Reliving Teenage Memories in a Beautiful Other World

By Deryn

Apr 25, 2020

Sibelius monumnet Helsinki showing organ pipes that are tree trunks of the forest

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument,

Music becomes a voice for change

I have long believed that the arts serve purposes far beyond decoration. A painting can tell a story. A poem can preserve a memory. A novel can give a forgotten person a voice. Drama and dance are transient vehicles for storytelling. And music? Music can bring people together.  have seen something of this for myself in my travels. I have stood before the monument to Jean Sibelius in Helsinki, Finland, and I have visited Estonia. Standing in those places, knowing something of their history, gives a different meaning to the music. You begin to understand that these were not simply composers writing beautiful melodies. In times of oppression and uncertainty, music can become a vessel carrying the identity of an entire people.

Music when a nation finds its voice

Consider Finland. For more than six hundred years, Finland was part of the Swedish realm. In 1809, it passed from Sweden to the Russian Empire and became an autonomous Grand Duchy. During the nineteenth century, a growing Finnish cultural movement sought to strengthen a distinct national identity. The Kalevala compiled from Finnish oral poetry, became an important expression of that identity. Artists, writers, and musicians began to give Finland a language of its own, not necessarily a political language, but a cultural one.

Sculpture of Sibelious Head, Helsinki

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument

Then came Sibelius. In 1899, during a period of increasing Russian pressure and attempts at Russification, Sibelius composed the music that would become Finlandia It was originally part of a series of historical tableaux presented at the Press Celebrations in Helsinki. The final section, known as “Finland Awakes,” stirred something deep in the Finnish people. Finlandia became a symbol of Finnish nationalism. When I stood before the Sibelius monument, I wasn’t just viewing a memorial to a famous composer. It reminded me of what happens when art helps people remember their identity. Sibelius helped give Finland a sound, and sometimes people need a sound before finding a voice. Organ pipes represented the trees of the forest; forests go deep into the psyche of the Finnish people, a voice that resonated with them.Estonian Music Festival Stand

Estonia sang its way toward freedom

I experienced a similar feeling when I visited Estonia. Domination by powerful neighbors has marked Estonia’s history, and during the Soviet period, language and national identity were under pressure. Yet Estonia had an extraordinary cultural treasure: its singing tradition.

The Singing Revolution of the late 1980s demonstrated just how powerful that treasure could become. Hundreds of thousands of Estonians gathered at the Tallinn Song Festival Grounds and sang traditional and patriotic songs together. They sang Mu isamaa on minu arm, “Land of My Fathers, Land that I Love,” a song that had become deeply associated with Estonian identity. They also sang the patriotic songs of composer Alo Mattiisen.Music of Estonian Dancers

Estonian Folk Dancers, Video - Deryn van der Tang

This was nonviolence; they were not taking up arms, they were raising their voices. By 1989, the movement had grown into the remarkable Baltic Way, when people in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania joined hands in a human chain stretching across the three Baltic countries. Music had helped people remember they belonged to something larger than the political system that governed them.

The music that defied ruins

Then there is Sarajevo. During the terrible siege of Sarajevo in the 1990s, cellist Vedran Smailović became known as the “Cellist of Sarajevo.” After twenty-two people were killed while waiting for bread, Smailović returned to the devastated area and played Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor in their memory. Picture a city under attack. Amidst the broken buildings and people living in fear, a man sits with his cello and plays. The music could not stop the bombs, nor could it bring the dead back. But it declared something profound:

Beauty had not been destroyed. Human dignity had not been destroyed, and the human spirit had not been destroyed. That is the power of the arts.

Why do the arts matter?

When we talk about social change, we often think about politicians, protesters, legislation, and movements. And, of course, these matter. But underneath every movement is something deeper: a story about who we are and what we believe is worth preserving. Artists help us tell that story. A composer can give a nation a melody. Poets can preserve a language. Painters can capture a landscape that becomes part of a people’s memory. A storyteller can take the ordinary life of one family and reveal something universal about courage, suffering, and hope.

Perhaps that is why oppressive regimes have so often tried to control language, literature, music, and art. They understand something we sometimes forget: culture holds memory. And memory gives people identity.

The Bible tells us, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).

Sometimes someone speaks, paints, sings, or writes that word.

