As we move into a new year, it is traditional to reflect on the year past and think of the year future. And I do that by looking at the books I’ve read and thinking of those I plan to read. 2024 was, of course 40 years on from the year of the title of George Orwell’s seminal dystopian masterpiece ‘1984’. 8 June 2024 was the 75th anniversary of the its first publication. So, a rather appropriate year to re-read the book although I can’t remember when I first read it – it certainly wasn’t in 1984!
Let’s move on or, as George Orwell, did, let’s move to an isolated corner of the Hebredian Isle of Jura in Scotland to a house he described as being in a ‘most un-get-at-able place’. It sounds like a perfect writing retreat especially as he wanted to escape from polluted London due to his worsening tuberculosis (TB).
The Isle of Jura
Orwell’s House, Barnhill
Set in totalitarian London, far from anyone’s imagination, the story tells of the citizens under surveillance and monitoring from Big Brother with the key character, Winston Smith, being employed by the Ministry of Truth to forge and re-write the truth whilst being under constant threat of ‘vaporisation’ should he step out of line. An illicit affair with a Party member when both are suspected of ‘Crime-Think’ threatens their futures and lives. Reading it in an age of cyber-attacks and A.I. taking over our lives made me realise how advanced it was for its time and relevant to today’s society.
Another book I’d been meaning to read was 1Q84 by my favourite Japanese author, Haruki Murakami. Written as a trilogy, I had the single volume paperback version which runs to 1380 pages and the sheer size of it had been putting me off. But the title 1Q84 is a play on1984; the word for nine in Japanese is ‘kyu’, pronounced just like ‘Q’. With 1984 being the year in which the novel’s action takes place in Tokyo, a long way from Orwell’s London, it seemed like a good time to flex both my arm and reading muscles. As with some of his other works there are parallel universes and timelines with the ‘heroine’, Aomame setting off on a journey to find a childhood sweetheart, Tengo, as well as ‘reality’. Confused? Not surprising as Murakami, complicates things by telling the story from the viewpoint of both protagonists, introducing a third narrative voice along the way, as well as additional plotlines. Despite this not being my normal genre of choice as I like to keep both feet firmly on the ground, Murakami’s imagination captured mine not least because I could relate to several of the settings from the opening scene of a traffic jam on the Metropolitan expressway at Ikejiri in my local Shibuya district to an anodyne children’s playground in Koenji in the western suburbs which becomes important towards the end of the book. My nearest station, Yoyogi, even gets a mention, though in 2024 these places will be rather different to the 1984 locations which appear in the book. I also enjoyed, as is customary from Murakami, regular musical references, sometimes pausing my reading to say ‘Alexa, play…’!
Ikejiri interchange, Shibuyafrom belowSmall park in KoenjiKoenjiA children’s slide features Koenji children’s parkYoyogi station
As is often the case with Murakami, 1Q84 attracted mixed reviews and even a ‘bad sex award! But as a friend, who is not a natural Murakami fan, said, “it’s a fun read”. I certainly had fun reading the entire trilogy in August 2024.
And now, the final part of my literary triptych. Sandra Newman’s ‘Julia’ retells Orwell’s 1984 from the viewpoint of Julia who becomes enamoured of Winston Smith and they start an affair which was not meant to be and doomed to fail, or maybe that was the intention? (Spoiler alert) A fascinating and imaginative take on the original enabling the reader to see Orwell’s world from a feminist angle. However, I felt that Newman was trying too hard to emulate the style of Orwell, the master wordsmith, and it may have been better writing in 21st century language. Perhaps I read it too soon after the original and was naturally comparing the two?
Mission completed!
That’s looking back to 2024 so now forward to 2025, or should that be even further back to
A true 21st century writer whose books I admire and whom I follow on Substack.
Whatever you’re reading now or plan to read I wish you a very Happy New Year. But remember:
Imagine being back in Tokyo in the early 1980s when I lived there on my first overseas experience and the start of, for me, a long relationship with Japan. It was 8 December 1980 and as a member of the Japan -British Society, I had the unenviable task of being Santa at the Junior Group’s Christmas party, dressed for the occasion of course. Fortunately, I don’t have any photographic evidence of the event. After the formal events of the evening had ended, and I’d performed my duties of handing out presents, a group of us continued the seasonal festivities by heading off to the nearest disco in Roppongi, the centre of Tokyo’s nightlife in those days, and may still be today but I’m too old for that sort of thing now.
But I wasn’t then and can remember grooving with the daughter of the Military Attache at the American Embassy when she shouted in my ear (the music was VERY loud) ‘DO YOU KNOW JOHN LENNON?’ to which I replied ‘Not personally, but of course I know of him’. ‘Well, he’s been shot’. Shocked, if it were true, all thoughts of this developing into a romantic encounter of the dance-floor came to an end, and the music suddenly stopped as the official announcement was made, and reality sunk in. The evening obviously then took on a more sombre tone as the DJs tried to keep it going amongst the tears with a tribute to both John’s solo work as well as that of the Beatles.
I was never a real Beatles’ fan per se but, being a child of the 60s, I grew up with them, if not literally but with the extremely important influence they had on the music of the time and especially the amazing catalogue of songs written by Lennon and McCartney which continue to permeate the music scene of all genres more than 50 years after the group broke up. My musical tastes were less pop and more progressive rock especially of the concept albums of the likes of Yes, Genesis, Emerson Lake & Palmer and Pink Floyd. However, it is said that the Beatles’ album Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band was one of rock’s first commercially successful concept albums.
Did I mention Pink Floyd? Of course I did (https://jeremyjlhill.com/2024/01/11/dark-side/)and I did see them live in Wembley stadium in 1988, post- Roger Waters although I have since seen him perform twice in Seoul and London. But with their own following and several extremely good tribute bands keeping their music alive, one is never far from a feast of Floyd. My first time having to wear a face-mask in public at the onset of Covid in Japan was at a BritFloyd concert in Tokyo, as this new virus was starting to have an impact.
