I was at the British Library last night for a storytelling event called The Liberty Tree, which featured Hugh Lupton and Nick Hennessey spinning some remarkable yarns of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Their performance was very impressive, not just in terms of delivery, but with regard to memory as well. I know people who have a hard time recalling their phone numbers, and these two guys were rattling off ten-minute-long poems as though the words were written on a wall at the back of the room. Awfully admirable, let me tell you.
I’d arrived a bit early, and not having much to do, spent some time looking through the Library’s treasure chest, which is in fact a vast black room charged with terribly atmospheric lighting. Aside from the Magna Carta (that old thing), some maps, an assortment of illuminated manuscripts, and some early folios, all of which are so beautiful it brings a tear to the eye, the Library has a nice collection of musical knickknacks. You know, little things of meager importance, like handwritten scores to Ravel’s Bolero, Handel's Royal Fireworks, and Beethoven's sketches for his Violin Sonata in G Major, Op.30/3. They also have a fine little artifact on display packed into a velvet-lined wooden box and bearing the label Beethoven’s Tuning Fork. The ID is a bit misleading, but the fork’s lineage is impressive, and goes thusly: Beethoven gave it to the violinist George Bridgewater, who, like Beethoven, had studied with Haydn, and ended up performing with LvB in 1803. (The two men went on to have an enormous quarrel, allegedly over a girl of course, but that’s neither here nor there in re. the tuning fork.) After Bridgewater’s death, the object passed through several hands before finding a home with Gustav Holst who, for whatever reason, passed it along to Ralph Vaughan Williams. It was his widow, Ursula, who finally donated the fork to the Library in 1993.
It’s a dense looking thing, and I’d be curious to know what frequency it puts out. It’s certainly not a 440, but I wonder how much lower it can be. 430? 428? Or maybe a Baroque-ish 415. Who knows.
Equally intriguing is the Library's collection of Beatles memorabilia, which consists of a couple of LPs, a promo poster or two, and several original handwritten lyrics to, amongst other tunes, Help, Yesterday, and Ticket to Ride. I'm not even a Beatles fan, but I have to say it's amazing to be able to see how John Lennon shuffled the first line of Help, changing it from “When I was so much younger than I am today” to “When I was younger, so much younger than today,” which works a bit better, doesn't it.
Admission’s always free, so if ever you find yourself near King’s Cross with nothing to do, just pop in to the Library and have a look ‘round. You’ll be glad you did.
