There it was, gone...

...or lessons from a beach walk. The traces of possibly the last house on Copacabana beach brought back another memory from the 50s or 60s - Flanders and Swann and the story of a missing French Horn. In turn, this reminded me that when not accompanying Michael Flanders, Donald Swann occasionally accompanied my aunt, Nina Milkina, a wonderful exponent of Mozart and Chopin and, I believe, one of the founder members of the London Mozart Players. I wasn't sure about the 'founder member' bit, so I Googled it and was thrilled to find a fabulous article about her (fabulous to me, at least), here.

My aunt and uncle were excellent company and I visited them whenever I had a chance, even so, the article tells me far more than I ever knew. Previously, I had only learned from her obituaries that she was Jewish and her parents  had died in the gas chambers. A tragedy that such a talented couple - that anyone - should have perished in such an insane way. Her father was a painter and I always loved his portrait of her as a child, and according to my uncle, her mother, a harpist, was even more gifted. They certainly passed on a bundle of talent to their daughter. She had a lovely, bumbly old aunt and I lodged with her for a few happy months in the flat that was Nina's first home after marriage - in fact, that's where HH and I got engaged. Sweet memories.

The other lessons from the beach: concentration, from the boy setting out baubles; hang in (on) there, from the Jack Russell who wouldn't let go of his ball; and meditation helps, from the motionless man in white, who inspired me to pause and let the sun, sea and sky work their magic.