The Boy and the Green Umbrella

A memory fragment.

1975, and I am on a train from Paris to London. Looking into the passageway from my compartment I see the most beautiful, elegant young man I have ever seen. Dark, well tailored suit, knee length jacket thrown over his shoulders and a green umbrella in his right hand. He continued to stroll past my door, or loiter in the corridor outside for the remainder of the rhythmic journey to Calais. While wandering on the Channel Ferry I continued to notice him in the distance until we met by chance on the deck of the boat, as we approached the white chalk cliff face on the way in to Dover port. As the spray washed over our faces we introduced ourselves, only to be separated a short time later at the Passport desk. I waited on the other side for him which seemed to please him. On the train to Victoria Station we spoke of Australia and sheep, Milan, where he came from and Germany which was his Fathers birthplace. This explained why the beautiful Italian boy with blond hair was named Hans. He looked like a young Helmut Berger. He spoke Italian, German, French and was to stay with family friends in England to improve his English. One week after parting at the station I jumped off the Tube and literally fell into him. For the next three days we explored London the cinema and tourist spots gently and together. I returned home with another brief, platonically romantic memory.

A 2015 Update

Carol Burns, Tom Cossettini and Dylan Evans in rehearsal
In 2014 I was thrilled to hear a line 'The boy with the green umbrella" uttered by Tom Cossettini in a new play written by Dylan Evans. They had asked for submissions of stories of love and received hundreds. I was honoured to get a mention in the play script with this story.
http://pepisymposium.blogspot.com.au/2015/09/oedipus-love-by-daniel-evans.html

Cairo and Egypt

Praise to the city, the country and the people.

Near the head of the Nile delta, Cairo was founded in 969CE by the Fatimid dynasty as capital of Egypt. In 1517 it became part of the Ottoman Empire, fell to Napoleon in 1798 and to the British in 1801. The vast city of Cairo with its minarets was revealed to me like a dream.  Covered in inches of dust swept in from the desert it thrives with life and bustling masses. The drive from the airport through excavations, past the city of the dead, inhabited by squatters and into the market streets was truly entering another world. The bustling streets overflowed with broken sewers, donkey drawn carts of vegetables, honking vehicles and strangely dressed crowds heading dangerously in every direction. Little prepared for the newness and intensity of need, I felt uncomfortable as in no other city. Almost too scared to venture out I had been ill prepared by the dangers prophesied in the travel brochures. The confidence of the people and the practiced, over-friendly forcefulness of their salesmanship took me unawares, caused a quick depletion of the contents of my wallet and instilled a protective caution that created an unnecessary barrier for the remainder of my trip. The traffic never ceased honking - a national sport? I was also amazed to see that street stop-lights were taken as a recommendation not a law. Loitering bell-boys, taxi drivers with their family, hovering waiters and a massage from the owner of a perfume shop filled my first few hours.

                                                 

Obviously the pyramids draw you immediately to the outskirts of Cairo. As I sat in the back of my vehicle, bumping along dirt strips avoiding the donkeys and children at play, the first misted dimly lit glimpse of the triangular silhouettes through the trees sent shivers across my body. They are truly awesome. I was however, surprised to see them but a few hundred metres from the suburbs. No doubt the angle of most photographs gives an impression of a desert setting but the near neighbours must listen nightly to the two booming laser shows, which must not be missed. Hear chariots rumble across the plateau, see underworld ships sail up the changing colours of the pyramids as history echoes from far flung depths. 

I returned the following day to explore the pyramids in the light of the sun. Into Khafre's tomb I struggled, bent over as I breathlessly made my way down into the centre of the pyramid. The tunnel is no more the just over waist high and I suffered for two years with a chipped spine, not navigating as easily as I should. Many were taking their turn to lie in the sarcophagus which sits dead centre in the complex, but resisting an old Egyptian's encouragement I declined. Of course he demanded a tip for his unsolicited advice.

