The Grieg Society of Scotland played notable part in this year’s ‘Ninadag’ – Bergen’s traditional celebration of the birthday of Nina Grieg on 24 November – with a special Norwegian-Scottish concert collaboration at Troldhaugen. Hosted by Troldhaugens Venner (Friends of Troldhaugen) it brought together esteemed Norwegian pianist Audun Kayser and our Honorary Director, Dr Sally Garden, in their first performance together. We quote from an article written in advance of the concert by our Honorary President Johanne Grieg Kippenbroeck. Originally published in Troldposten (n2 2019 Bergen), you can read the full article (på norsk) here.
“ A couple of songs from Haugtussa, sung in the characteristic dialect spoken by Edvard Grieg’s ancestors from North-East Scotland, will be one of the high points of this year’s ‘Nina Day’, when together with pianist Audun Kayser, the Scottish mezzo-soprano Sally Garden gives a concert in the Villa at Troldhaugen. “
Collaboration over the North Sea
“ Pianist and singer have talked together, from each their side of the North Sea, and put together a warm and interesting programme which in text and music will give us a deeper insight into Nina Grieg and her musical world. The programme will also include excerpts of letters from Nina to her close friend Hanchen Alme, with whom she kept contact throughout her life, following their days as young singers studying together in Copenhagen. “
“… there will also be played and sung a little Scots music on this evening in Nina’s own drawing-room, something which is relevant in all ways. For, not just Edvard, but Nina, too, has kinfolk who came here from Scotland. She is, from far back in history, a Christie. “
“ ‘The programme for the ‘Nina Day’ concert – not least through excerpts from letters not perhaps generally known – should give a more subtle picture of Nina than the most of us have. And we’ll also be reminded a little about her own, and also Edvard’s roots in Scotland’, says Audun Kayser. “
Author: Translated excerpts from an article by Johanne Grieg Kippenbroeck first published in Troldposten (n2 2019 Bergen). With thanks also to Troldhaugens Venner.
Out and about in ‘Grieg country’, on a visit to the Parish of Pitsligo, Aberdeenshire, our Honorary Director made an exciting musical discovery – the existence of a musical instrument which may well have been heard by the composer Edvard Grieg’s ancestors, but whose function and manner of performance present us, today, with an intriguing mystery.
On a clear day, in the bright sea-lit air of Buchan in Aberdeenshire, you can just make out the first words of the Edvard Grieg ancestral gravestone at Rathen Old Kirkyard: ‘Here lyes the remains…’ it reads, announcing, in beautifully carved letters, the identity of the occupants of the burial beneath. What you can’t see, is that the gravestone resting on the ground was once a ‘table monument’ raised on stone legs, now sadly, lost.
Travel a puckle miles to the north west of Rathen, to the parish of Pitsligo with its two kirks, old and ‘new’ at Peathill, its ruined castle and once fine Renaissance gardens by the sea, and you’ll see plenty table monuments standing, today, just as they stood when erected in the eighteenth century. And what a remarkable story they tell, not just of the folks they commemorate, but of the forms and rituals and even the music of their lives. For in amongst the vividly carved ‘memento mori’ mottos that cover these Pitsligo stones – how can you not ‘remember death’ amidst such a tumble of monuments! – the unmistakable contours of a musical instrument begin to intrigue the eye.
Over and over it appears, the familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar shape of a bell. For it is no grand kirk-spire instrument you see depicted in these stones, but a small portable bell of ‘announcement’, a ‘mort bell’ with distinctive handle and visible clapper. A survivor from pre-Reformation times, the ‘mort bell’ or ‘deid bell’ was designed to be carried and to sound out its sweet but solemn tone whenever there was a death in the community. The property of the ‘kirk session’, out it would go through the tracks between croft, cott and castle, and onwards to the kirk and kirkyard where the beadle – the minister’s man – ‘jowing’ or ringing it ‘for and before’ the dead, would draw the community together, first by announcing the death, and then by leading the unfortunate’s funeral procession.
