Out of the Wilderness

I hadn’t meant to send more music your way quite so soon; but I’ve been trying to find a way to sum up my experience of 2009, and nothing seems to say it quite so well as this piece. Despite having composed it back in early March, it still epitomises the year for me.

Again, it’s an old recording. At least, it was recorded when I first composed it. And I think if you heard me play it now, you’d get something quite different. But it is as it is. And for me, this piece and its title say it all.

Click to listen to Out of the Wilderness. And I wish you the happiest of New Years.

P.S.  New year, new look!  The blog will be getting a makeover in the next couple of days.  And changing its name!  Dixon Hill Doings will become Dixon Hill Diary.  I'd be grateful if those of you who link to this site from whatever source could make the alteration.  Thank you!

The Shepherds' Journey

So they came, dressed as shepherds. The children, held back by the weather last week, finally made it to the farm with their parents for The Shepherds’ Journey.

We began in the barn. One group of children made cranberry hearts; the other studded oranges with cloves. Then, gifts in hand, we stood in the softly lit space, surrounded by sheep and goats and rabbits and ferrets and guinea pigs, and heard welly-clad angels tell the beginning of the Christmas story.

Then it was out into the bitterly cold, clear, still night. Lanterns in hand, we crunched down the hillside in the snow, the path ahead marked out by a chain of glowing tea lights nestled in the ever-useful jam jars. Every so often we paused to hear poems about the Biblical shepherds or the next instalment of the story itself.

After trekking past a couple of fields and through a small copse, we finally came upon the stable, lit by a shining star. And there inside, very nearly frozen to death, Mary and Joseph and, in the manger, the baby.

The angel who writes this blog had planned on playing the harp in true angelic fashion, but that plan hadn’t worked out. So it was to the mellow strains of a flute that we all sang Away in a Manger; then hung our hearts and oranges on the tree outside the stable for the baby to see.

A quick peep through the window or, for the braver, a visit inside; then we were scrambling back up the snowy slope, through the sheep field and towards the barn, where hot soup and mince pies, hot chocolate and jam tarts awaited. Then presents, of course, for this was Christmas - hung on the tree in hessian bags adorned with hearts for the girls or stars for the boys.

Finally we tumbled back out into the wintry night, the lure of hot baths and warm fires calling us home. The Shepherds’ Journey complete.

Flickr Update

I've spent today uploading dozens of new images to the Flickr site (and I apologise to those of you who have me as a Flickr contact for the bombardment of pictures!).

When you have a few spare minutes, click here or on the link at the top left of this page.  Then spend a little time pottering around Dixon Hill.  There's lots to see.

P.S.  If you're unfamiliar with Flickr, one of the nicest ways to view the pictures is this:

1. Click on the link above to be taken to the Flickr page.


2. Click on one of the sets of photos listed down the right hand side of that page (Snowy Dixon Hill, Dixon Hill Girl etc.).


3. Once on the page that shows that set of images, look for Slideshow towards the top right of the page.  Click that, then sit back and let the world of Dixon Hill unfold before you.  :)

Happy Christmas!

Blogs are great. Not only do I have a platform here from which to say a big thank you to everyone who has sent me cards or e-mails or gifts (they add immensely to the joy of Christmas and I‘m very grateful). But I also have an opportunity to offer a little something in return.

I love carols. Always have. So I thought I’d play one for you. Snag is, I haven’t yet sorted out recording at Dixon Hill. So I’m offering you an old and rather rusty recording from the days when I was first learning to play piano by ear. It's my simple arrangement of Infant Holy, Infant Lowly (click to play).

It's unsophisticated.  In fact, if you listen carefully towards the end, you'll hear Joss padding through the room!  But it comes with sincere thanks for your support of Dixon Hill, and with wishes for a happy, holy and peaceful Christmastide - whether you celebrate the season or not.

Christmas Stories

Over the years I’ve collected many Christmas books. Anthologies of festive tales and poetry. I pile the books somewhere obvious at the beginning of each December - as a reminder to myself to steal an hour or two at some point during the seasonal mayhem, and snuggle down and disappear into the worlds the words conjure up.

This year I decided to share the pleasure. So I sent out invitations and planned to fill my sitting-room with friends of all ages, from small children to ladies in their 80s. And I planned that, by the light of many candles and to the soft background of tranquil carols, we would weave Christmas spells and scatter Christmas stardust. Everyone would bring an offering to read. We would hear festive stories, funny stories, fairy stories. We would read poems. We would tell Christmas jokes. And finally, we would retell the Christmas story itself.

I imagined a gentle evening, not a raucous one. An evening to settle deep into the magic of Christmas. An evening to be present. An evening to wonder. An evening, finally, to tumble out into the frosty night, full of mince pies and laughter and good cheer. To go home and dream Christmas dreams, while the stories still danced in our heads.

But then the snow came.

Our cottage became inaccessible, except to hardy souls prepared to trudge down a steep, snowy field in the dark. And to even reach the snowy field, they would have to negotiate the icy roads into the village.

And so the storytelling gathering was postponed till another year. Which means I’ll be curling up alone, as usual, to dip into the tomes full of memories and riches and quiet contemplation. But that’s no bad thing.

Then again, you could join me. Just take a book, a spare hour and pour yourself a glass of something seasonal. What’s your favourite Christmas story?