Line Cube Shibuya – only half full eventually
And more recently the UK Pink Floyd Experience in Leicester, England accompanied by my son, Justin (also a fan) and his partner, Kerrie (she soon will be).
De Montfort Hall which was a full house eventually
But I digress – or do I? I am privileged to have got to know a few members of Japan’s own Pink Floyd tribute band (Genshi Shinbo or PinkFloyd Trips) including multi-talented singer/musician Kenneth Andrew and guitarist/bassplayer Yutaro Ogida. Yutaro, who did his high school education in the UK, also has a solo career and I was lucky that my time in England this year coincided with his European tour, so we were able to meet up in London after his performance in the rather wacky Hux Hotel in the definitely not wacky district of Kensington.
To add to Yutaro’s eclectic portfolio of work, I was very happy to receive an invitation last weekend to attend an evening’s tribute to John Lennon, 44 years after the great man was taken from us by the cruel hand of Mark David Chapman. Teaming up with Morgan Fisher, a British keyboard player and singer from the band Mott the Hoople and who has also has made his home in Japan, they put together a very intimate performance of songs and words in Morgan’s salon offering their guests and friends wine, tea and snacks to keep us going through three hours of musical memories.
But with just two weeks to go before Christmas, it would be remiss of me not to wish you all, along with John and Yoko, a very, very…
I doubt whether the War is Over, but let’s hope that somewhere, we really can Give Peace a Chance.
Thank you, John and Merry Christmas wherever you are!
‘Saint Who?’ ‘Saint Edmund, the true patron saint of England!’ ‘But isn’t St George…?’ ‘Yes, I know, you’re getting confused with that foreign usurper, supposed slayer of a dragon, chosen by King Edward III (1312- 1377) to be England’s Patron Saint and protector of Life for those of the Christian faith. But, 500 years before that in the Kingdom of East Anglia…’
Young Edmund of Saxony was nominated by the dying King Offa of Anglia as the heir to his throne and was crowned King on Christmas Day 855. But it wasn’t a peaceful reign as the Anglo-Saxon Christian region was frequently attacked by invading pagans from Denmark, doing what Vikings do bringing mayhem to the region. Whilst King Edmund did his best to negotiate a peaceful end to the conflict, the Danes weren’t interested and were intent on violence. In 869 in a final battle during which Edmund’s troops were defeated, he was captured and was told to renounce his Christian faith. Refusing to do so, he was tied to a tree and shot full of arrows, and still he resisted. The Danes brought an end to his stubbornness by decapitating him and throwing his head into the woods, believing that once a head is severed from a body that person can then not proceed to an afterlife.
Here the legends surrounding Edmund’s life and death begin. His followers, looking for his head, heard his voice calling ‘here, here’ and found it under the protection of a wolf. And so, his body parts were re-united and the miracles started as subsequent examination of his corpse found that his head had re-attached itself to his body with only a thin red-line as evidence of his decapitation. History is rather vague as to exactly what happened to his body although several miracles are associated with it leading to his canonisation as a Saint on its journey to London and even possibly to France. However, the preferred location for its final resting place was in the Abbey of Beodricsworthe in Suffolk, subsequently known as Bury St Edmunds. That is my very simplified retelling of the tale of St Edmund who was then recognised as the Patron Saint of England, his Saint’s Day being 20 November, the date of his death in the year 869. A much more detailed and academic account can be found in learned historian Francis Young’s book ‘Edmund. In Search of England’s Lost King’.
I agree with Young’s statement that ‘many people who do not see themselves as religious…identify strongly with regional and national patron saints’ especially ‘Edmund, the quintessentially English saint’. During my teenage years I lived close to and undertook my secondary (high school) education in Bury St Edmunds, so the town and the legend from whom it got its name was an important part of my life especially in 1969/70. My route to school involved a walk through the Abbey Gardens past the ruins of the old St Edmunds’ Benedictine Abbey founded in 1020 and one of the last to be destroyed during King Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries. However, what is left does today give a good impression of what this mighty edifice might have looked like originally.
A couple of months ago, my sister and I revisited the area and revived many memories of our life and schooling 50 years previously; I recreated that walk through the Abbey gateway and gardens down towards the River Lark which I had to cross to get up to my school.
Walking through it again also reminded me of a role I played during those years. In 1970, to mark the 1100th anniversary of King Edmund’s death on 20 November 969, and his martyrdom the following year, the town put on a Pageant, Edmund of Anglia. The highlight of this was a dramatization of Edmund’s coronation, resistance of the Danish invaders, capture, and execution. Using the Abbey Ruins as the backdrop, the production, written and directed by Olga Ironside-Wood, and drawing on local talent of actors, musicians, dancers, and an Alsatian dog (!) was a show by the people of East Anglia, about the people of East Anglia and for the people of East Anglia. Not quite so talented perhaps were those chosen to play the part of the Saxons and Vikings in the final battle of Bury. We teenage schoolboys from the King Edward VI Grammar School, the building of which overlooked the grounds of the Abbey, were the brave defenders. However, the Danish invaders were played by servicemen from the nearby United States Airforce base. We didn’t stand a chance as blood and gore was shed on the banks of the River Lark.
One evening the show was graced by the presence of the then current Prince of Denmark. At that time, I was participating in the Observer newspaper’s Young Reporter of the Year competition, with the pageant being my subject, and Ms Ironside-Wood had kindly arranged for me to speak to the Prince. When I asked him whether they had the story in Denmark, he replied “Yes, but our version is slightly different!” A diplomatic Dane indeed and his remarks were included in my report as I cut my teeth on my non-fiction writing activities.