Stones may be silent, yet here, huddled between the two kirks, on this ‘peat hill’ once surrounded by its huddle of crofts sloping to the sea, they seem to resound with music!
Another bell, or rather, not the bell itself, which was ‘rent’ in 1797, but the intricately carved belfry which once housed it, strikes the musical imagination at Pitsligo. Erected in 1635 by Alexander Forbes, 1st Lord Forbes of Pitsligo, ostensibly to Dutch design, and with a delicate Italianate touch, it makes an elegant statement on the gable of the old kirk, which Forbes himself, as ‘laird’ or landowner, caused be built. Alexander, like many Scots noblemen of his time, was a man of learning, with merchanting and military links to continental Europe and Scandinavia. If he survived to hear the tolling of the bell in the splendidly cosmopolitan bellcot of his commissioning, then it was not by long, for he died but a year after its construction. His funeral was a musical affair too, marked, we learn from family papers, by pageantry and the calling of trumpets.
But if Pitsligo kirkyard and its old roofless kirk seem to echo with the music of the past, so too does the interior of the ‘new’, but now disused nineteenth century parish kirk which replaced it – as I was soon to see.
Guided by Douglas Tait of Friends of Pitsligo Castle, I was lucky enough to follow my little musical trail within. Through the door and into the gloom we went, past the fine nineteenth century organ with its silvery array of pipes, past the pulpit with its carved panels brought from the old kirk, until before us, and above us, set with unashamed magnificence into the wall of the kirk, loomed the wooden ‘laird’s loft’ – a deep upper gallery once the private pew area of the Forbes family during worship. Dating from the 1630s, and like the gravestones and old belfry out in the kirkyard, it too is carved, richly carved, and a source of music to the mind. For it was here, four generations of Forbes lairds and their household sat each Sabbath, joining the congregation in the singing of a psalm – a psalm almost certainly from one of the Aberdeen-published psalters of the seventeenth century, psalters with notation, which gave Scotland sacred tunes such as ‘Bon Accord’, still sung today.
In turn, on more secular note, perhaps we should be singing the praises of Pitsligo, for, as Douglas explained, the parish is not just famed for the physical heritage left us by the 1st Lord Forbes of Pitsligo, Alexander, but by the life and character of his great-grandson, the last and 4th Lord, also called Alexander. This Alexander Forbes was a Jacobite – a supporter of the Stuart dynasty – and a philosopher. He was active in both the 1715 and 1745 uprisings and fought at Culloden, after which he was attainted and his estate plundered and sold. His fate was the beginning of the end for Pitsligo Castle, as a residence, but as a place of reflection, perhaps only the opening of a new chapter?
Douglas has worked tirelessly, not just to try to keep grounds and buildings from further decay, but, with others, to re-envisage the site, centring on the ‘new’ kirk, as a place of education and enlightenment, a working museum of heraldry. Just looking round the castle and the two kirks, you can see why. There are some fine coats of arms to be seen, and passing glance at their armorial detail seems to make fitting conclusion to my musical trail, for it occurs to me: is it any wonder Edvard Grieg, whose ancestors toiled just 5 miles inland as the crow flies, was proud of his Scottish ‘family crest’, carrying it everywhere on his watch chain? But that’s a story for another day! And talking of stories, Douglas is reminded of an amusing anecdote attached to the parish placename.
Back in the seventeenth century, a local minister, frustrated at the frugality of the lairds of Pitsligo, Pitullie and Pittendrum – when it came to kirk repairs – is said to have dubbed their lands the three ‘pits of hell’! A biblical reference, and pun on the ancient placename ‘pit’, meaning a place of abode of the Picts who peopled the area a millennium and more ago, it is perhaps a ‘lang tale’, owing more to local humour than reality. But it’s a grand tale, and a grand measure of just how much tradition and heritage bring personality to a place.
