Monday, 13 December 2010

The Genesis of the Wigmore Hall London International String Quartet Competition

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John Gilhooly . . . . . . . . 13 December 2010

Artistic & Executive Director

Wigmore Hall

36 Wigmore Street
London W1U 2BP

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Dear Mr Gilhooly

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On my way to the Hampstead Theatre last Saturday evening I happened to meet my old and distinguished colleague Gavin Henderson. He told me that the City of London International String Quartet Competition had been adopted by the Wigmore Hall, and that it was now the Wigmore Hall London International String Quartet Competition. I was most interested to learn of this second metamorphosis of the Competition, and it occurs to me that it might be of interest to you to know some of the details of how it was started in 1978-9 as the City of Portsmouth International String Quartet Competition.

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The then Leader of the Portsmouth City Council, Richard Sotnick, had requested Dennis Sayer, from the City Chief Executive Office, and me, City Arts Administrator, to create a music competition, to coincide the following year with his term of office as Lord Mayor. Gavin, as Director of the Portsmouth Festival, had invited Yehudi Menuhin and Hepzibah, together with the Philharmonia Orchestra, to Portsmouth, and I had suggested to Richard Sotnick that we should invite Menuhin to the reception after the concert, and take the opportunity of consulting him about the projected competition. Menuhin immediately offered to give us his advice and his help, and became Artistic Director and Chairman of the Jury. Dennis and I also had enormous support from Ifrah Neaman. Our feasibility study involved many meetings with him and with Menuhin, and visits to Leeds and to Colmar to study their competitions. It was Menuhin’s suggestion that the competition should be quartets, because of the excellence of British teamwork, and there being sufficient competitions for solo instruments. Because the City wanted fairly mature players to compete, with a joint age of a maximum of 100 years, Menuhin offered a special prize for younger contestants. He also insisted that he should speak after the competition to all performers, winners and losers. I am thrilled to think that I played a part in this process all those many years ago...

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May I add my good wishes to the future of the Competition.

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Yours sincerely

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Peter Zander

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I never received a reply from Mr John Gilhooley. Three months later I thought I'd drop him a line. I got the following immediate response:


From: Andrew Fletcher [mailto:afletcher@wigmore-hall.org.uk]

Sent: 24 March 2011 15:21
To: peterzan.berlin@virgin.net
Subject: Response to your letter

Dear Mr Zander

Thank you very much for your letters to John Gilhooly of 13 December 2010 and 23 March 2011. I am sorry that you did not receive our reply to your first letter, in which Mr Gilhooly thanked you for the information regarding the provenance of the Quartet Competition. He was interested to read it, and we also picked it up on your online blog!

Many thanks for taking the trouble to get in touch and I hope you will be able to attend the next Competition at Wigmore Hall in 2012. More information can be found on our website: http://www.wigmore-hall.org.uk/competitions/wigmore-hall-london-international-string-quartet-competition/2012-competition

With all best wishes

Andrew Fletcher

Andrew Fletcher
Executive Assistant to the Director

Wigmore Hall

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To which I replied the same day:

Thank you so much for your note, Andrew Fletcher, and for the relevant information, which I shall check out.

Best wishes

Yours sincerely

Peter Zander

And they all lived happily ever after, in the those dark Grimm fairy tales...


Sunday, 5 December 2010

WE WHITE NIGGERS

I have received the following communication from Nick Weaver, Head of Pensions Services, Hampshire Pension Fund, administered by the Hampshire County Council, concerning my pension from Portsmouth City Council, for whom I acted between 1975 and 1979 as City Arts Administrator and, latterly, also as Director of the Portsmouth Festival. The amount currently paid is £72.75 per calendar month.

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“In the June 2010 budget, the Government said future increases in public-sector pensions {to cover inflation PZ} would be linked to changes in the Consumer Prices Index. (CPI) Previously such pensions were linked to increases in the Retail Prices Index. (RPI)” Thus costs linked to housing, “mortgage interest, council tax, buildings insurance, ground rent etc.” will no longer be considered. Furthermore, figures will be “calculated differently even for the same basket of goods”, which sounds fishy to me.

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The Government has thus resorted to basing its figures on only a part of the facts, conveniently leaving out other, equally relevant, facts, to its own advantage and financial benefit, a thoroughly dishonest ploy.

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“Most commentators expect the CPI to be between 0.5% and 0.8% lower that PRI, over the long term.”

