The closeness and vulnerability of modern communications

A weekend upon which to reflect my links over the past twenty-four hours with people literally all over the world.

I have commented upon a photograph posted in Australia, exchanged plans to meet up with friends in California and New Jersey, discussed details of a pamphlet I have finally completed this week with my contacts in Kyoto and today arranged accommodation in South Africa for a visit in March. Add to that just now a Skype call to a friend in Reading (I am finally getting the hang of it - I think) and conventional telephone calls, mobile phone calls and texts through the day.

I remember vividly twiddling the dials of HF radios during late night radio watches whilst serving in the Rhodesian army in the 1970's and listening in absolute awe at the ease with which civilian radio hams spoke over the air waves to each other. The world seemed a great deal bigger then and yet, in the stillness of the night, we were all so close - they chatting, me listening.

I am constantly amazed by the progress of information technology and how we seem to so quickly take it all for granted. Where would I be without my iPod - my BlackBerry - my laptop or PlayBook (which I am learning to re-love)?

The World Wide Web - that takes me back to my first Apple computer in the 1990's ... now we have Wikipedia in place of the Encyclopedia Britannica (or is it alongside?).

At what point will we or should we stop evolving these electronic communications systems, I wonder? Are we the better for them? Luddites step forward ... I guess so long as we don't forget how to multiply or divide, a desk calculator can't hinder progress; it will be when we lose the ability to communicate without access to electronic power or gadgetry that the problem will begin. Taught as a cub, I at least, can still use semaphore flags!

The space between two pine trees

Researching the different features of the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park, I discovered the unusual significance of two, as opposed to three, pine trees. One represents the future and the other the past. Looking through them we see the present. 

Two objects linked together is unusual in the Buddhist faith as three - representing the Trinity or one of the Trinities (for there seem to be a number of interpretations) is the norm. 

A recent television film I watched described the departing aliens as disappearing 'into spaces between time'. What a wonderful concept I thought - not the future and not the past nor even the present.

This had me thinking this morning about the present and the past and how they are linked. We describe the present as 'now' - but then add the descriptive word 'just' for to it to mean both the future - just now - and the past - just now. 

Two old pine trees, I thought, that carry a tapestry of sadness and past joys in the one and a barrel load of hopes and dreams in the other. Linking them is 'now': the present - the space between which only we can fill (or empty) with Mindfulness. 

Now there is something upon which to meditate!

Is that so?

In his inspiring little book "Writings from the Zen Masters" (Penguin paperback), Paul Reps quotes the story of the Zen master Hakuin which goes as this:

The Zen master Hakuin was praised by his neighbours as one living a pure life.

A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near him. Suddenly, without any warning, her parents discovered she was with child.

This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin.

In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say.

After the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. By this time he had lost his reputation, which did not trouble him, but he took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbours and everything else the little one needed.

A year later the girl-mother could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth - that the real father of the child was a young man who worked at the fishmarket.

The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask his forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back again.

Hakuin was willing. In yielding the child, all he said was: "Is that so?"

Mindful of that story (meditation does work!), I replied today to an email from an uncomplimentary, 'serial' critic, of the work of one of my teams in a most unlikely manner - for me that is. "Thank you" I wrote and wondered if Hakuin would have approved.

Autumnal colour - but from Dahlias?

For most of us the autumn means a splash of red, gold and yellow foliage, windy days and cool or frosty nights.

In Holland Park, however, it is the last gasp of riotous colour in the Napoleon Garden that catches my attention. This small corner is so-named as it once housed a bust of the famous emperor who was much admired by a previous Lady Holland. Sadly the bust disappeared and many an hour has been wasted trying to guess where in the park it might be buried. 

The colour I refer to is from the dahlias that flower so prolifically there late in the summer each year before being cut down by the frosts of the autumn. The display is no accident and from 2012, as a part of the official diamond jubilee celebrations of the park, the plants will be supplied by the National Dahlia Collection.

Dahlias are natives of Mexico, Central America and Colombia and were first recorded by European explorers in 1615 (Francisco Hernandez, published this record much later, though, in his book on medicinal plants in 1651) and again in 1787 by Nicolas-Joseph Thiery de Menonville while looking for cochineal insects. Named after Anders Dahl, a Swedish botanist, seeds were sent back to Madrid and flowered in October 1789. These plants were called Dahlia coccinea and it is from them that Lord Bute obtained seeds to try growing in his garden in England. These failed.