The production was filmed and a 30-minute archive footage is still available to watch today, which can be viewed by clicking on the following link, opening the new tab and typing in ‘Edmund of Anglia 1970’
Whilst the story of St Edmund is a mix of proven history, local myth and rumour the big question remains. Where is Edmund buried? Some believe he may, appropriately, have been buried in the former monastery’s cemetery under the site of the current tennis courts. But, unlike in the case of King Richard III in Leicester, excavation works have yet to take place find yet another of England’s lost Kings. https://wordpress.com/post/jeremyjlhill.com/1114
But should it come to pass that he is discovered and identified, it would give further weight to the campaign by the people of East Anglia to have him re-instated as England’s Patron Saint. So who would you go for? The Middle Eastern mercenary who saved a princess from the jaws of a dragon, which might be favoured by the romantics? Or, in the words of Francis Young ‘No saint in English history lends himself to secular re-invention more readily than Edmund, the King who died for his people’. Let all the English everywhere remember, your Patron Saint is St Edmund the Martyr; honour him on the 20th November. Your flag is not the Red Cross but the White Dragon, well known to Alfred the Great, Knut the Great and King Harold the Second.
I know who gets my vote.
And I shall probably mark my hero’s day while listening to the 2015 song ‘Barbarian’ by Suffolk rock band The Darkness in which he gets a mention:
Welland Park, Market Harborough, EnglandShinjuku Park, Tokyo, Japan
Two weeks ago, I travelled back TO Tokyo from England where I had spent a very pleasant six months with family and friends whilst living in my home in Market Harborough, Leicestershire. One of the features of life in England that I have noticed on resuming permanent residence following many years of working and living overseas living is by how much society and local communities rely on volunteers both for services such as the community theatre and cinema, physical activities such as Park Run and the Ramblers, cultural activities such as music groups like choirs bands and choral groups, the Harborough Writers’ Hub of which I’m now a member, and of course the numerous charity shops which now dominate our High Streets. In order to both contribute to as well as to get to know more about my new home town, last year I volunteered to help out at the Oxfam Bookshop which is well-stocked with second-hand (or ‘pre-loved’ as they’re now known) books, CDs, records and other items donated by members of the public for re-sale with proceeds going to support the work of Oxfam (a global organisation that fights inequality to end poverty and injustice). In fact today, 5 November, happens to be International Volunteer Managers Day when we recognise the work done by our Managers and Deputy Managers in the retail outlets.
Obviously part-time staff such as myself do not receive any recompense for services but, in true English tradition, are entitled to tea and biscuits during our breaks! The shop’s kitchen has accumulated a supply of mugs over the years, and it was by coincidence and very appropriate that I should be allocated the following mug promoting an old penguin book a copy of which I have since tracked down and read although it wasn’t the Penguin edition.
And as one of my Oxfam colleagues commented, it seemed as if it were the book that I was meant to write. However, it wasn’t written by a 21st century retired member of the British Embassy in Tokyo, but by a gentleman appointed in 1938, by the Japanese Embassy in London to work as an adviser to the Japanese Foreign Office in Tokyo as well as doing some English language lecturing in Tokyo Universities. But, one of my final freelance pre-Covid jobs was teaching diplomatic English to the staff of the Japanese Foreign Office, so some cross-over.
Many of John Morris’ first experiences of Japan and its society in 1938 namely bureaucracy; attitudes and resistance towards learning and speaking English; rules and regulations; restaurants and food, were like mine when I first worked in Japan 41 years later in 1979. Given the timing of his stay with Japan’s dramatic entry into the Second World War his departure from Tokyo for England in 1941 was much earlier than he had expected and sadly he never returned. So, I feel a great affinity for John Morris; I am privileged to be able to come back regularly TO Tokyo to continue my own experiences, and to write about them, including the links I’m able to discover between my two homes despite the distance between them.
My last full weekend was no exception with another pleasant evening at the Market Harborough cinema to see Kensuke’s Kingdom an animated film based on a children’s book by Michael Murpogo which tells the story of a boy called Michael, who, whilst on a family sailing trip around the world was swept overboard in a storm and ends up on a small island in the Pacific which is inhabited by Kensuke, an elderly Japanese, himself a survivor of a Japanese battleship sunk during the Pacific War. Despite their age differences and linguistic challenges they become good friends until Michael is eventually rescued and they bid each other a fond, and tearful ‘sayonara’. In English but with Kensuke’s few words of Japanese voiced by well-known actor Ken Watanabe.
The following day, Japan was once again on the programme when I attended, for the first time, a concert given by the Market Harborough Orchestra, another community project, established in 2012 and now under the enthusiastic and talented baton of conductor Stephen Bell. The first piece they played was the Japanese Suite by British composer Gustav Holst who wrote it in 1915 at the request of a Japanese dancer, Michio Ito, who whistled some traditional Japanese tunes to Holst as he wrote the piece – and she must have been as good a whistler as she was a dancer as they are recognisable to those familiar with Japanese tunes.
And so the time had arrived for me to bid a fond, and tearful sayonara to England’s Green and Pleasant Land to come back to the Land of the Rising Sun, marking departure FROM London via Paddington Station, and return TO Tokyo with traditional gastronomic delights which did not include, much to Paddington’s disappointment, any marmalade sandwiches.
Pie and Mash at the ‘Mad Bishop and Bear’, Paddington StationThat looks goodBut I know what I like‘Tadaima’, I have come back for vegetable ramen in Hatsudai, Tokyo
My first real recollection of the existence of a country called Japan was at Roman Road Primary (Junior) school in East Ham, London when we learned about ladies wearing kimonos and rice growing in paddy fields. But, it was also to feature in our music lessons in a BBC TV educational programme called Making Music in the summer term of 1967. Produced by John Hosier for 10-11 year-olds, with words by Ian Serrailier and music by Malcolm Arnold, ‘The Turtle Drum’ was a “story of the fisher-boy, a sort of Japanese Rip Van Winkle,.. one of the most popular folk-tales of Japan”.