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So I’ll get that bit less. In the future I wont be getting the same increase in the piffling pension as I am getting now. You can imagine some civil servant, cant you, poring over a vast array of figures, the cost of little apples, computer-aided, to save the government a few more pennies, to try and balance its bankrupt books.

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How mean can you get...

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And it’s a good example to demonstrate how the poor will get poorer, and the great divide will get wider. Disraeli wrote a novel, SYBIL, which I have never read. But its subtitle is TWO NATIONS. The powerful, privileged, rich at the top of the spectrum and the impotent, undeserving poor at the bottom. Those all-round ‘cuts’ of Her Majesty’s Government will exacerbate the great divide. And the Government’s threats to the public to knuckle down, to cooperate, to find work (where?) or else! i e lose the state’s financial support, will leave more children poor, and more children growing up in disharmony. Even more bulging prisons will have to be built to house the ever-growing delinquent and rebellious population. That’s what comes of lovelessness and cliquiness at the top and filtering down, of festering ambition and of egotism, and of paranoia, with just a dash of sheer stupidity thrown in. The British public are treated by those in power, by those who make the decisions, like white niggers of empire. Disposable. As Julian Assange, yes, he of Wikileaks, said in an interview over Skype with TIME Magazine, December 13, 2010: “The dead hand of feudalism still rests on every British shoulder;”And he goes on: “we plan to remove it.” Oh, would he could!!!

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Yes, and how many of those ‘white niggers’ have been sent to die, have been made to kill, in unnecessary, illegal, and entirely unjustifiable, wars? How many young men and young women have not come home alive, or have come home maimed? No wonder there is apparent need for those huge war memorials on the island at London’s Hyde Park Corner, to commemorate all the myriad dead of yesterday. And of today. And of the future. But do these monstrous high jagged, and these wide-stretched curved, rusty steel and stone memorials express bereavement and regret? Do they not, rather, seem to celebrate, nay to glorify, the killing, and the being killed, thus uniting the nation in celebration of its noble uniqueness vis-a-vis an alien, threatening world?

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A plea. Isn’t it about time for this country to start spending its money on its own people, on their individual needs, on the infrastructure for their social existence, rather than spending it on maintaining the supposedly high military standing this country has been enjoying world-wide, and which its politicians are enjoying at the top of the top table, on this, alas, permanently warring earth? The slogans of the marchers alliterate: ”Welfare, not War!” “Medicines, not Munitions!” “Arts, not Arms!”

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I have received the following communication from Nick Weaver, Head of Pensions Services, Hampshire Pension Fund, administered by the Hampshire County Council, concerning my pension from Portsmouth City Council...

Saturday, 27 November 2010

My Amazon review of W G Sebald’s Luftkrieg und Literatur

Exposure of the tainted authors of the Third Reich

In exquisite and clear, if complex, language - I read him in the original German - Sebald explains how the work of authors who went through the purgatory of the Third Reich was contaminated, rotten in the centre, and full of excuses and self-justification. They wrote novels showing how they SHOULD have behaved, a cover-up. He cites in particular Alfred Andersch, who was married to a Jewish woman, by whom he had a daughter. He sacrificed both by divorcing her, so that she lost the protection of an 'aryan' husband, and was subject to the terrible treatment the Nazis meted out to the Jews. After the war he used the fact that he had been married to a Jewish woman to gain favour with those in power. He was a shit. Obviously, his novels handled the material of his life to show him to advantage. Sebald also suggests that the Germans never faced, admitted, worked through, healed themselves of, the terrible trauma of their suffering from the bombing and conflagrations of their main cities. I knew from my friends the Dabelsteins in Hamburg, as we drove through the ruins of the city in 1946, where they didnt know which street they were in, as the rows of rubble were all the same, utterly unidentifiable, that the firebombs produced such huge areas in flames, that people were sucked into them.

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

TWO LETTERS TO TWO OLD FRIENDS

Dear .....