The Dutch imported a box of roots around about this time and their sole surviving plant named Dahlia juarezii was crossed with the D. coccinea to produce a long line of hybrids that we now enjoy in our gardens today. 

A second species of dahlia - believed to be the dark petalled D. variabilis was successfully grown from Spanish seeds in 1804 by the head gardener in Holland House (now Park). 

Once only known and cultivated by the Aztecs for food and decoration, today we know of at least 36 species and on account of the dogged determination of garden plant breeders, enjoy a rich palette of dahlias. 

The Meredith Kercher case

Along with the rest of the world, it seemed, I watched the final minutes of the murder appeal in Perugia with alarm and morbid fascination.

I am alarmed by the apparent injustice of the Italian system which seems to arrive at the right verdict only after many years of judicial review. Four years is an awfully long time to imprison somebody and then decide that they were innocent after all. This has apparently been on almost a fast track.

I have felt for a long time that Amanda Knox along with her Italian boyfriend Raffaele Sollecito, were innocent and found the tension at the end almost unbearable. The story that was put out about their alleged sex games sounded just too implausible from the start.

The DNA tampering and shoddy investigation has echoes of the Madeline McCain disappearance in Portugal. The consequence: questions left unanswered and thought (if not fact) that somebody might have slipped through the net.

The arrival of Meredith Kercher's mother, brother and sister at the court on the final day appalled me. Their hastily called press conference and statement after the closing statements, the stories of million dollar book deals, lurid detail and the like, was designed by the prosecution to achieve just one thing: to swing the response of the jury away from the evidence back to an opinion based purely on emotion.

The family still hold to the idea - and that is all that is - that a second and possibly a third person was involved. That idea (with no supporting evidence at all) comes from the prosecution. Sadly they have not yet come to terms with that fact and until they do, until there is some other evidence now produced that actually proves this point, there will be no closure for them.

I feel the Italian prosecution service has destroyed more than just the reputations of the innocent parties here - the Kercher family will remain the victims of this appalling murder and seriously botched investigation. Meredith would clearly never have wished for this either. She, her family, the innocent parties (and their families) so wrongly accused and indeed the people of Italy deserve better.


And now we hear how the BBC has uncovered sufficient doubt in the Colin Norris case to almost certainly warrant a re-trial. Norris was convicted of murder as five very elderly and sick, diabetic women died whilst in his care from alleged insulin overdoses. It turns out this is neither an unnatural event nor rare condition in similarly infirm women and has occurred on other shifts in the Leeds Hospital where he worked. 


Another young person wrongly convicted of an awful crime due to shoddy investigation and aggressive "adversarial"  prosecution? 

A Walk Around the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park

This is probably going to be like “putting legs on a snake” as the Buddhist’s saying goes – i.e. something completely unnecessary to your enjoyment of the garden.

However, I do hope that my interpretation lifts a corner of the quilt of Western ignorance with which we collectively cover this garden and that you leave here with a slightly better understanding of some of the stitches employed in the tapestry.

I am not a professional lecturer, a Buddhist nor an academic. I am a gardener trained in the English garden tradition so bear with me if my knowledge is at times not as sharp as one might wish.

Granite entrances:

Our walk starts at either gate with us walking on granite. Kyoto is surrounded by granite and therefore it is of no surprise that the principle rock used by them is their native igneous rock. Some of the granite (particularly the dressed stone) is actually from Kyoto but most is from Scotland. We will talk much more of rocks and stones on this walk.

This isn’t a temple so the normal etiquette required in Japan is not followed. However, if you do want to take your shoes off – please feel free to do so. You’ll learn more through the soles of your feet than perhaps listening to me! Either way please be mindful of where you place your feet.

The steps were originally going to be faced with wood but that was not followed through.

We enter the garden by following movement along the diagonal. This is a Buddhist tradition that will be explained later. It doesn’t matter which gate you enter by – the direction that you are naturally encouraged to follow is on the diagonal and in a clockwise direction and I will talk more of both points shortly.

To the left is a bronze plaque that records the many very generous people who contributed to the building of the garden in 1991. Designed by SHOJI NAKAHARA, it was opened by HRH the Prince of Wales and HIH the then Crown Prince (and now Emperor) of Japan in September of that year.