  "Soldiers, forty centuries look down upon you."  Napoleon 
"Man fears time, but time fears the Pyramids."  Arab Proverb

As my first visit to an Islamic culture it was gracious of my guide to explain so much of what has been largely unfamiliar to me. We sat on the carpets inside the Mohammed Ali Mosque barefooted and discussed the wisdom of Mohammed and the beauty of the place. Each morning I was awoken to the call to prayer which is unavoidable and each evening I wondered if the traffic would ever stop.

        

The shopping is a trap, the museums unbelievably vast, the food unfamiliar but good, the people as varied as anywhere, but I did find it amusing how I was everyone's new friend. The constant compliments as to how nice I was, particularly from anyone with something to sell, initially flattered my ego until I realised just how much money I spent. What a sucker I am for the joy of finding just how observant people are to recognise my intelligence. It was probably worth the thousands I spent to receive so many 'sincere?' compliments. How wonderful was the experience offered me by the people of this place of wonder.

Egyptian Travel

Although earlier Greek historians had visited and written about the ancient sites of Egypt, tourism really began after Alexander the Great assumed control. For the next 500 or more years people journeyed to see the monuments and tombs of what was already an ancient civilisation, Emperor Hadrian being just one who left his name on the monuments when he recorded his visit on the Colossi of Memnon. Some 2000 pieces of graffiti inscribed on the walls of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings date from ancient Greek and Roman visitors and later Coptic inhabitants who lived in the tombs already opened. After a respite of a thousand years or so interest was reignited in searching for Egyptian artefacts. Napoleon brought experts to record and plunder the riches of the Nile. Among his followers was Vivant Denon who wrote what can be agreed to by any tourist, especially myself.

"I found on this occasion, as on all others, that a visit to Thebes was like the attack of a fever, it was a kind of crisis which left behind an impression of indescribable impatience, enthusiasm, irritation and fatigue."

In the early days of exploration the adventurers, artists and amateur historians even set up camp, lived and partied inside the tombs, destroying much of what had survived for 3000 years in their attempt to record or remove. It was not until the days of Lord Carnarvon that the artefacts began to remain the sole property of the Egyptians. Tourists still flock to the monuments and still their presence is destroying what has yet to be discovered. I have been a tourist, but on a couple of occasions I did refrain from entering fragile sights.

The Step Pyramid is the first and the least crowded and beneath it stretches a maze of 3 miles of corridors and 400 chambers.

The Philae temple built by the Ptolomies was taken apart and moved to avoid the rising waters created by the Aswan Dam.

Colossi of Memnon stand at the entrance of what was a great temple for Amenophis III. Emperor Hadrian left graffiti here. The Colossi of Memnon at Thebes was mistakenly identified as such by the Greeks. They were the giant statues of Amenhotep III at the entrance of his now destroyed Temple. Memnon (left above)was actually the 'brazen-crested Memnon, a comely man' according to Odysseus, King of the Ethiopians (Susa in the East not Africa) who came with a great force to help Troy against the Achaean invaders, and was killed by Achilles. At his death his soldiers turned into birds.

As Egypt crowds itself along the Nile it is easy to say one has done this country from one end to the other. It is the only choice one has except for a possible short foray into the desert. There is a certain incongruity in sitting atop a cruise boat on water sipping a beer, while looking at the desert or an ancient grand temple while the people who yell at you from the shore appear to be in poverty, but tout their wares from an expensive overstocked market. I wanted to relax and enjoy the country, but I could not understand it. However as time creates distance between myself and the actuality of my visit, I find that memories become sweeter and the gratitude for being able to do it is increasing. The nature of their existence was different from my own, but my stay was too short.

During my visit, apart from the temples and monuments at Luxor/Karnak, Edfu, Com Ombo, Esna, Philae, Aswan, Giza, Memphis and Saquarra I managed to explore the tombs of Ramses 1, VI & IX,  Prince Amonher Kopechef (son of Ramses III), Queen Tyti and Hatshepsut's Memorial Temple

Around 6 million years BCE the earliest river through Egypt is known as the Eonile. It flowed through a canyon whose walls were up to 3,000 metres high. Possibly the Mediterranean Sea did not exist then and the source is unknown. At 5 million years the waters of the Mediterranean Sea rose, filling up a basin reaching as far as modern Aswan and brought an end to the Eonile. At 3 million years a second river, the Paleonile began to flow through Egypt, and is thought to have started in  equatorial Africa. It eventually dried up. Around 600,000 years ago the Protonile started and created interwoven channels. It ran to the west of the modern Nile. In 500,000 the Prenile replaced the Protonile further to the east, and began carving out the river valley existing today. Its water discharge was the largest of any of the Niles, before and since.

