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Kevin Burns

For more information about Seven Stories and Kevin Burns click HERE

MAY

"Mrs Martin" 

It’s Wednesday night and I have just taken a bus, a train, and another bus to get from my secondary school, just over the border in North Wales, to my home in suburban Chester. I’m 12 years old and a whole new adventure is about to begin: piano lessons.

            I was already a member of the choir at my local church, singing Gregorian chant under the direction of an angry choir director who would punch us in the arm until we landed on the right note. Perhaps the piano might involve less pain.

            I entered the “front room” of a semi-detached house on Halkyn Road, about a 30-minute walk from home. There I met Mrs. Martin for the first time. She was courteous, strict, and very business-like. I would arrive on time. I would practice each week without fail because she would know if I hadn't. When the time came, I would be examined by the Royal Academy of Music. On the wall above the light-brown upright piano, metronome at one end and a bust of Beethoven in dark wood at the other, was a frame containing her licentiate of the Royal Academy of Music. This was serious business.

            My parents worked hard to support this growing interest in music, even though money was tight in those days. Just weeks before, someone at the Post Office where my dad worked, offered him a piano, for the cost of getting it moved. With the help friends and a borrowed van they managed. Our “cosy” dining room in the little council house where we lived suddenly became a cramped dining/music room. Days later I remember watching in amazement as a blind man struggled to tune the dark, burgundy-tinged upright into an respectable sounding instrument. And he did.

            Mrs. Martin billed for her lessons by the month, creating hand-written “invoices” on a small writing pad - blue paper with a Basildon Bond watermark. She also bought the music books and added the cost of these to the bill. I don’t remember the amounts any more but I do remember feeling enormous gratitude that my parents were determined to keep their promise of providing these lessons, “Just as long as you want.” 

            For the next five years I studied scales and chords and fingering. I learned new words – not Latin, but close: arpeggio, fortissimo, andante. And I discovered what was to become one of the most important preoccupations in my life. Music was that other place I entered, leaving everything else behind, a place distinct from the daily grind of life, a place of mystery at every turn. And timelessness. In music, I discovered how time actually stops, even with as a metronome clicks away in the background.

            Reality eventually intrudes. Like every aspiring musician everywhere, I began with dreams of discovering my hidden Mozart- or Clifford Curzon-like skills. My unwilling fingers soon reminded me of my serious limitations. But I was determined to keep at it. During those five years I progressed from Grade 1 to Grade 6. I played at student recitals, performing pieces that became increasingly more difficult.

            And then I stopped. Important as it was, I realised that managing to play the instrument was not the point. I had entered a beguiling and endlessly fascinating world of composers and their works. I wanted to know who these people were who spent their lives writing these things. I managed to read my way through the entire (more or less) music section at the public library. I listened to concerts on the radio whenever I could (this was time just before a record player appeared in our house). I started going to concerts: the Hallé Orchestra came to Chester Cathedral once a year, a local amateur orchestra played in the Town Hall two or three times a year, and the local music society offered concerts in the city-owned Stanley Palace, a Tudor building in the heart of the city. Somehow, music involved interesting venues. And I remember we took a school trip to hear Handel’s Messiah in a theatre in Liverpool - not the famous "Phil" concert hall. That would come later. Music in all its varieties had found its home in my imagination. And has remained there ever since.

         Then last week I read this:

Martin – Marjorie

6th May 2012. Passed away peacefully at Pinetum Nursing home aged 105 years. Beloved wife of the late Flight Lieutenant William Stanley Martin MBE. Much loved mother of Donald, Michael, Beryl and Mary. The funeral service is to take place Monday 21st May 12.30pm at the City Road Presbyterian Church, Chester, followed by committal at Chester Crematorium Chapel. Family flowers donations in aid of Cancer Research would be appreciated.

            I’m glad to have known "Mrs. Martin", as I always called her. In her quiet, determined, and disciplined way, she changed a life, one lesson at a time. Even if I or all those other students did not go on to become renowned soloists (though some actually did) she opened the door for each of us into a world of inexplicable wonder. And I thank her and will always remember her for that.          

