Would it be possible to have a look around?

The title of this post is often my first line when visiting new places (including the ones I am not even sure I have access to) - usually it is useful it when, unavoidably, a porter of some kind appears, clearly eager to know the reason of my presence.

Here in Oxfordshire it turns out that it is possible to collect an astonishing number of different answers to this somewhat simple and harmless question - "I was wondering, is it possible to have a look around?". First, the sentence that leaves no alternative at all: "I am afraid not, miss". Fair enough - "private property" and "restricted access" - these expressions are part of our modern world... Whether one agrees or not. Then there are hybrid answers, with a range of relative intensities for the "yes" and "no" components: "Yes, it is possible to visit the premises - please go that way", or "Yes, the estate is open to visitors but I am afraid you can only access it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays from 10am to 5pm". Sometimes there is an interesting twist, an addendum to one of the above answers such as "... except for next Saturday, however, as the premises will be closed for a private event". Once again, fair enough.

To give a specific example, Oxford colleges can be quite puzzling; some of them seem as difficult to enter as a fortress. When one finally manages to go in, still one has to face the "Private" signs that appear here and there - sometimes closing the way to what look like the loveliest bits of the garden... Ah!

Besides the Oxonian collegiate system, a couple of recent episodes were the starting point for this post - I hope they may highlight less well-known sights of Oxford and its surroundings. About a month ago I was told that the Rhodes House, whose entrance is on Parks Road, can be visited quite easily if one shows a University Card (no great surprise here). Still its opening times are rather peculiar: Monday to Friday from 1pm until 4pm, if I remember rightly. A few days ago I took advantage of a sunny spell to have a quick lunch and then walk to the Rhodes House to have a look at the gardens, if possible. No problem at all - I showed my card and entered. A hint: have a look at the tapestry displayed in the corridor leading to the wooden door that gives access (finally!) to the garden: the drawing is by William Morris. :) I expected the gardens to be neat and flourishing, and so they are. There is nothing exceptionally distinctive about the Rhodes House, I would say; yet it is definitely worth a visit, if you chance to walk by it and are looking for a quiet and colourful place.

As I went back to the department after my short visit to the Rhodes House I glanced at the notice board of the Museum of Natural History. There was an advert which mentioned the Wytham Woods - I thought I had never heard of this place, and thus decided to find out more as soon as possible. So I did, and with great surprise I discovered that it is not possible to walk in and stroll around, as one would do when visiting the Botanic Garden or the Harcourt Arboretum. No - a permit is required. Precisely, a letter shall be sent to the conservator of Wytham Woods, if one has an interest in visiting the area. Which I did, of course - please refer to the photo above. In my life I have sent letters to relatives and friends the world over; I wrote to Santa Clause, to a couple of private companies and to a music band (well, I was sixteen...). Sending a letter to the conservator of an "area of ancient semi-natural woodland" in Oxfordshire is a completely different story!

A few links that might be of interest:

- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Morris - William Morris on Wikipedia ;)

- http://www.oum.ox.ac.uk/index.htm - Oxford University Museum of Natural History

- http://www.wytham.ox.ac.uk/index.php - Wytham Woods website

- http://wildcru.org/wytham/ - one of the first websites I found when I looked for information about the Wytham area

FolkRec - The Cuckoo

I have known this song for a while, and every time I sang it I either forgot a line, misplaced words, ... - all the kinds of mistakes one would really like not to make while singing, especially when it is not even the length of the song that may be responsible for poor concentration! In fact, I learnt the tune from a recording by Anne Briggs, but my version is much shorter. I decided to omit a few verses as I found them somehow "fake", as if they were added later yet hardly fit the opening lines... If you are curious to read about this song and have a look at the lyrics of some expanded versions, I think the best place is http://www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~zierke/shirley.collins/songs/thecuckoo.html.

Now, to check the above link I briefly skimmed through the webpage, and found the answer to a question I asked myself earlier today (well, yesterday, given the time), when I started a search that led me - by pure chance - to an interesting discovery.

Let me go back a few steps. Some days ago I wrote an email to a friend, and I happened to mention a round I learnt recently: "In summer the flowers wilt, the flowers wilt, the streams run dry, I pray for rain, pray for rain, I pray for rain"... A side note: I suggest you do not hum nor sing this until this endless sort-of-spring-with-bits-of-autumn goes away and lets us enjoy the summer. Apologies, I digress. I used the term "round" and - since this friend of mine knows Italian - improvised its translation as "filastrocca". Then I sent the email. Seconds after I asked myself: why didn't I check the meaning of the word "round" before attempting to translate it? [And also, why on earth do I keep on using English words of which I presume to know the definition?]

Hence I promptly looked for this word on Wikipedia: clearly, "round" does not mean "filastrocca". I believe it means "canone". Before the non-Italian speakers fall asleep, let me unveil why the reading of the article on rounds (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round_(music)) proved to be interesting: the reason is that it cites the very first example - that arrived to us - of a round. Its title is "Sumer Is Icumen In": of course there is a Wikipedia entry on this ancient song too (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumer_Is_Icumen_In). This article in turn reports the lyrics of the medieval round: the opening lines are (in Wessex dialect)

Sumer is icumen in

Lhude sing cuccu!

which mean (in modern English)

Summer has come in

Loudly sing cuckoo!

Then the song continues - roughly - with its description of the summer season. Still my attention had been caught by this reference to the cuckoo - is it me, or there is indeed a striking similarity between "The Cuckoo" that I have known for years and this very old round dating back to the thirteenth century? Yet why then none of the singers, collectors whose comments and notes I read seem to acknowledge the connection? I have listened to a few audio files and I must say, the melody of the round differs from the one I sing - but there exist many, many tunes to which "The Cuckoo" (or variations of this title) is sung. Hmm... The beauty of research. :)

Lastly, since I ended up spending some time reading about the round as a musical composition I came across this wee website: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~msmiller/rounds.html. Buon ascolto!

Flowchart #2 - I decide to write about writing

As you may have guessed from my previous post, I am quite fond of everything that is related to typefaces and letterforms - with a special interest in handwriting - both in their standard and more creative expressions.

When it comes to calligraphy, it turns out that there are a few websites one may be curious to explore: for instance,

- http://www.calligraphyonline.org/index.html -- click and learn about the "Society of Scribes and Illuminators"... With such a name for their society the website deserves at least a visit, don't you think?

- http://www.clas.co.uk/index.html -- a recent discovery, hence I cannot say much about it; their summer course looks interesting...

- http://www.freehandwriting.net/ -- probably one of the first websites I found out about; I have never met Monica Dengo, but I had a chance to attend a short workshop run by one of her students and thought it was brilliant! Also, at least one of Monica Dengo's classes takes place in Venice... Not a bad location, huh?

Some days ago I thought of a connection I hadn't considered before. Penmanship as it is presented in the few above-listed websites stems from a rather specific - almost élite? - point of view on the matter: here writing by hand is not seen as a necessary skill allowing to communicate and express oneself, but rather as a more abstract activity - where sometimes one may even wonder whether the aesthetics became more relevant than the content. Thus it presupposes, by definition, that one learnt how to write in the first place, from the alphabet up to entire sentences and paragraphs, distinguishing between upper, lower case letters and so on. Have you ever asked yourself this question: how did I learn to write? How long was this process, and what was the evolution of my handwriting up to its present form?

I then decided I would look into this matter. With a scientific approach, of course.

And eventually, I drew the flowchart that is shown below.