My interest in Egypt has always existed and now it has intensified since walking amongst the sacred temples of one of the earliest civilisations on earth.

                                                       

Looking back on my visit I now crave to return. This time with more confidence, more financial backing and with more time to understand.


I have 17 other posts that relate to my love of Egypt. Check under Topics on the right here.

Donald Friend

Young and Old

Click all to enlarge

Donald Friend was born in Sydney on 6 February 1915. He lived and worked in many different parts of the world during his career. He studied with at the Royal Art Society of New South Wales in 1934 and at the Westminster School of Art, London. From the time that he left school in 1931, jumping ‘rattler trains’ to Queensland where he lived with the islanders of Torres Strait.

 Sailors and river in Brisbane where I live

 Donald Friend sought an exotic life style outside his Australian background. After studying in London he went to Nigeria in 1938. When the WWII was declared he returned to Australia and joined the AIF, as an artillery gunner 1942-5 and as an official war artist in 1945. He served in Labuan, Borneo and Morotai and wrote and illustrated two books based on his wartime experiences, Gunner’s Diary (1943) and Painter’s Journal (1946),  

WWII drawings and paintings

He lived in Italy, Sri Lanka 1957-61 and Bali between 1966 and 1980, where his fame as an expatriate was at its height. While capturing the beauty of his private Bali he lived an increasingly eccentric gay life and alienated several friends. 

 Bali

Continuing difficulties with visa extensions, and ailing health which necessitated more frequent medical treatment, brought about his permanent return to Australia in 1980. His final period was a testament to the artist’s great tenacity. Not even a series of strokes which debilitated his drawing and writing hand - his left hand - seemed to impede his creative drive.

When Donald Friend died in a squalid apartment in Bondai Junction in Sydneyon 16 August 1989, aged 74, he left behind over 40 volumes of his diary. The National Library has embarked on a major project to edit and publish the diaries. It reveals one of Australia’s most interesting artistic friendships between Friend and fellow artist Russell Drysdale.

Donald Friend established a firm place in Australian art, particularly through his work during the Second World War, his association with the Merioola group in Sydney, his attachment to Hill End in Western New South Wales where he lived and painted for extended periods, and his long and close friendship with Russell Drysdale. Openly homosexual he, Justin O’Brien and others were called the “Charm School”.

A controversial, passionate man, Friend created a universe within a universe in Bali. He amassed prodigious amounts of art, and almost single-handedly, he created and supported a village of antique dealers who began manufacturing for him and his circle. Numerous young creative Australians owe a great debt to Friend whose antics and style liberated them from the constraints of Australia during that time. His house was a hive of activity and the place to be. His 'court' can be considered the last held in the grand tradition.

I have several books of his works and attending a retrospective of his works, in Melbourne a few years ago, was an extraordinary experience. Such a diverse collection from various periods in his life from early Australian works, to his life as a war artist and his later years in Asia.

 The above are some relatively unknown drawings from one of his illustrated manuscripts 'The Farce of Sodom'. I own a signed copy but without colour plate inserts. A sketch of himself is on the left. Friends who had travelled to Bali mentioned that he is still remembered and admired by many locals. He does seem to have been very lax guarding his work. I have come across a few people over the years who seem to be in possession of discarded treasures left abandoned in a variety of places.

Colin

"You see, in a sense, my whole life is Colin. Not particularly Colin himself, but my love and appreciation and desire for the Colins of this world and my life."  D. Friend

A lasting regret I have is that I was once offered, by an acquaintance, a Donald Friend sketch similar to the above nude of Colin, but I was too poor to buy it, even at the relatively inexpensive price offered to me.