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I just wrote this to a friend of mine, as I noticed that he, at the end of his 50's, had a quite shockingly bent back, his posture having further deteriorated since I saw him a little while ago. As you mentioned that you were having trouble with parts of your body, I believe the two lowest parts, I wondered whether it might be relevant to mention to you my view on handling an older body! Sorry you haven’t got a printer, as it is so much nicer to read from paper than from screen, hint, hint... Here goes:

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"You know that I am into exercises and posture, and have this theory - based on regular evidence - that people as they grow older superimpose on the natural process of the ageing of their bodies another dimension, that of ACTING OLD, of giving an old performance, as if they were looking at their watches and saying, aha, it is 50, or 60 or 70 years o' clock, or whatever it is, and taking the decision to adopt a radically different life style, pattern, a pattern NOT in accordance with the state of their bodies, but with the IDEA of how ancient they are, what numeral they had reached. They varyingly hold themselves bent double; they move their bodies in slow motion; they stop cooking and catering; they stop entertaining; they stop travelling. I thought I'd jot these thoughts down, have never formalised them before, but was reminded of this evidence because of your posture, which I dont think is due to this cause, but to some other cause or causes unknown to me. Some tall people typically hold themselves bent out of courtesy to us smaller fry. I think you, actually, lose about an inch and a half in height the way you hold yourself. And it must cramp the lungs. And the weight of the head - the heaviest article we possess - is not ON TOP OF THE SPINE, but IN FRONT OF IT, which is not good for the spine. As I say, I dont know the cause. It could be lack of self-value. It could be exhaustion. It could be worry. It could be fear. It could be boredom. It could be despair. I have no idea what the cause is.

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So to the remedy. I have this morning, as is my habit, had my hot bath, and before it, and during it, done my exercises, which all took well over 3/4 of an hour. I know, because that's the setting of my microwave for my porridge, and it had stopped cooking by the time I came down. I have of course assembled a huge range of exercises from my acting and teaching days, improvisation and relaxation classes, Yoga and Alexander technique classes, physiotherapy sessions, osteopathy, from my doctor, and of my own invention. I deal with the whole body, and especially with any parts that need attention that day because they ached or were stiff. And I straighten my back whenever I see somebody with a particularly good posture; and I straighten my back when I see somebody with a particularly BAD posture. I am going on and on like this because I think it very important. And will now stop!"

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And you see, I am wondering, whether you are seeking enough advice, getting enough treatment; whether you could not be doing more to extend your range of action. I was surprised again when you mentioned that it was a 'podiatrist' on whose sole advice you were relying. I'd have thought he wouldnt be nearly high-powered enough to act as sole contributor to your health. I am of course completely in the dark as to the detail of your condition, and should really shut up, but I just have the feeling that one can always do more, rather than give up and be satisfied with the performance that one is achieving. I was utterly dissatisfied with the University College Hospital's nowadays utterly feeble and superficial physiotherapy and hydrotherapy, and thus landed with osteopathy. I fee that, together with my own work on my body, and the senior students' work manipulating its various parts, I have a very good combination for achieving optimum performance... And I should really go swimming once a week!

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Oh, and one other thought: We ought to try and avoid going peculiar...

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Love

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Peter

Friday, 3 September 2010

MEANNESS AT ST MARTIN'S, TRAFALGAR SQUARE

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To whom it may concern
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It was only yesterday that I happened to pass St Martin's, had time, and took the lift to look at the new crypt. Beautiful. Wonderful spaces, lovely architecture, a shaft of sunlight coming down through the lightshaft, wondrous. I only then discovered that there were TWO FLOORS BELOW GROUND, with a lovely meeting room, seen through windows, below. I looked for the lift to go down, and couldnt find one, saw only a wheelchair lift. AND IT SLOWLY DAWNED ON ME THAT THAT LIFT I HAD COME DOWN ON SERVED ONLY THE UPPER LEVEL OF THE NEW DEVELOPMENT, DIDNT GO DOWN TO THE LOWER FLOOR, WHICH THE PUBLIC WOULD ALSO BE USING, AND I WAS ABSOLUTELY SHATTERED AT THE UNBELIEVABLE MEANNNESS, TO HAVE ECONOMIZED ON THIS IMPORTANT DETAIL: IT TOOK MY BREATH AWAY
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I think it is shameful to turn in such a faulted job, to spoil the (exquisite) ship for a ha'pworth of tar. No doubt some high moral principle will be cited, but I regard it as simply shoddy.
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Peter Zander

Tuesday, 31 August 2010

DEFINITION OF MY IDENTITY

Howard Spier 30 September 2010

Executive Editor

AJR Journal

Association of Jewish Refugees

Jubilee House, Merrion Avenue

Stanmore

Middlesex HA7 4RL

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Dear Howard

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DEFINITION OF MY IDENTITY

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I spent a little time on my New Pocket Oxford Dictionary, wondering how to accurately define myself.