Like all folk-tales, there are various versions, but in the Turtle Drum, Kaisoo saves the life of a turtle and returns it to the sea. As a reward, the turtle who amazingly can speak offers him a ride on her back to the ryukyu or underwater Palace of the Dragon King. Surrounded by fish of all shapes and colours, he was taken to an Inner apartment to meet Princess Oto who revealed herself to be the human form of the turtle whom he rescued. In the land of everlasting summer and eternal youth, they quickly became betrothed and were married in an elaborate ceremony. But all was not rosy in this underwater paradise and after only three months the young man became homesick missing his family and friends in the real world. Broken-hearted, the Princess reluctantly agreed to his request to go home, especially when he said that he’d just go for a day-return trip and would hasten back once he had reassured his family he was safe and well. As a sayanora (farewell) gift, Princess Oto gave him a tamate bako (Box of the jewel-hand) or Pandora’s box according to Greek mythology, telling him to keep it as a reminder of their love. But never to open it.
Taking Turtle Transport back to dry land he found that all was not all as he had left it three months previously. Questioning the locals he discovered that he was in fact the subject of legend as the young fisher-boy who went missing, presumed drowned three hundred years previously. Naturally, overcome by grief himself for the idyllic underwater life with his beautiful bride, he sought in vain for a means to return until he remembered the box given to him on his departure. Hoping that it might contain his return ‘ticket’ he forgot Princess Oto’s Instructions not to open it – a white cloud emerged which consumed Kaisoo leaving him as a wizened old man who gradually disintegrated Into a pile of ash which was blown out to sea in the direction from whence he came.
At school we all had instruments (many home made) to play, or parts to read in this exotic musical tale which opened our minds to a different world and lands far away; my lines were “Past Puff (my childhood nickname) the swaggering angel fish” as the boy hero made his journeys on the back of the turtle to and from the sea kingdom.
Those words stuck with me, and came flooding back 12 years later, when I was setting out on my career as a junior diplomat in Tokyo and learning Japanese. The first text I was given to read and translate by my Japanese teacher was ”The Story of Taro Urashima the Fisher-lad”, the folk-tale on which the Turtle Drum was based. So began my long association with the Land of the Rising Sun, if not the Palace of the Dragon King although the connections would continue.
Twenty-one years later (2020) during my second overseas posting to Japan and accompanied by my own Japanese wife to whom I’d been married for ten years, we visited the Ise Peninsula, often known as the spiritual heart of Japan. After the obligatory trips to the shrines, we then stayed in Toba on the coast where we went to our own underwater kingdom of a large sea-world aquarium which, according to the publicity material, contains the largest number of species in Japan covering three floors of tanks and pools and where I’m sure I saw ‘Puff, the swaggering angel fish.
Where’s Puff?
This could well have been the case as we then took a cruise around some of the offshore islands. In Japan many island and lake cruises take place aboard ships constructed around themes such as pirate boats and on this occasion a Spanish galleon, the figurehead of which was the fisher boy, Taro Urashima astride a large turtle. On board and inside were other models and pictures of his underwater adventures, and eventual demise.
There’s Puff!‘Whatever you do…....don’t open the box!’
Like all folk-tales and myths, there are various versions and theories as to the origin. In this case both China and Korea have at times laid claim as have differing regions of Japan including Okinawa where Ryūgū” (Dragon Palace) and Ryūkyū (Okinawa) are near homophones. So, it’s not surprising that earlier this year we encountered Taro and his turtle on a visit to the Okinawan Island of Kumejima. The Turtle Museum is dedicated to the preservation and conservation of these threatened creatures and serve as a reminder that, if we humans don’t stop polluting the sea, their future existence is threatened. We may be guilty, but Taro Urashima was a real friend and his memory is embodied in a statue outside the museum as well as a display in the reception area.
So, I have ridden on the back this story from my classroom in east London in the 1960s, to the semi-tropical Islands of Okinawa in the 2020s. Now, back in England for a few months far from those distant shores, I am able to relive those memories, as the teacher who guided us through the Turtle Drum was my father and who at 97, in real years, has no intention of opening his own Pandora’s box.
Classroom teacher & Deputy Headmaster, Roman Rd School Still looking good at 97 – and me at 66!Re-reading the Turtle Drum score and script
It’s now just over 50 years since Pink Floyd released their seminal album Dark Side of the Moon and as I write this I am listening to the latest re-mastered edition as I’m also celebrating an anniversary – a 15th.
Speak to me
Every January, I remember how lucky I am to be here. In the UK, people are advised to follow the FAST (Face, Arms, Speech, Time) model for reacting to what they may believe to be a stroke in someone else. Fifteen years ago, on a cold winter’s January evening in Tokyo, I was suffering from a heavy cold and my partner had already told me that my ‘face looked funny’, which I thought it had for the previous 50+ years so nothing new there. But when I lurched against her on the sofa, she began to suspect something was wrong. I don’t remember if I said anything but if I did, I was probably pretty incoherent. However, I do have this image of the face of the Joker staring at me from the TV screen as we were watching the Dark Knight Batman movie at the time. And it was no joke as it turned into a very dark night for me with my partner summoning an ambulance.
Breathe
My heavy cold meant that I was bunged up and not breathing that easily so it was a great relief when the white-helmeted paramedics clamped an oxygen mask over my face. I vaguely remember being lifted up from the floor, which is where I had ended up, and being carried out of the house into the waiting ambulance thinking that we might have to postpone our plans for a big shopping trip the next day, a public holiday in Japan.
On the run
Although I speak Japanese, I am by no means fluent, especially in the state that I was in at the time. But, in the back of the ambulance, I recall a lot of chatter as the crew were trying to locate the nearest Emergency Ward capable of admitting the foreigner with the funny face. And to the sound of sirens, it all went very fuzzy.
Time.