The Kyoto Chamber of Commerce have looked after the garden ever since by sending over small teams of gardeners from the Kyoto Gardens Association every three or four years. From this year that arrangement has been changed to a more formal Service Level Agreement between the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea and the Kyoto Gardens Association.

To mark that change, the Kyoto Chamber of Commerce paid for a fresh team of gardeners led by Yasuo Kitayama to carry out substantial alterations and additions.

Yasuo Kitayama is probably the most well respected Japanese gardener of today and heads the Kyoto Gardens Association. Remember the name: Kitayama.

There are four main principles behind Japanese gardens: nature; geomancy; Buddhism and a system of taboos, all of which we will encounter as as we go round. These principles are set out in a book called Sakuteiki – a subject we will return to later in our stroll.

Standing back and surveying the garden in front of us it is pretty obvious that what we’re looking at is indeed a natural scene.

In front of us are trees, grass, plants, a pond, waterfall and rocks laid out in an attractive order.

Primitive people have always been close to nature and their environment and thus winding the clock back about 4,500 years we find the earliest known religion in this garden’s time-line is Tao.

Taoists believe that the essence of all things is found in Tao. What is Tao? There are plenty of theories – however, the key point is that they see “Tao” in all things – particularly the natural world.

This vision of the natural world was then adopted by the Buddhists who happily co-existed along side Tao and used the natural imagery of that religion to develop gardens as examples of heaven on earth.

When the original, ritual rich, Buddhism was introduced to Japan from China a similar assimilation took place with the native Shinto religion which also saw gods and spirits living in natural objects. This strong tradition of nature in the garden was developed further with the development in particular of Zen Buddhism in Japan.

Now let’s consider as we look at this natural scenery, the next principle of Japanese gardens – geomancy:

Geomancy is a catchall expression describing a complex group of interrelated concepts that are popularised today as feng sui but which is probably best described as a form of Eastern astrology.

It originated in China and there are three sources of Chinese theoretical geomantic principle with which the garden has to comply:

1. The theory of Yin and Yang (or the theory of mutual opposites) which the Japanese call In and On.

2. Yi (the theory of changes), also known as I Ching; and

3. The Five Phases Theory.

To those must be added the four guardian gods – black tortoise in the north, blue dragon in the east, scarlet bird in the south and white tiger in the west.

We could go into a lot of detail on this and it is a fascinating subject all of its own – but I propose to push on and just ask you to accept that when I say such things as “the movement of change is in a clockwise direction” – you accept that and that the source of is the Theory of Yi.

Modern Japanese gardens still have to comply with these ancient principles and there are plenty of examples in this garden.

The next principle that I want you to consider is Buddhism and because this is a Japanese garden, Zen Buddhism in particular.

Zen was first formulated in China (as Ch’an) and evolved in Japan into the type of Buddhist philosophy that we now see practiced all around the world.

Zen means “meditation”, and consequently you can be of any faith and still practice Zen. Buddhism is not a religion in the sense of “faith” as Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha from northern India, never claimed to be anything more than an Enlightened Individual.

Many people will say that Zen gardens are dry, consisting of raked sand and stones – the one at Ryokan-ji with its fifteen stones perhaps being the most famous. They are right.

But Zen gardens are also wet – being made up of moss, trees and stones. As moss will not readily grow in our climate – we use grass.

If you are going to meditate you need to concentrate your thoughts on just one thing at a time. To help, followers of Zen use unanswerable puzzles called koans to concentrate the mind. (“What is the sound of one hand clapping?” for example)

Another instrument they use is a garden such as this one. This is called a stroll garden and the idea is to hide and reveal different natural scenes as you walk.

You cannot pay attention to the whole garden at once – and that is why it is made up of different scenes or view points.

I mentioned just now one of the most famous Zen gardens in the world - the one in Ryoan-ji which contains 15 stones set in a bed of sand. Although it isn’t a stroll garden such as this, no matter where you stand – you will never ever be able to see all 15 stones at once and hence the principle of hide and reveal!

The final principle that I mentioned earlier relates to taboos. And this is where our physical walk probably first demonstrates compliance with the four basic principles.

This stone on the left of the entrance is a Tsukubai – a small basin in which to wash your fingers and rinse your mouth before starting the stroll through the garden to the Tea Ceremony. It is taboo not to cleanse yourself before entering a mosque. It is taboo to not cover your head (if you are a woman) when entering certain Christian buildings or not to wear a skull cap when entering a synagogue if a man. We all have taboos! This is a Japanese one.