I take one last look from the castle gate and its lost, grassed-over garden, back up the hill to the two kirks. If the ‘mort bell’ sounded for the castle after Culloden, and the old kirk after it was unroofed in the twentieth century, surely it mustn’t be allowed to sound for the ‘new’ dressed-granite kirk built only 1890 and kept in continual use for a century? But, as Douglas reflects, that’s perhaps a task ‘for another generation’. It’s certainly a major undertaking, but imagine if the bell now hanging in the ‘new’ kirk could ring out a note of celebration, announcing a new future for the building and the community around it. That would be something! Admittedly, the auld abandoned craws’ nest now damping its ‘ring’ would first need ‘dingin doon’ – not down to the ‘pits of hell’, but down to the ground amongst the ‘musical’ gravestones of Pitsligo!
Author: Dr Sally LK Garden (Sep 2019) With thanks to Douglas Tait, Friends of Pitsligo Castle, for recording in sound and image, the Pitsligo mort bell of 1742.
Celebrating the release of her Sutherland Duo recording of Grieg’s third Violin Sonata, Scottish pianist Christina Lawrie met with our Honorary Director to chat about her musical inspirations. Conversation turned to ‘the North’, its light, and the importance of another northern ‘light’ the two share, as ‘Red Lichties’ educated in the music-festival town of Arbroath.
Meeting by the ‘silvery Tay’, it seemed like a meeting of minds when I caught up with pianist Christina Lawrie in Dundee to chat about her new Grieg release. The city, once a port of thriving Scandinavian trade, was enjoying a day of sun – the sea air was clear and the shadows crisp. It seemed natural, in this northern light, to be discussing the great Norwegian composer whose music had brought us together.
The decision to record Grieg’s third Violin Sonata Op45, together with her Sutherland Duo partner, violinist Harriet Mackenzie – the two have roots in Sutherland, or Suðrland to give it its Old Norse name – came easily, Christina explained. The duo wanted to explore the idea of ‘the North’ and its light, and having enjoyed performing the sonata in concert, and Grieg seeming to them, as Christina put it, the very ‘embodiment’ of the North, it felt an obvious repertoire choice. Like most Scots, Christina has a love of her native traditional music, a feeling for its sounds and languages, and so was attracted not just to the luminosity and clarity of the sonata, but to its Norwegian folkmusic touches too. Touches Grieg employed over what he called ‘broader horizons’ than those of his previous violin sonata, but which still shine out, and still ring strong to the Scots fiddle-fond ear.
Talking of roots and tradition, the story of how Christina first encountered the music of Grieg, brought to mind another ‘northern light’ we had in common – a ‘Red Lichtie’ musical upbringing in the remarkable music-festival town of Arbroath (folk of the Angus town are affectionately known as ‘Red Lichties’ after its red harbour light of olden times). It was there, in her schooldays, Christina began piano lessons, and it was then her mum had decided to take lessons again too. For family fun, mother and daughter had often played together the first of Grieg’s four Norwegian Dances for piano duet Op35. Grieg, evidently, had been a guiding light from early on!
This led us to reminisce about the incredible range of musical activity the tight-knit community of Arbroath had sustained through our respective youthful years (mine a little more distant than Christina’s!). It occurred to me that the small, historic harbour town, with its choirs and bands, its abundance of music-making both folk and classical, its theatre, and its now 92-year old competitive music festival, had perhaps made musicians of us both? In a flash, Christina, who made her solo debut playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto with the Royal Scottish National Orchestra almost a decade ago, replied with a smile: ‘absolutely, it was the ‘Arbroath Festival’ that gave me my first experience of performing!’
With that lovely burst of sun, and a reel of seagulls wheeling freely above us in the sky, we went our separate ways. It was clear, as musicians, we felt an affinity with the music of Grieg which had much to do with our own rootedness in Scotland. But was it the keenness of our light? The place of music in our landscape? The seeming nearness of our neighbour Norway? Whatever it was, whichever way you looked at it, glimpsing the sun’s reflections on the glistening Tay, was to fancy you could almost reach out and touch that most indefinable and musically inspirational of ideas – ‘the North’!