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Started with 'exile: 'the state of being barred from one's native country.' Well, I didnt start barred, was taken by my parents in 1933 from Berlin to Welwyn Garden City, and I suppose I sort of 'became and stayed' exiled sometime between then and the end of the war, when I again ceased to be an exile, or at least remained a voluntary one.

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'Banished'? with the 'ed' sounded a la Shakespeare: '1) make (someone) leave a place, especially as an official punishment. 2) get rid of; drive away.' Again, fits only partially because we went voluntarily.

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'Emigrant: a person who emigrates. emigrate: leave one's own country in order to settle permanently in another.' That fits. Though the thought at one point occurred to my mother to return to her beloved Berlin.

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'Immigrant: a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.' That's me.

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'Refugee: a person who has been forced to leave their country because of a war or because they are being persecuted for their beliefs.' Well, if fits roughly. I wasnt exactly forced, so early on in the dictatorship, but it was hinted. And it wasnt exactly because of my beliefs, but rather because of my origins.

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Holocaust survivor. 'holocaust: destruction or slaughter on a massive scale.' That applies. 'The Holocaust: the mass murder of Jews under the German Nazi regime in World War II.' 'survivor: a person who has survived.' That applies. I have survived the holocaust. My father, my mother, and I, escaped before it got really nasty. Perhaps I am an escapee, an escaper, both in the dictionary. All honour to concentration camp survivors. I know one such. Rosy. A remarkable lady who lives in Paris. She is special.

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Yours

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Peter

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To explain. Two eternal themes run through the articles and letter pages of the AJR Journal: Is one, after 77 years, still a refugee? I maintain that one is, that I am: once a refugee, always a refugee. That's how one came to this country. That's the door through which one entered. That defines one. The Journal, on the other hand, now always prefixes the term refugee with an 'ex': In its aim at its version of political correctness it refers only and always to 'ex-refugees', as if one can discard the reason and process by which one arrived at Liverpool Street station on 5 October 1933, and can become indigenous, like landed gentry, a, to my mind, completely false logic.

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The other theme is the apparent need to grade refugees into those who suffered, and survived, concentration camp, and only these are allowed to call themselves Holocaust survivors; and those who didn’t, and aren’t allowed to call themselves Holocaust survivors. I find this unappetising. Comparisons are odorous! How can I compare my coming over to England as a child, with my mother, my father already being here to reconnoitre the new country, our leaving Germany long before the real insults, degradation, persecution, torture and killing had got started, with the unimaginable suffering of Rosy??? Impossible. And etymologically irrelevant.

Thursday, 19 August 2010

Marshall Street Leisure Centre, Hurrah!

The Editor
West End Extra
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Dear Sir
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The Marshall Streeet Leisure Centre
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Heard from a neighbour that the Marshall Street baths, now the Marshall Street Leisure Centre, were open again. It's taken the Westminster City Council 10 years to achieve that! Hurrah! Went with my Freedom Pass and telephone bill with my Soho address on it to join. Rounded the corner of Broadwick Street, saw the big blue poster erected on the ground just beyond the entrance to the Baths. Took no notice of it, as it had a large arrrow on it pointing to the other side of the road. Tried the two old front entrance doors of the baths, the first was locked, the second opened, but appeared to be an office, and I was told that the entrance was now where the poster was. I thought architects were supposed to show one clearly where the hole was for one to enter a building. I went through this narrow door into a small vestibule, to learn that my Freedom Pass gave me free access to the baths. Excellent. But what a pity that the old Foyer is used as an office, and that all the swimmers and all the health fiends have to use this narrow side entrance to this tiny vestibule. Commercial meannness meets bureaucratic stupidity. First impressions bad.
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Yours sincerely
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Peter Zander

Saturday, 14 August 2010

Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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PETER ZANDER

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14 August 2010

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Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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The Obermayer German Jewish History Award is given annually to individuals who have made outstanding voluntary contributions toward preserving and recording the Jewish history, heritage, culture and/or remnants of local German communities. I am one of three Berliners who have been requested by Frau Gudrun Blankenburg, Stadtfuehrerin, Berlin Tourist Guide, to nominate, for this year’s award, the 800 pupils, the senior classes of the Loecknitz-Grundschule, a primary school in Berlin Schoeneberg, who have, over a period of 7 years, built a memorial wall to commemorate the Jewish neighbours killed by the Nazis.