The basin is designed to look like an old Chinese coin. Remember Buddhism came from China to Japan and this evokes age.

Age is an important component of Zen as it implies wisdom and experience. Opportunities are found in many areas to deliberately evoke age – through arts such as bonsai and the pruning of trees in the garden called niwaki.

To read the inscription, you have to include the square in the centre. Translated, the inscription reads, rather aptly I think, “Know enough – Enough to know”.

Normally there would be a small ladle on the top – this now lives in my office for photographs and special occasions.

Across the path – we have the meadow.

A principle of the garden is that it must be natural. This evolved under the Zen influence in particular into a series of natural scenes that were viewed and contemplated on the way to a Tea Ceremony.

Tea was introduced to Japan at about the same time as Zen and they came together as a ritual to focus the mind as much as to provide a welcome stimulating shot of caffeine to otherwise dozing medidator’s!

Earlier gardens were laid out as natural views to be enjoyed from the house – particularly the Southern Court or as pleasure gardens representing a sort of heaven on earth – spaces for earthly delight.

Zen introduced a much more austere view – simple needs, simple means. Abstract and fluffy rituals were banished in favour of meditation and in particular sitting meditation (Zazen) to assist with attaining enlightenment.

So what are we to make of the meadow? It is one of the views provided in this garden stroll. The Tulip tree’s aerial roots are now much lower than they would ordinarily be as the ground as had to be raised. To prevent that harming the tree and causing collar rot, a thick layer of pebbles in bags was wrapped around the base. This is a novel solution to a common problem rarely seen anywhere else.

The stones (and I am going to be pointing out a lot of stones to you for very good reason) these are called Chasing Stones. These are so called as they evoke either a pack of dogs at rest, pigs in a field or calves at play.

Looking beyond the chasing stones we see the pond:

The pond is roughly shaped like a tortoise (Kame) “because water takes the shape of the vessel it enters”.

It could also be in the shape of a crane (Tsuru).

A tortoise (do you remember that I said the Black Tortoise is the god protecting the north of the garden?) is the symbol of longevity and good fortune while the crane is revered as a symbol of eternal youth and happiness: “Cranes live a thousand years – tortoises 10,000”.

The pond shores: The closest shore line to us is called the Pebble Beach (ara iso). Originally only the Emperor had this feature in his garden but the rules were relaxed in time. It is deliberately uninviting to sit upon.

Next to it is the Rocky Cove shoreline (sahuma). These evoke the rocky shores of the Japanese coastline and the dangers that they present are emphasised by the Lighthouse lantern.

And over there on the far south eastern corner is the Boggy Marsh. I would have expected this to have been in the south west corner for two reasons – the geomantic tradition that the waters of the Blue Dragon shall flow and wash evil away following the path of the White Tiger (ie the water should flow as it does from NE to SW) and as an anagram for Kyoto where fresh springs traditionally were found in the NE and boggy soils in the SW.

The islands: Japan is of course made up of many islands and so it is not surprising that we see them included in the pond. Tradition has it that these evoke the Tortoise and Crane myths that I described earlier, however the thinking now is that these represent Pine Bark Island (matsu kawa) and Mountain Isle (yamajima).

A very famous 17th Century Japanese poet, Matsuo Basho (1640-1694), once wrote a haiku that translates as “Islands shattered / into thousands of pieces / the summer sea”. [Shimajima ya / chiji ni kudakete / natsu noumi]

Looking back now we see the granite viewing area. Granite is the predominant rock of the Kyoto region. Standing here we have a new view of the Cascade – the feature most people think of as the key component of this garden.

It is located in the NE corner for reasons that I gave just now – the waters of the Blue Dragon shall flow and wash away all evil by following the path of the White Tiger.

There is another reason too – according to geomantic tradition the cascade has to face the moon and if you remember my earlier explanation of mutual opposites – Heaven and Earth; Wind and Thunder; Mountain and Lake etc – you will probably now realise that the Sun is placed in the East and the moon in the West.

There are two very similar cascades as this to be found in a temple complex TAIZO-IN near Kyoto. The original one is in a dry ZEN garden and the most recent one, has running water. Ours was dramatically altered this year and if you look closely at it you will notice that the water flow roughly follows the kanji symbol known as Fudo Myoo.

