Today was the day of Martin Warner’s official retirement. At Euston I met Sophie with a case containing enough clothes and belongings for two weeks. Off to Coventry – and loads of news to catch up on; it was extremely nice to see her again.
At Coventry we visited the Cathedral which was far more beautiful than either of us remembered. We sat for some time looking out at the remains of the old fourteenth century cathedral, destroyed in November 1940, through the beautiful window full of etched angels, loving how the light collects in them. (Below only a small section as the angels go up to the roof. )
Regeneration is a big theme for Coventry which was bombed to destruction in the war. The new cathedral was consecrated in 1962. I also enjoyed seeing Graham Sutherland tapestry of Christ in Glory which is also wonderful.
Thence off to eat and wander about town dragging Sophie’s case with us as she did some shopping. I also made Sophie and MJ talk to each other on the phone for a bit.
Then by taxi to the university, where we were staying in the Scarman building, which didn’t exist when I was a student. Which was conference facilities and a hotel. Pleasant rooms.
Sophie and I then off to Martin’s do. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Martin, looking almost unchanged from when I’d last seen him, delivered a bravura lecture full of many of his trademark mannerisms. My favourite was a little hunch-shouldered crouch gripping the lectern with his legs at 45 degrees behind him, his spectacles glinting enthusiastically at the audience. Alas he didn’t wrap himself up in the curtain that was draped invitingly behind him as he has done in the past.
The title of the lecture was, rather unpromisingly, was something like 35 years of philosophy and literature. What we were treated to was a breathtakingly erudite discussion of the tension between the two disciplines from Presocratic period to the 20th century. This took some 40 minutes through a hundred references and what Rick later called “a rage for connection”. Then, pausing for effect, he said, “This roughly speaking is the context I found myself in 35 years ago.” To which there was much applause and laughter.
Then we shuffled off to a sit down dinner where many handsome tributes were paid to Martin, who was compared to an angel and to Aristotle amongst other things. Realised that I belonged to a strange tribe of Phil Lit alumni and, even more shockingly, that I was proud of this.
Was happy to have a brief chat to Martin and told him that although I was an unremarkable student he had actually set the agenda for the things I have thought about for the rest of my life. He seemed to like this. And for me thanking Martin felt like a strange sort of closure.
Sophie and I mingled a bit – although we were the only people there from our year. It was amusing to see Sophie gladdening the hearts of the more grizzled lecturers. We had an interesting conversation with Rick Gekoski who was, with Martin, one of the founding fathers of the Phil Lit course, and was a judge on the 2005 Booker prize panel. I asked him if there were any patterns in the glut of books he read. He said there were more set in Africa than in England, lots about terror and catastrophe, and a dearth of the Hampstead novel on the neuroses of middle class folk.
A really good evening and I was so glad that me and Sophie were part of it.
Tired and happy we returned to Scarman and, after calling my beloved MJ, I addressed myself to the pillow.
At Coventry we visited the Cathedral which was far more beautiful than either of us remembered. We sat for some time looking out at the remains of the old fourteenth century cathedral, destroyed in November 1940, through the beautiful window full of etched angels, loving how the light collects in them. (Below only a small section as the angels go up to the roof. )
Regeneration is a big theme for Coventry which was bombed to destruction in the war. The new cathedral was consecrated in 1962. I also enjoyed seeing Graham Sutherland tapestry of Christ in Glory which is also wonderful.
Thence off to eat and wander about town dragging Sophie’s case with us as she did some shopping. I also made Sophie and MJ talk to each other on the phone for a bit.
Then by taxi to the university, where we were staying in the Scarman building, which didn’t exist when I was a student. Which was conference facilities and a hotel. Pleasant rooms.
Sophie and I then off to Martin’s do. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Martin, looking almost unchanged from when I’d last seen him, delivered a bravura lecture full of many of his trademark mannerisms. My favourite was a little hunch-shouldered crouch gripping the lectern with his legs at 45 degrees behind him, his spectacles glinting enthusiastically at the audience. Alas he didn’t wrap himself up in the curtain that was draped invitingly behind him as he has done in the past.
The title of the lecture was, rather unpromisingly, was something like 35 years of philosophy and literature. What we were treated to was a breathtakingly erudite discussion of the tension between the two disciplines from Presocratic period to the 20th century. This took some 40 minutes through a hundred references and what Rick later called “a rage for connection”. Then, pausing for effect, he said, “This roughly speaking is the context I found myself in 35 years ago.” To which there was much applause and laughter.
Then we shuffled off to a sit down dinner where many handsome tributes were paid to Martin, who was compared to an angel and to Aristotle amongst other things. Realised that I belonged to a strange tribe of Phil Lit alumni and, even more shockingly, that I was proud of this.
Was happy to have a brief chat to Martin and told him that although I was an unremarkable student he had actually set the agenda for the things I have thought about for the rest of my life. He seemed to like this. And for me thanking Martin felt like a strange sort of closure.
Sophie and I mingled a bit – although we were the only people there from our year. It was amusing to see Sophie gladdening the hearts of the more grizzled lecturers. We had an interesting conversation with Rick Gekoski who was, with Martin, one of the founding fathers of the Phil Lit course, and was a judge on the 2005 Booker prize panel. I asked him if there were any patterns in the glut of books he read. He said there were more set in Africa than in England, lots about terror and catastrophe, and a dearth of the Hampstead novel on the neuroses of middle class folk.
A really good evening and I was so glad that me and Sophie were part of it.
Tired and happy we returned to Scarman and, after calling my beloved MJ, I addressed myself to the pillow.
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