A take something with you for the journey

I remember when travel used to require the making of a sandwich, often cheese with a slice of tomato, in between two slices of thin white bread with butter smears. This would be wrapped tightly using as little grease-proofed paper as possible. Hours later on a British Railways steam train, with smoke billowing from the engine, soot dancing in the compartment through the open window and always smudging its way onto clothing that wasn’t black or grey, the sandwich would have transformed itself into warm damp mushiness. But it was all part of the adventure of travel. We were going somewhere special and were prepared for the journey.

Yesterday, speeding at close to 200 k.m.h. on the Sprinter, Deutsche Bahn’s express train from Berlin to Frankfurt, we sat in the Bistro car and had cappuccino as the train raced past slowly turning wind turbines. Lunch arrived an hour after leaving Frankfurt and as we were flying over Ireland. The wine was from France and the two choices of entrée were Italian-inspired.

The Atlantic behind us, were flying over Labrador when a final snack arrived. It was mushy in the centre and warm. It could have been one of those squishy sandwiches from the past. I’d come full circle. This time, returning to somewhere special. With a little something for the journey.   

18/05/2012  

Where spirituality and mental health sit side by side

They weren’t commandments, though there were ten of them. Each was offered as a prescription in a public session entitled: A Prescription for Happiness – 10 Things I Have Learned From my Patient.  Handing out the “scrip” was Dr. Tim Lau, specialist in geriatric psychiatry at the Royal Ottawa Mental Health Centre, known now as “The Royal.” His session was crowded to overflowing and was one in a regular series of public education and awareness events entitled Conversations at The Royal, organized by the largest mental health centre in the region.  It was also one of the best-attended. Happiness has drawing power.

       The crowd was a mix of health-care professionals, community volunteers, clients, and the interested public of all ages and cultures. They listened intently and asked thoughtful questions at the end of a session that was part homily, part lecture, part chat, and always reassuring and comforting. Dr. Lau is a thoughtful and caring presenter. And he likes his films. Peppered throughout his talk were references to recent blockbuster and indie movies.

       So, working with patients in crisis and in consultation, and through research what has the good doctor learned from his patients of all ages? He identified these “lessons” and in David Letterman-style I present them in the reverse order that he used:

10: Be open to love –

            “Why is a family so important? It’s an acronym: Forget About Me, I Love You.”

9: Be mindful –

            “No, I’m not a Buddhist. But this is where Eastern and Western traditions meet.”

8: Find the reason to do the things you do –

            “As Victor Frankl said ‘A why can bear any how.’”    

7: Strive for balance and moderation -

            “4 actions: Dance. Love. Sing. Live!”

6: Keep in mind: we are often wrong -

            “Cognitive distortions make it difficult to predict the future.”

5: Pain may be a part happiness -

            “Do the best you can. Medication is not the only remedy. Sadness is part of life.”

4: Have courage to change what you can -

            “Helplessness can be learned. We call it learned helplessness.”

3: Accept the things you cannot change -

            He recited the serenity prayer.

2: Live with integrity -

            “Follow your heart – or as it is sometimes translated: your conscience.”

1: Don’t expect money to buy you happiness -

            “Too many options make us miserable.”

       Throughout his presentation he elaborated on wisdom gleaned from the ancient Greeks and from Eastern and Western spirituality.  Over and over again he talked about “the good books.” In between these references he cited numerous clinical studies. This mix of sources of wisdom, combined with his genuine sense of warmth and fascination in the lives of the people he encounters made his presentation so engaging. You rarely hear such silent listening followed by such an enthusiastic round of applause at the end of a public lecture.

       I think “The Royal” is on to something. People show up for sessions like this. In another crowded room more than a decade ago, I was in the audience to hear Dr. Harold Koenig, invited by “The Royal” to present a public session of spirituality and mental health. Dr. Koenig was then at the early stages of his scientific research into the relationship between belief, prayer, and physical and mental well-being. A decade later, that research has burgeoned and Dr. Lau referred to it and also to Dr. Koenig’s important contribution to it. In the last decade, the conversation about spirituality and mental health has gone mainstream. Theologians reference psychology and psychiatrists refer to mystics and spiritual practices. With the offer of a prescription, especially if it involves happiness, people will show up. Once a taboo subject, we can talk more openly about mental health and, as some theologians ask in a clinical setting such as mental health centre: where is God in this experience? Dr. Lau did not mention the “G” word once last night. But he came very close.

For more on Conversations at The Royal, including the Dr. Lau’s presentation, click HERE

27/4/2012

Outside looking in.

Sans Souci Palace, Potsdam.