The fourth word in the four-letter acronym indicates that time is of the essence when responding to and treating suspected stroke cases. Tissue Plasmimogen Activator (TPA) is a protein involved in the breakdown of blood clots. As long as it is administered within the Golden Hour of the onset of stroke symptoms it can improve the stroke outcome. So, I was most fortunate that on arriving at the A&E of the Toho University Hospital in Ohashi, Shibuya ward, I was thrombolysed as well as being connected to various tubes and devices. Our neighbour, Tim, who’d followed the ambulance to support my partner in her hour of need said that so rapid was the effect of the TPA in clearing the blockage, that I acknowledged him as I was wheeled towards the Intensive Care Unit, although I don’t remember that.
Great Gig in the Sky
But I do remember Tim and Carol being two of my first visitors in ICU where I was connected to the machines that went ‘ping!’ as I gradually became aware of what had happened to me. A whole series of doctors and nurses asked me numerous questions and had me performing simple tasks like raising my arms in a banzai salute. Simple? But not when only my right arm would go up. And the lovely nurses who asked me to squeeze their hands with my left. Administering angels, so maybe I was in heaven after all? But not for long as the reality was that a blockage in my carotid artery had led to a serious ischemic stroke leaving my left side paralysed, so when a senior official from my office called on me, interrupting his own birthday celebrations, he must have had a wry smile when I apologised for having to take a couple of days off work. Those days would become weeks and the weeks would stretch into a couple of months as the long road to recovery started.
Money
Just at the time when I least needed to worry about the practical and financial aspects of my incapacitation of course I was getting extremely anxious about my future and the career implications, especially during the first four weeks of lying in a hospital bed being closely monitored in case of relapse. As an employee of the British Government, I was covered by the NHS which meant that I could take 6 months sick leave before going on to half pay, but what about the longer-term future? Would I be ‘sent home’ from Tokyo to London? Where would I go if I were sent home? Could I travel? Could I work? Could I walk even? A lot was going to be up to me.
Us and Them
But I had a lot of support and help. With access to email and an international phone card I was able to keep in close contact with my family back in England. My sister, an NHS nurse and my son, a first-year medical student had a professional interest in the treatment I was receiving and would often comment ‘You wouldn’t get this in the NHS’. Friends and colleagues in the Embassy visited regularly to remind me that my recovery was more important than worrying about work. Ironically the latter would have involved organising an official visit by the UK Secretary of State for Health to Japan. My team gracefully declined my suggestion that he bring grapes to my bedside but Alan Johnson’s memoirs are still on my ‘to read list’ not just because I admire him as a politician but also because I’m curious to learn whether the Honourable member gave me a honourable mention. My partner visited on a daily basis rushing to get to the hospital during visiting hours after her own busy day at work.
Then there was the medical team at the hospital from the neurosurgeon consultant, who was keen to carry out tests to determine the cause of my stroke, to the head physiotherapist who would put me through my paces to get me walking and using my left arm again. I soon discovered that we had a mutual interest in rock music, so instructions to ‘push, stretch & lift’ etc., were punctuated by the names of our favourite bands. And the nurses with whom I would flirt and joke extending our mutual vocabulary of each other’s language, ‘Poo’ & ‘pee’ proving that an interest in bodily functions extends to the nursing profession worldwide.
Any colour you like
After a month, I was discharged from the hospital for another six weeks of physical and occupational therapy at the Hatsudai Rehabilitation Hospital. The main purpose of this phase of my recovery was to prepare for ‘normal life’ again. Although it was a hospital with ward-type beds we had to get dressed into our normal clothes, and take our meals in a dining room with our fellow patients. I was paired with Nagai-san and Honda-san, who started by complimenting me both on my Japanese and use of chopsticks. But being right-handed meant that I found eating the Asian way easier than trying to co-ordinate a knife and fork but I did not tell my new friends that, formed a good friendship, and I’m still in touch with the latter after all these years. The physical rehabilitation was a mixture of gym work and strength and flexibility exercises to build up strength and stamina. I was also allowed outside for a daily walk with one of the care workers monitoring my physical progress as well as my attentiveness when crossing busy roads. These walks got longer over the weeks and I was encouraged to remember the different routes they took me to get the memory cells functioning again. Memory and number/word association tests formed a large part of the occupational therapy which for me had the additional challenge of being in Japanese. The weather was getting warmer and as the cherry-blossom started to emerge, I was told that I had ‘graduated’ and could be let loose on the outside world again. The cherry blossom season is short-lived and soon those pretty pink petals begin to fall reminding us how tenuous our hold on life really is, as if I needed reminding.
Brain damage
During rehabilitation, we were encouraged to set some personal goals. My son and daughter had retained faith in their old man by going ahead with their plans to visit me during the UK academic Easter holidays. So my goal was to be fully resurrected to go to meet them at the airport for two weeks quality family time. Which I did.
The recovery though was an ongoing process, with follow-up physio and clinical tests to get to the heart of my stroke. And get to the heart they did with a trans-oesophageal endoscopy examination, which involved putting a camera down my throat to examine the heart from behind. Fortunately, this was carried out under sedation so the process was not as difficult as spelling it. With an ultrasound scan of my carotid artery and series of brain scans which revealed the extent of the damage caused when the blockage (now cleared) in the artery had caused the original stroke my very friendly cardiologist declared ‘The exact cause of your stroke will remain a mystery. Don’t work long hours and avoid mental stress. Look after yourself!’
Eclipse
If anything, the mental stress (the unseen damage) was more difficult to handle than the physical recovery. I suffered, and still do, from over-anxiety and loss of confidence prone to tearfulness as I was unable to perform at the high standards I’d previously set myself. So, I applied for an early retirement package, married my partner who’d saved my life, and retrained as a coach and teacher of English to adults, and remained in Japan working as a freelance business communications skills trainer and English writing consultant managing my own time and workload. I’ve renounced alcohol, try to follow a healthy diet and exercise regularly and am looking forward to many more such years ahead of me indulging in my love of extensive and eclectic reading as well as listening to progressive rock music such as Pink Floyd.