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11 August 2010

Obermayer Foundation
239 Chestnut Street
West Newton, MA 02465-2931
obermayer@alum.mit.edu

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Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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NOMINEE:

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Die Schülerinnen und Schüler aller 6. Klassen der Löcknitz-Grundschule in Berlin Tempelhof-Schöneberg, die seit 1994 ununterbrochen ein einmaliges und eindringliches Denk-Mal für die ermordeten jüdischen Menschen gesetzt haben, die früher Nachbarn der Schule waren und von der Nazi-Diktatur ermordet worden sind.

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Löcknitz-Grundschule

Berchtesgadener Str. 10-11

10779 Berlin Schöneberg

T.: 030-90277-7164

F.: 030-90277-4315

loecknitz-grundschule@t-online.de

www.loecknitz-grundschule.de

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NOMINATOR:

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Peter Zander

22 Romilly Street

London W1D 5AG

United Kingdom

Telephone + 44 (0) 20 7437 4767

U K Mobile + 44 (0) 79 20 12 55 09

peterzan.berlin@virgin.net

http://peterzan.blogspot.com

SUMMARY OF NOMINEES’ ACTIVITIES

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Seit 1994 bauen die Schülerinnen und Schüler der jeweiligen 6. Klasse der Löcknitz-Grundschule in Berlin Tempelhof-Schöneberg, jedes Jahr an einem Denk-Mal, einer Gedenk-Mauer aus gelben Backsteinen. Jeder Backstein ist einem von der Nazi-Diktatur ermordeten jüdischen Menschen der Nachbarschaft gewidmet, und traegt ihren oder seinen Namen, sowie ihr oder sein Geburtsdatum, und auch das Todesdatum und den Ort des Todes, Auschwitz, Riga, Theresienstadt usw. Es sind derer schon 800...

800 Steine. 800 Schueler.

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Vielleicht hatte der juedische Mensch in der selben Wohnung wie die Schuelerin oder der Schueler gewohnt; vielleicht hatte er den gleichen Geburtstag wie der Schueler; vielleicht waren es die Eltern eines Schuelers der Schule die umgebracht wurden... So kundschaften die Schueler aus, was in ihrem Haus, was in ihrem Kietz, was in Berlin, was in Deutschland, was in Europa, zu der Zeit Grausames und Graessliches passiert ist, und setzen ein Erinnerungszeichen denen, die ausgesetzt, gepeinigt, getoetet wurden. Sie verfolgen das Schicksal einer Person, zeichnen deren Namen und Details schwarz auf einen Backstein. Dieser Backstein wird praepariert, sodas die Schrift nicht verwischt, und wird zu einer Pyramide aufgestapelt, bis alle Backsteine des Jahres in die Mauer eingemauert werden. Die viele Meter lange Mauer, vielleicht 1 ½ Meter hoch, steht auf dem Schulhof, wo Schueler, Lehrer, Eltern, Besucher, Touristen, Interessentengruppen, Nachfahren der Eltern, der Grosseltern, die umgekommen sind, sie sehen koennen; ein Fragezeichen, eine Metapher, ein Einfluss zum Verstaendnis zwischen den Menschen, ein Lehrmittel, eine Warnung, ein ‘Grab-Stein’ fuer diejenigen, die kein Grab haben, ein ‘Denk-Mal’. Und auch eine Erinnerung an die schoenen Zeiten, in der die juedischen Buerger wesentliche Deutsche Mitbuerger waren, Berliner waren. Die Schule steht auf dem Grundstueck einer Synagogue, was das Projekt untermalt.

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MEIN ERLEBNIS DES PROJEKTS

Ich bin als elf-jaehriger mit meinen Eltern 1933 aus Berlin nach England emigriert. Ich war 1934 Weihnachten mit meiner Mutter auf Besuch wieder in Berlin. 1946-48 war ich wieder in Deutschland, im Britischen Roten Kreuz, als Wohlfahrtsoffizier des Save the Children Fund, die Britische Kinderhilfe, und jede 3 Monate war ich in Berlin, wo mein geliebter Grossonkel Otto Loewi mit seiner arischen Frau Lotte die schlimme Zeit - man gerade - ueberlebt hatte. Danach war ich unregelmaessig immer mal wieder in Berlin. Seit 1985, das heisst in den letzten 25 Jahren, bin ich regelmaessig jedes Weihnachten, und oft auch im Sommer, 2-3 Wochen in Berlin.

