightly so, the Foster-Mother of the human race. Such being the case, would it not be too much to expect that Womens' Lib would not be concerned that their Foster-Mother never sees her mate, or even feels his caress? Females have their rights too, you know.
And when the men wake up - if they wake up, before it is too late - and found their own Mens' Liberation Movement, will they not take note that the very symbol of masculinity, the bull, is denied his rights? Don't they realize that instead of a harem of forty to fifty wives, the 1975 bull never has the opportunity (to make use of the modern euphemism) to make love in the natural manner?
The farm boy, after many struggles, pulling and being pulled by a half-ton of hysterical cow at the opposite end of a twenty-foot rope, learned many things. Especially after they reached the residence of the bull.
There are no doubt many successful men ---- captains of industry, top-ranking bureaucrats, doctors, writers, even poets............. who bear the scars of Taking-Cow-To-Bull Day on their bodies. This proves, by the best theological reasoning, that this chore was a great character-builder, now alas, denied to the youth of today.
What is the situation nowadays? We see the modern farm boy lolling in the seat of his father's thirty thousand dollar tractor with air-conditioned, sound-proofed cab, listening to the hit parade as broadcast eternally by the local pop radio station.
And the modern cow? She is attended to by a veterinarian in a white coat, wearing surgical gloves, carrying thermometers, phials and other unmentionable equipment. Not one shred of romance in the whole business.
As I said at the beginning, everything is going to rack and ruin, the younger generation in particular. Other philosophically-minded commentators have noticed this too, since before Socrates' time. The trouble with them, is, they haven't mentioned specific instances, as I have done. I've said my piece; now it's your turn.
* * *