But then Covid happened. I was very lucky that in ultra-cautious Japan where mask-wearing is common in any case and most people avoid physical contact, infection, and subsequent death rates were lower than in many other countries especially as working from home quickly became the norm and previously overcrowded commuter trains soon resembled ghost trains, But it took its toll as the demand for training soon dropped off and I found myself, in my early 60s, unable to find new work. So, in trying to turn an obstacle into an opportunity, I decided to focus more on my own writing and took to the streets – keeping physically active discovering little used routes through parks and alongside rivers thus observing strict social distancing. Dark days indeed but whilst looking inwards to my own dark side, it was soon time to seek the light and maybe, just maybe, use the extra time given to me to start work on that childhood ambition to write a novel, or at least a fictionalised version of my memoirs whilst I could still remember.
That’s where I am now, four years after the onset of Covid. I’ve been lucky but, at times when life seems grim, just have to remind myself to:
Shine on you Crazy Diamond
(from Pink Floyd’s follow up album ‘Wish You were Here’ and my favourite track of all times. Therefore this is the long version – most will want to skip!)
This blog is dedicated to fellow Stroke Survivors and Floydies wherever you are
Earlier this year, when I returned home to England from Japan, I was reminded that I was not that far from the latter by a visit to my local cinema in Market Harborough. https://jeremyjlhill.com/2023/04/02/never-too-far/ .The reverse was also true when I came back to Japan a couple of months ago. The Toho cinema in Hibiya, Tokyo was showing ‘The Lost King’, a dramatization of the discovery, exhumation, identification and re-burial of the bones of King Richard III (1452 – 1485).
Vilified by history (and Shakespeare) as a crookback, usurper and child murderer, King Richard was the last Plantagenet King of England having taken over the throne as Protector of the Realm from his 12-year-old nephew Edward V in 1483. Edward was subsequently believed to be illegitimate and therefore not entitled to rule, so Richard was crowned King. He then imprisoned his nephews Edward, and brother Richard, Duke of York, in the Tower of London, where they were later believed to have been murdered on King Richard’s orders. But Richard’s reign was not to last long as it ended at the Battle of Bosworth on 22 August 1485 at Market Bosworth in Leicestershire. This was the last major battle in the War of the Roses between the Houses of Lancaster (red rose) led by Henry Tudor, and York (white rose) led by King Richard.
According to Shakespeare’s version, Richard lost his horse, his kingdom, and his life at the battle. He certainly was killed and Henry Tudor was declared King Henry VII thus starting the Tudor dynasty.
But the fate of Richard’s body remained a mystery. Thrown over a horse, procured for the occasion, it was transported to the nearby city of Leicester and, it was believed, buried in the Greyfriars Priory, although rumours were that it was then taken and dumped, unceremoniously, into the River Soar.
As the Priory itself was demolished in 1530, there had never been an opportunity to discover the truth behind this historical mystery.
Step up Philippa Langley, self -styled “housewife and amateur historian from Edinburgh” portrayed in the film by Sally Hawkins. After watching a performance of Shakespeare’s play with her teenage son, she became fascinated with the story, and took it upon herself to try to discover Richard’s remains.
Sally Hawkins as Philippa Langley
Armed with John Ashdown-Hill’s book ‘The Last Days of Richard III’ which explains how he had been able to trace the only known living ancestor of the late king, Langley made various visits to the city. This was a much longer and more expensive trip for her from Scotland than it is for me as I am just a 45-minute bus ride away (free if I go after 9.00am!) from my home in the south of the county, which I had last done 10 days previously on the morning of my departure from England for Tokyo. Filmed scenes of Leicester made it seem that much closer to me in Japan. With intuition and even visions, dramatized in the film by the appearance of Richard on a white horse leading her to the council car park built over what was believed to be the site of Grey Friars priory, Langley became convinced that she had found the exact spot where her hero was interred. Despite disputes over funding which was initially provided by the University of Leicester but later withdrawn, and later supplied by the Richard III Society, she pushed on down. The excavators moved in and a skeleton was unearthed right where Philippa Langley said it would be.
An initial visual of a male with curvature of the spine from the scoliosis, which had earned him the unfortunate nickname, and a dramatic (fatal) injury to the skull provided the team with enough historical evidence that they had found their man. DNA testing, again explored in detail in Ashdown-Hill’s book, went ahead and science proved the history to be correct.
The late King Richard III could now be exhumed and re-interred in a manner befitting a former monarch of the realm. On 26 March 2015, nearly 530 years after his death, in a ceremony televised around the world he was finally laid to rest in Leicester Cathedral.
But not at peace, as Phillipa Langley, during the funeral, decided that she wanted to put the final piece of the puzzle into place by clearing his name of the murders of his nephews. And, she has claimed, in a book, and a British TV documentary programme, to have done just that. One wonders whether history, science and significant funding will prove her right this time around. Watch this space! I shall certainly call into the cathedral and neighbouring information centre to pay my respects and ponder on the past when I’m next in Leicester.
Leicester Cathedral
The final words though from John Ashdown-Hill:
“Richard III remains one of the most controversial figures in British history. Some contemporary writers certainly characterised him as a good king”.
I leave it to you to decide.
.
Meanwhile, back in Tokyo, excavations are also taking place in the former grounds of the British Embassy where I worked from 1979-1981 and again in 2007-2011 and the start and conclusion of my diplomatic career.
British Embassy, Tokyo in all its former glory.
Construction workers redeveloping the site for commercial purposes have uncovered the remains of 28 ‘pit dwellings’ from the Yayoi period (between 9th century BC and 3rd century AD). Due to time and financial constraints, preservation of the remains will not be possible and the site will be backfilled. Regrettable, but as Ms Langley has shown, to find what was once lost it is sometimes necessary to dig deep into pockets to be able to dig deep into history.