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Auch diesen Sommer war ich in Berlin, und wurde von Frau Gudrun Blankenburg, Stadtfuehrerin, eingeladen, zur Loeknitzschule mitzukommen. Ich hatte keine Ahnung was auf mich zukommt. Frau Blankenburg hatte einen Schluessel zum Schulhof, und liess uns drei rein – wir waren mit einem gemeinsamen Freund Hartmut Schulz da. Einige Kinder spielten auf dem Hof. Ich sah diese lange gelbe Mauer; ich sah die einzelnen Schwarz beschriebenen Backsteine, mit den Namen der Toten und ihren Daten und Schicksalen, in verschiedenen kindlichen Handschriften, manche in Suetterlin. Ich war baff, und in Traenen. Hartmut fotografierte die Mauer. Wir gingen die Mauer entlang; ich sah die Pyramide der losen Backsteine, die darauf warteten, in die Mauer miteingebaut zu werden. Was fuer ein fantastisches Projekt! Zur Vergangenheitsbewaeltigung allerseits. Auch meiner. Denn warum komme ich denn immer wieder nach Berlin... Und zur Verstaendigung der verschiedenen Voelker, Rassen, Kulturen. Ein Gedenkwerk in Stein, dass die ermordeten juedischen, deutschen, berliner, Mitbuerger nicht vergessen werden, als Mitbuerger anerkannt werden; dass das Verbrechen, das an ihnen begangen worden ist, als solches gennannt werde. Nie wieder...

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Peter Zander

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DU DARFST NICHT MEHR LEBEN

Der erste Schritt der Ausgrenzung der Juden...

Du darfst nicht mehr Klubmitglied sein.

Du darfst nicht mehr in Deinem Stammlokal Kaffee trinken.

Du darfst nicht mehr auf der Bank im Park sitzen.

Du darfst nicht mehr ins Theater, ins Konzert, ins Kino, in die Ausstellung.

Du darfst nicht mehr die oeffentlichen Verkehrsmittel benutzen.

Du darfst kein Geschaeft mehr leiten.

Du darfst nicht mehr unsereinen heiraten

Oder ficken.

Du darfst nicht mehr leben.

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Das Gedicht ergab sich aus meiner Geschichte von Adolf Hain und dem Verein Seglerhaus am Wannsee , VSaW. 18 3 9

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YOU ARE NO LONGER PERMITTED TO LIVE

The first step in the exclusion of the Jews…

You are no longer permitted to be a member of the club.

You are no longer permitted to have coffee in your regular café.

You are no longer permitted to sit on the bench in the park.

You are no longer permitted to go to the theatre, to concert, cinema or exhibition.

You are no longer permitted to use public transport facilities.

You are no longer permitted to run a business.

You are no longer permitted to marry any of us,

Or to fuck any of us.

You are no longer permitted to live.

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The poem arose out of my story of Adolf Hain and the Sailing Club on the Wannsee, VSaW.

19 3 9

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C 2009 Peter Zander

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

BERLIN ENCOUNTERS 23 June - 13 July 2010

I have been in Berlin again, and this time it was even far more exciting than ever. I met a lot of new people through my correspondence and huge coincidences - which only seem to happen in Berlin, not in my mundane existence in Soho!

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Perhaps the most delightful and extraordinary was my meeting with an enchanting authoress, Jenny Erpenbeck. It was arranged by a mutual friend, whom I had completely lost touch with, Cornelia Laufer, at a luxurious picnic in the courtyard of an old apartment house in the East End of Berlin, where she shares studios with two other artists... The wife of a friend of mine, Zhou Rooney, a Chinese medical practitioner, had spoken about my Wannsee lake story of my father's sailing partner Adolf Hain - turned rabid top nazi Bonze, boss of the Verein Seglerhaus am Wannsee (VSaW) sailing club, and of the entire sailing scene around Berlin, who ousted the club’s Jewish members in quick time - to a German patient of hers, Nicola Ebert. Nicola Ebert decided, out of the blue, to send me a novel, actually highly autobiographical, by Jenny Erpenbeck, about the fate of the variously changing occupants of a house on another lake near Berlin, which vividly and dramatically mirrored the nazi, communist and democratic periods. Nicola had moved to Berlin, and invited me for supper, where I met her husband and 3 children and re-met Cornelia Laufer, who knows Jenny Erpenbeck because both their small children go to the same school... Jenny is hoping to write a best-seller, so that she can buy back the house, which had belonged to her grandparents, and so to invite me there!