The arts may not change the world overnight. Yet, they have the power to shift how people view the world. And once people see differently, they may begin to think differently, hope differently, and eventually act differently.

As I think about Finland, Estonia, and many other places I have traveled, I remember that the arts form a vital part of human society. They are part of our inheritance; they carry the stories of those who came before us. They inspire courage in those struggling today and plant seeds of hope for future generations. Perhaps that is why music has such extraordinary power.

A single voice may be silenced, a single instrument broken, yet a song alive in people’s hearts proves much harder to destroy.

And sometimes, when a people begin to sing together, the world begins to listen.

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This was what we had worked for all our lives – to enjoy old friends reminiscing about our youth. When you meet up with a friend you grew up with and shared common history with on the other side of the world to where you lived is pretty special. This time spent in Sydney will be added to our archives of beautiful memories!

I was met at Sydney Airport by my childhood friend, Pam.  We had done so much of life together in Rhodesia and it was only when the Diaspora happened in the 1980’s that we lost touch, our lives took us on very different paths, yet at the same time very similar. It was only on social media that we found each other again. This was my second visit and we had much catching up to do. We chatted the whole way back on the train to her home in Woy Woy, a small town about an hour from Sydney in the Central Coast region of New South Wales 

Our first trip was to the Gosforth Art Gallery and Japanese Gardens.  We spent a very happy day there being inspired by a local artist, Helen Geier’s, work with her multilayered colors and geometric shapes. This was my second visit here and I enjoyed it as much as the first. We also saw an old VW Camper van, a symbol of the Hippie era when we were both teenagers. A trip to Umina Beach was next where we walked along the beach enjoying the ocean and the sea breezes, wiggling our toes in the sand and feeling the waves lapping around our feet, hoping the big one wouldn’t wet our trousers! Fortunately, there were handsome young lifesavers there to rescue us should we have got into trouble! We saw a massive jellyfish on the beach and finished the day out at the Beach Café for a milkshake, gazing out at the ocean with its rolling waves and reliving our teenage years! This was what we had worked for all our lives – to enjoy old friends reminiscing about our youth, drinking milkshake as we would have done at the old Emperor Café, and eating our 6d packet of chips from the Sunflower Chip shop on the corner of Moffat Street and Jameson Avenue near to our high schools! 

Milkshake and Carrot Cake

We spent some time viewing the most amazing stained-glass windows in St Luke’s Church near her home. The artist was the vicar's wife who had skillfully told Bible stories in each of the thirty-seven windows. We travelled to Hornsby to visit Pan’s daughter who joined us at the Empire Marina Bobbin Head at the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, a few miles from Hornsby. We ate a delicious lunch with crispy, curly sweet potato chips on the salad, something I had not tried before. We walked around the marina enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the Cowan Creek River with boats gently bobbing away at their moorings at the quay. We returned home after a lovely day catching up with Pam’s family news in this magnificent environment. 

Empire Marina Bobbin Head

We took a drive out to a specialized fabric shop to find matching fabric for a bedspread Pam was making. The owner of this interesting shop travels to teach fabric craft in USA, Pittsburgh and other places, she had also written a book on her fabric craft and quilting. The final trip in Sydney was to the Penang Botanical Gardens, with its large waterlily gardens and Sculptures Park. We had lunch in the café there over-looking the water gardens.  Walking around we saw a number of different birds and parrots in the gardens, bright red flowers that looked very similar to a passion fruit flower, as well as pink gums hosting a rainbow lorikeet nibbled away at the flowers.  

Water Lily Garden

There was an interesting variety of trees, including bottle trees and of course the bark of different trees that totally fascinated me especially the one that looked like it has been scribbled on! The lotus and waterlily flowers were amazing with their delicate flowers and leathery leaves. The lively tropical plants caught my attention with their large banana like leaves and giant ferns. There was a golden shower of grevilia with spiky flowers, hanging over the wall. We also came across a Christ Thorn plant reminding us of our childhood days in Rhodesia. Christ thorn bushes were grown at the base of hawthorn hedges to keep out wild life and intruders.  And so, ended a wonderful time of renewed friendship, and memories relived as I came to the end of my stay in Sydney. 


Golden Grevilia

1 Comment

  1. Betsy McPeak

    What joy-filled, beauty-full, relational experiences!!! So grateful for them for you!
    ~Betsy

    Reply

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