Not a phrase you will hear me uttering, nor one to which I would usually respond. Although baptised as a Christian in my childhood, I do not follow its teachings or beliefs nor that of any other formal religion. Instead, I adhere to a more spiritual way of thinking attaching more importance to a rationalist outlook, . Therefore, I attach great importance to the power of nature and, as such so will visit Shinto shrines in Japan where the spirits inhabit trees and natural phenomenon, for inspiration. In the UK I am not averse to wandering into a local church in the countryside for a few moments of quiet reflection, especially if it has an interesting historical or cultural background, and from where we can use our understanding of the past to inform our present thinking.
The nearest, pictured above, which is just a few minutes’ walk away from my home in Little Bowden, is that of St. Nicholas, where a church has stood on the site from at least the middle of the twelfth century. Although it has obviously undergone substantial restoration and reconstruction since, the earliest surviving part of the original building is thought to date from about 1300, with other parts from the late 18th and 19th centuries so occasionally I step back into time.
Letter from Bishop of YokohamaVivian RedlichInterior of St Andrews Church
After undergoing theological training in England himself, Vivian served with the brotherhood of St. Andrew in Australia before volunteering for missionary work in nearby Papua New Guinea where he soon found himself involved in the war with Japan, writing what would be his final letter to his father on 27 July 1942, which is also displayed on the wall of the church.
” Somewhere in the Papuan Bush, July 27th 1942. My dear Dad, The war has busted up here. I got back from Doguara and ran right into it, and am now somewhere in my parish hoping to carry on, tho’ my people are horribly scared. No news of May, and I am cut off from contacting her. My staff O.K. so far, but in another spot. I’m trying to stick whatever happens. If I don’t come out of it just rest content that I have tried to do my job faithfully. Last chance of getting word out, so forgive brevity. God Bless you all. Vivian”
It was originally believed that Redlich was taken from his Mission House by the Japanese army, and beheaded on a nearby beach, thus prompting the letter of profuse apology from the Bishop of Yokohama to the people of Leicestershire. However 70 years later, it emerged that this was not the case. There is a further sad twist to this story, as Vivian had met and fallen in love with May Hayman, an Australian mission nurse who had cared for him during illness. Only recently engaged, they were working at different mission stations about 40km apart in the jungle, and Nurse Hayman had been captured by the Japanese at the time of the invasion. It is now believed that Vivian Redlich was on his way to rescue her when he was attacked with spears and killed by local tribesmen. Nurse Hayman managed to escape into the jungle, with another nurse but they were both re-captured and executed by the Japanese army.
So, despite the Japanese army being exonerated for the death of Vivian Redlich this tale remains shrouded in tragedy, but makes for an interesting story when I take my Japanese visitors to the church.
My good friend and walking companion, Yu Yoshida.
And so as not to become too morbid, I usually try to cheer my friends up with a traditional British lunch or dinner in the neighbouring thatched Cherry Tree pub.
So, if I don’t see you in church, I might very well see you in the pub!
Coming up to four years ago, the phrase ‘lockdown’ developed serious undertones of not being able to go outside without wearing a facemask; being restricted as to the number of people with whom one could meet; curtailing travel and certainly having to adopt a lifestyle most of us born in the post-World War years would never have dreamt of. But today fortunately, with some exceptions, that is now behind us and we can once again enjoy what our ancestors have built for us.
We have much to be proud of in the UK – and some to be ashamed of, but I won’t go into that now- but being the first country to develop a nationwide canal network, must be one of our finest achievements. At its most extensive, this stretched to 4,000 miles or 6,000kms from the beginnings in the 16th and 17th centuries when work began to canalise our waterway network to improve local and nationwide transportation systems. Work started in earnest during the industrial revolution. Whereas previously a horse and cart could carry around one or two tons of cargo on the deteriorating roads a horse drawn canal barge could carry up to 25 times that amount and the period from 1770 to 1830 was sometimes known as the Golden Age of canals with barges being used to transport raw materials and finished goods around the country more efficiently.
But, we know what happens – progress! And that gave way to a faster and more sophisticated rail network and heavy- duty road haulage especially in the 20th century. Fortunately, although some of the canals, most of which were built by manual labour alone, fell into disuse and disrepair, the end of the second world war saw a revival. The formation of the Inland Waterways Association by LTC Rolt and Robert Aickman revived interest in their use for leisure purposes and the restoration of some of the canals by a group of volunteers. Before too long, hiring or buying a narrowboat for a holiday in the slow lane became a very popular holiday activity as a way of exploring the countryside or even as a permanent way of life for some whom wished to opt out of the rat race.
And in recent years, it has been seen as some as the perfect form of social distancing where, with the help of technology, it is possible to work ‘remotely’ from home for some people running a business from their boats or as an ideal retreat also for artists and writers seeking creative inspiration away from daily distractions.
But, for those of us who have not yet taken to the waterways in order to write our first book, it is still possible to observe and enjoy all that the canals have to offer from walks along the footpaths along which the horses used to tow the boats (ie towpaths) to the nature of the surrounding countryside.
Another engineering feat was to design a way of moving down or uphill in the waterways which were built to correspond to the elevations of the surrounding environment. Locks were the answer where the boat entered a fixed chamber in which the water levels were raised or lowered through a system of opening and closing underwater ‘paddles’ and allowing the boats to proceed.
I am fortunate that my UK home base in the East Midlands is close to the Grand Union Canal, which stretches 147 miles (235km) from Paddington in West London to Gas Street in Birmingham passing through Northamptonshire and Leicestershire including an ‘arm’ into Market Harborough.
A popular tourist attraction is Foxton Locks with its flight of 10 locks from the ‘Top Lock’ where there’s also a cafe serving light refreshments to the Bridge 61 pub and Foxton locks Inn at the bottom with a wider range of food and drinks. Much needed by the boaters for whom it can take from 45-60 minutes to navigate the whole flight.