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Meeting Two. Christmas in Berlin I discovered, in the lovely Berlin shop on the Unter den Linden, a miniature dictionary, the size of a large postage stamp, by the famous Berlin dictionary publishers Langenscheidt - also once members of my father's sailing club! - about the Berlin Jargon. I was amazed that it should have dictionary status! I immediately went to my favourite bookshop Dussmann, Friedrichstrasse, and found a number of slim books on the lingo, and in one of them I discovered that I didnt speak proper German, Hochdeutsch, but that I spoke Berlinsch! I was delighted! I had the true imprint of the Berliner. I'd asked my best friend in Berlin, Pitt, last year why he pronounced the German for cheese, Kaese, with a deep 'a', as in 'mad', and I, on the other hand, ate cheese with the vowel like the English 'day', Kese. He didnt know. And what it is is that he speaks proper German, which always struck me as theatre language, and rather too posh! Well, I wrote to the author, Jan Eik, who was delighted at some of the examples I gave him of the expressions and pronunciations from my childhood, from my parents, and he invited me for a tour of East Berlin - he comes from the Eastern section - and then he invited me to his wooden country cottage just outside Berlin, where I met his wife Angelika and daughter Lilly, and we all went to one of the nearby lakes and swam there in the nude! Last week they happened to be coming to London, and I served tea, Mille Feuilles and Eclairs from Cafe Valerie. This time it was with their grand- daughter, another Lilly...

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Meeting Three. We scattered Berliners get a magazine from the Buergermeister of Berlin 4 times a year, and the editress, Heike Kroeger, has from time to time published things of mine, e g a shortened version of the story of my father's nazi sailing partner Adolf Hain and, recently, the tale of my discovery that I speak Berlinsch. That article led to 12 aged Berliners from all over the world and London, ringing me, writing to me, emailing me, meeting me, one in London, one from America in Berlin, thrilled at the reminder of their origins, their childhood, their Berlin, full of nostalgia... Of course I informed Heike Kroeger of these reactions which, as editress, of course thrilled her, and she invited me for lunch at one of the two swish tennis clubs in Berlin. I wondered which one it would be, the Blau-Weiss or the Rot-Weiss, because... It turned out to be the Blau-Weiss, where her young daughter plays hockey, so that she is allowed to use the restaurant! She isnt allowed to use the swimming pool, that costs extra... In the restaurant, on the terrace, I asked to see Herr Thomas Floeter, the Gastronom, and we spoke about his one-time pupil, my friend Kai Maurer in Tunbridge Wells, who pilots a gyroplane, a mini autogiro, and teaches pilots to fly them, and had come to Berlin for specialist lessons in some manoeuvring techniques not taught in the UK, and his teacher was Herr Floeter, gyroplane pilot trainer - and manager of the restaurant of the Blau-Weiss Tennis Club!

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Meeting Four. I get another magazine from Berlin, by a research institution, Aktive Museum, that delves into the nazi past, and seeks to recognise and honour its victims. There was a long article in it about an island in the Wannsee. Schwanenwerder. An island in the Wannsee? And I thought I knew the Wannsee. I'd never heard of an island. I didnt realise that that bit of coast on the right, as you leave the lake to go along the Havel river, just past the bathing beach, was an island... I learnt that it had been occupied by extremely wealthy, successful, mainly Jewish, store owners, bankers and other business families, until they were dispersed, and Goebbels and other top nazis took over the various properties, and closed the bridge to the general public. Hitler came for coffee, but never lived there, though his officials had planned his stay there. I sent the writer, Christine Fischer-Defoy, a copy of my Wannsee Nazi story, and through this dialogue she suggested that we should have a tour of the short circular road round the island, and study the various houses and their stories. This turned into what I called a school outing, and we were 12 making the tour. There were various officials from the research organisation; there was the director of the Wannsee Konferenz, the house by the Wannsee where the nazis had their conference for the final destruction of the Jews, now a research centre; there was a resident, who lived on the island; and there was me. After the tour a few of us went to one of the sailing clubs by the entrance to the island, by the bridge, and had lunch together out in the open, with a view of the sunny Wannsee and white sails passing. The intention, with the agreement of the present residents, is to erect some form of tablet in front of each house, telling the stories of its changing inhabitants.