Fudo Myoo is the Japanese name for a Sanskrit Buddhist God called Acala who is one of the Five Wisdom Kings of the Womb Realm revered mainly by adherents to the Shingon sect.

He is reputed to live in cascades but when drawn or sculpted has a curtain of fire behind him: why? The answer is found in the earlier explanation of geomancy – as water puts out fire they are mutual opposites.

Fudo Myoo’s presence is important here as he protects, instructs people in the teachings of the Buddha and assists us with self control – mainly because he, the immovable one, is unmoved by all things and in particular, carnal attractions.

At the top of the cascade is the mountain. In the mountain the holy man lives, living off moss and drinking the mists. Flanking its sides are the forested ravines.

We move now to the bridge:

I suggested you might want to take your shoes off at the start of this walk – and here is why. These stones are deliberately difficult to walk on as a lesson that life is difficult and we always need to watch our step. Take care. Without shoes you will probably appreciate this point of the walk more than if your feet are soled.

The bridge is almost identical to one in TENJU-AN – another temple in Kyoto.

Originally it was planned to be located between the Tulip tree and the Headache tree, but once on site, SHOJI NAKAHARA, the original designer of this garden, changed his mind.

It is staggered because evil travels in straight lines. Unable to change direction, the evil thought or demon drops into the sea.

This also reminds us to consider the barriers to the ramped entrance and the wall in front of the main steps. Walking directly into a Tea garden or building as one does an western office block is unlucky – it’s taboo. There – that word again. Taboo.

Taboos can occur at any time and in any place and the only way to avoid them is to skirt around them – ie step aside or to change direction.

People can be affected by taboos as well as places. Traditionally anyone with a taboo on them would advertise that by putting a taboo stick on the entrance to their house or room that they were in. People would then approach them by another direction or avoid them until the taboo had passed. If they had to go outside, they would wear a taboo stick as an adornment on their heads.

Old hat? You may think so – but today we see people in Japan walking down the street particularly in winter with face masks on to avoid spreading a cold to their fellow citizens – a modern version of a taboo stick.

As we pass over the bridge we see the largest snow lantern (yukimi) in the garden on our right. This would be lit with a candle for snow viewing – a winter occupation akin to moon gazing, Zazen or even train spotting.

To our left we see a new lantern – also a snow lantern but with natural scenes carved into it most noticeably a deer on the northern side. And just beyond – to scare the Munchak deer that have been recorded in the park for the first time this year - a deer scarer (or Shisi-odoshi).

Beside it is the well – a new feature that is particularly evocative of temple gardens. You will notice the shape is square. This draws upon the famous CIRCLE – TRIANGLE – SQUARE calligraphy of an 18th Century Buddhist called SENGAI GIBON. “All things in the universe are represented by these forms.”

And this brings me very neatly to another aspect of this garden: why so much green?

The original Buddhist gardens of the Heian period in Japan were quite floral and represented as I said earlier, as sort of heaven on earth – a space for earthly delights as it were. However once Zen started to be formulated, that all changed.

Around about the 11thC monks returning from China brought with them highly prized black monochrome landscape drawings – called SUIBOKU SANSULGA – which allude to the belief that “black is the one true colour in which all others can be seen”. Translated into the Zen garden, green becomes the new black.

Flowers are still included as can be seen with the Hydrangeas over in the Black Tortoise territory and the water iris that flower in the marsh each spring. And of course, I re-iterate the point that were we to be in Kyoto, this garden would almost certainly be covered in moss rather grass.

The two pine trees (Matsu) have been deliberately shaped and pruned to age them. Pines represent something unbending and sturdy and there is another famous Haiku written by the poet Issa that reads: “Look to the pines of our godly land! The orishiya ships”. [Shinkokuno / matsu o itoname / orishiyabane]. This is a commentary on the Russian ships that were seen particularly in the north of Japan at a time when they were trying to remain cut off from the outside world … and something that opera goers will know from the sad story of Madam Butterfly they were unable to do when Commodore Matthew Perry arrived in 1853 from the United States of America.

Buddhists normally arrange things in odd numbers and so initially I wasn’t quite sure why there are only two pines here until I looked back through them to the new well and snow lantern. They frame a marvellous view of two more of Kitayama-san’s new elements in the garden and this view will be added to in the coming years as that part of the garden is to be further developed.