It’s only a 10 minute bus ride from Harborough to Foxton, but the winding route of the canal travels through 6 miles (10km) of the Leicestershire countryside making for a very pleasant stroll which I often do starting with a ‘bacon butty’ at the Top Lock and finishing at the Waterfront Restaurant at the Union Wharf in Market Harborough.
The Union Wharf in Market Harborough – nearly home!
While it can usually be a solitary walk there’s sometimes plenty of company along the way.
For the less energetic, standing and watching the hale and hearty navigate their vessels either up or down the flight, or visiting the canal side museum can also be an interesting day out and I try to do so when I have visitors who don’t fancy the walk. A young Japanese student friend who was visiting me recently was offered the chance to follow the locks down and ride the flight with a kindly couple aboard their houseboat the ‘Nightingale’ watched and encouraged by visitors from near and far who are collectively known as Gongoozlers.
As a ‘local’ I try to be more active and help the process opening or closing gates as required. And, as I’ve discovered on my return to the UK, so do an organised band of volunteers giving up their free time to work for the Canal and River Trust (https://canalrivertrust.org.uk/) either in the operation of the locks or in regularly cleaning and maintaining the canals themselves for our continuing pleasure and recreation. But, once again the politicians intervene and the Trust has been subject to recent Government spending cuts, and the debate over funding for the country’s transportation whether that will be for a high-speed rail network, expansion of an airport or better use of low emission vehicles will rage on into the next General Election and could even affect its outcome.
I’ll watch the politics from the sidelines – a true Gongoozler.
Something of which I have often/occasionally been accused. However, after a fallow few months and with only a three months to go before I return to Japan, it really is about time I got going with some more reflections on my new lifestyle.
But rather than ‘talk or write at length in a confused or inconsequential way’, I’ll try to focus on the second definition of the word ‘ramble’ which is to ‘walk for pleasure in the countryside’. But first a reminder that, in the UK, we have not always been able to enjoy the walking that we do today. In times gone by access to the countryside was limited as many private landowners closed off their land; in response, the number of walking clubs and groups that campaigned for walkers’ rights grew from the mid-nineteenth century to the 1930s.
In 1931, the National Council of Ramblers’ Federations was formed because walkers felt that a national body to represent their interests was needed. On 24 April 1932, the communist-inspired British Workers’ Sports Federation, frustrated at the lack of resolve of the newly formed Ramblers, staged a mass trespass of Kinder Scout, the highest point in the English Peak district. During the mass trespass, the protesters present scuffled with the Duke of Devonshire’s gamekeepers and five ramblers were arrested. Nowadays, the Ramblers Association, rather than being a left-wing protest group, is the only charity dedicated to removing barriers to walking and to preserving and improving the paths, tracks and trails we all love.
So, I was delighted, on returning to live in England, to discover the existence of the Market Harborough Ramblers, a group of active souls who organize and participate in twice-weekly walks through the local countryside. What better way of getting to know my new locality and getting to know some of the locals. Signed up and kitted up, I turned up at a car park in the centre of the town for the car share to my first Sunday walk.
THE WALKS
A very welcoming group indeed, prepared to let in a newcomer with his numerous stories about life in Japan! A drive out to a lay-by close to New Inn (a village, not a pub!) from where we started the walk through a field of sheep many with young lambs in attendance. From there, through the wonderfully named villages of Goadby and Tugby reminding me of the charm of the English countryside, stopping in the latter for a quick snack. For most this was a home-made sandwich, some fruit and/or a snack-bar. Missing the convenience of a Japanese bento or even just an onigiri rice ball I had to make do with a light-bite and plenty of water of course.
Despite the secluded nature of our location, we were never completely on our own often attracting the attention and curiosity of the resident livestock.
OK guys, see you later, we’re nearly done for this walk.
My second walk was steeped in history – not the walk itself but the start point being the village of Hallaton which was mentioned in the Domesday book of 1086 (and a recorded population of ’at least 26 male villagers’) although it is thought that the village may have been in existence up to 1,000 years prior to that. Developing over the years and centuries, it now has more than 60 Grade 2 listed historic properties, a population of over 600 people, and is popular with horseriders, cyclists and, of course, walkers.
Although not seeking sanctuary, we enjoyed the shelter of Cranoe church for our lunch break. And, of course, some bovine company along the way.
For my third walk with this group, a slight change of timing and starting arrangements. The Ramblers, as well as organising Sunday walks of around 7-8 miles, (11-13km), also go out on shorter 4-5 mile (6 ½ -8km) mid-week walks. Yes, after years of living in Japan, I’m having to re-adjust back to Imperial measurements once touted by our former Prime Minister, Boris Johnston, as a possible permanent situation if he had remained in power. Thankfully neither has happened!
Back to our Wednesday afternoon ramble, the destination of which held fascination for me as we were going on a quest to find the ‘Judith Stone’, located in a field on the outskirts of Market Harborough. It was also mentioned in the Domesday book of 1086 which was the first and most important record of England by King William I, the French conqueror of our country, after the Battle of Hastings in 1066 in which he defeated our King Harold. He was also known as the William the Bastard king because of his doubtful family lineage, rather than the fact that he had invaded and was dividing up our country, although that may also have been true. It is thought that the stone took its name from the Countess Judith, niece of William. She is recorded in the Domesday Book as holding land in the area, so perhaps the stone marked a boundary of some kind. It is an igneous rock and described as being an ‘erratic glacial boulder’. But certainly, rather random and remarkable by the fact that it is unmarked and sits in the middle of a field and one has to know about it and how to find it, otherwise it would remain unnoticed.
Enough rambling, in both senses of the word, for the moment, as this was first of many discoveries I’ve made and am continuing to make as I explore and become more knowledgeable about my current location and UK-base in Leicestershire for half of the year as I enjoy the best of England and Japan.
Albihon 