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In Brecht's Berliner Ensemble's theatre, the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm, the canteen is used by performers and audiences alike, which is a delight. After the show there one night a year or two back two men joined my long table and we got talking. I must have somehow mentioned that I was taken to the original production of the Weisse Roessl, the White Horse Inn, in 1928, and one of the men, Hartmut Schulz, said, I think I have a spare copy of the programme of that production, I'll send it to you. And he did. And we have become friends. He books seats for us in the BE on the day booking opens, cheaper for pensioners! At Christmas I met a woman friend of Hartmut's, Gudrun Blankenburg, a guide specialising in Berlin's past. We three met in a cafe opposite the first flat that I remember living in, at Hauptstrasse 76, in Friedenau. Waiting in front of the locked street door we got talking to a resident leaving the property, and so we could go upstairs, and I looked through the letter box, and saw my parents' bedroom at the end of the corridor, with my room on the right. The flat was empty. Gudrun took some pictures of me looking up at the balcony (for the next edition of her book on Friedenau) which overlooks Stierstrasse, where our Muckepicke used to stand: My father ran this Opel 'Mini', with which we’d drive up the new Avus motorway and race track to Wannsee, where he shared this sizeable sailing yacht, the fastest of the period as I learnt, with his ‘friend’ Adolf Hain. This summer Hartmut and I again met Gudrun, who took us to the playground of the Loecknitz Primary School in the Bayerische Viertel, where she lives, and showed us a memorial wall, some 20 meters long and 1 ½ meters high. It consists of yellow bricks - 800 of them! - each brick inscribed by a pupil of the senior class of every year since 1994, who had researched a Jewish resident of the district, murdered by the Nazi regime, and recorded on it their name, dates and fate. At the end of the wall were stacked up the bricks of the present senior class, waiting to be incorporated in the wall. The school stands where previously had stood the local synagogue. Gudrun has asked me to nominate all the 800 pupils for a prize of conciliation, awarded annually by the American Obermayer German Jewish History Awards. They deserve it!

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I also conferred with the historian of the VSaW Peter Rieck, over a ‘Berliner Weisse mit, rot’ on the terrace of the sailing club, about the complex history of the club, a sanitized version of which he has written for the forthcoming ‘Festschrift’ to celebrate the 100-year anniversary of the clubhouse. I’m getting a copy. Frank Butzmann, the secretary of the club, told me that all members got a copy, automatically. I said, but I am not a member, I only act as if I were...

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Coming out of my room in the Pension Waizenegger – it is the larder of the old flat in this beautiful yellow Jugendstil house, with its ornamental courtyard and art deco detail – I found Vitali Zilbercher talking to a man, who turned out to be Ralph Stolle, who was directing a film about the Mommsenstrasse Kietz, my neighbourhood. He asked me to participate in it. I star yet again!!! To be shown on the RBB Channel on 14 August 2010 at 1900 hours.

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In my profound concern over the threat that the concert hall of Les Arts Gstaad, the proposed Arts Centre in Gstaad, Switzerland, with which I have been involved for 20 years, may be built without an orchestra pit - an idiocy, as they plan to include performances of ballet, opera and drama on the stage! - I had written to a member of the project's Committee of Patrons, Herr Prof. Dr. Joachim Sartorius, Intendant of the Berliner Festspiele. He is in charge of the dramatic, musical and arts events of the Berlin Festivals. At my suggestion he had written to my friend Markus Kappeler, boss of the Gstaad project, completely backing my recommendation for the inclusion of an orchestra pit in the scheme. He deals with many theatres and halls in Berlin, and stated that all of them have orchestra pits, and that two of them are actually enlarging their orchestra pits, the Volksbuehne and the Schiller Theater. He had received only a completely non-committal and inconclusive reply from Herr Markus J Kappeler!

I went to have a cup of coffee with him in his office before he went on his summer leave. He is hoping to arrange for a meeting in Gstaad of the Committee of Patrons, so that they can put their views forward, and get involved in the decision making, and see to it that Gstaad gets its orchestra pit.

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And I met up with nearly all my old friends; I had two lovely meals with them on the sailing club terrace; in his lovely new flat Gerhard Kastner played for me, a beautiful new work of his for harpsichord, some Bach, and some magical Mozart when he was 6; I went to art exhibition, theatre and opera - a dreadful Fidelio production at the Komische Oper, sheer magic musically; Otello at the Deutsche Oper, with the chorus all lying in 100 bunks 10 stories high round the stage; I heard the Berliner Philharmoniker in the Waldbuehne give a popular concert in this huge amphitheatre, a Volksfest with interval picnics and comedy, with the orchestra standing up before the concert, echoed by the audience standing up, then the orchestra up again... And of course I popped into the KaDeWe, and had refreshment in the rooftop glass conservatory restaurant. My satellite life...

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C Peter Zander 11 August 2010