Feelings of enclosure in this garden are much more pronounced now by the various bamboo fences. This is in keeping with the reality of Kyoto gardens being mainly courtyards as well as providing a defined space for our walking meditation. The hooped fences are a very polite request not to walk on the moss / grass. Stepping over a straight piece of bamboo is akin to asking to be executed!

And now we look back near the entrance but not directly in front of it to those three rocks beside the Headache Tree. They are the Buddhist Trinity – Buddha and his two attendants. They are not directly facing the entrance because to do so is taboo (bad luck).

I drew your attention earlier that the flat rock behind the chasing stones – well, in addition to being a part of that group it is also the “fore stone” for this Buddhist Trinity. On there you may sit in Zazen or pay homage to the Buddha on the other side of the pond.

Stones are extremely important in the Japanese garden and the book that informs all Japanese Gardens is called Sakuteiki – which means “the setting of stones”. Written in the 11th Century it is the oldest surviving book on Japanese gardening ever written (and probably on any gardening for that matter) and survives today as two brush written scrolls. Later editions have fortunately included illustrations.

And now – we return to the point at the start of our stroll where I asked you to remember a man’s name – Yasuo Kitayama, reputedly the greatest garden builder and designer of his generation, head of the Kyoto Gardens Association, creator of gardens all over the world etc.

Why?

For the answer we need to return to the cascade. You will see that very large yellow coloured rock in the centre of the cascade and which took many hours to place correctly this year. The water rushes around it to provide the curve in the kanji symbol for Futo Myoo – the immovable one. The rock is made up of calcite rather than the igneous granite used elsewhere and comes from the mountains to the north of Kyoto.

Just as every great painting has the artist’s signature on it, I am sure you will not be surprised to learn that this garden is also signed. That rock is Kitayama-san’s signature on this garden – for that rock, shipped over from Japan, was actually quarried in the Kitayama mountain range.

Time for tea.

(With considerable thanks to my mentors: Yasuo Kitayama, Steve Hagan, Marc Treib, Prof. Jiro Takei and Prof. Marc Keane amongst the many others . . .)

Remembering 11th March 2011

Today I visited the annual Japan Matsuri festival in London. This year it was held around County Hall across the river from the Houses of Parliament. 

Inevitably the focus was on the events that followed the earthquake and subsequent tsunami that struck north east Japan on 11th March this year. I was encouraged to make a white gauze "sakura" (cherry blossom) brooch by the people representing the Sakura Front, one of a number of charities collecting funds for the relief of survivors. 

Inside County Hall, the Japan Tsunami Exhibition, was profoundly moving. In addition to photographs a table displayed a number of objects recovered from the area. These were displayed on pieces of brown cardboard and everyone of them told an enormous amount about the people to whom they had once belonged. These were not televisions or computers but small pieces of mass produced china and children's toys, including  a simple doll carved very crudely from a piece of wood. How poor do you have to be to provide your child with such a toy? While I am truly humbled by the subliminal wealth of the parental love that must have created that toy, I am moved enormously by this simple object that says so much about the profound simplicity, hardship and poverty of these victims. People who had so little before the wave struck, have lost so much in material and human terms. 

The stoicism of the Japanese following the catastrophe is legend. Their battles continue. Alongside the exhibition was a series of photographs of survivors from the affected area all saying "I still dare to hope for - the rebuilding of my home, my village, no more tsunami's . . ." 

It is a date I would not want to forget, Sakura brooch or not - and shame on me if I should: I was born on the 11th March. 

Autumn arrives

After a summer that will be remembered for the Arab Spring ... and the worst weekend weather, it is now back to serious blogging.

The riots I anticipated as a consequence of the record numbers of unemployed young people did indeed take place. Others have come up with their reasons for them, but I still hold that idle hands, rather than the increasing secularism of our society, was the major driver. Is that the last of them? I am sure not!

My love of haiku continues, as does my study of Zen Buddhism principally as an explanation of the inspiration behind the Kyoto garden in Holland Park that was radically altered earlier this year. I'll be posting a blog later specifically on that stroll garden to accompany the article (edited on my BlackBerry PlayBook whilst being flown across the Atlantic!) that will be appearing in the Friends of Holland Park magazine later this year.


Bee-keeping has joined my list of interests and I'm pleased to see that Holland Park has again produced in excess of 170 lbs. of honey this year despite the strange weather and unpredicted amount of swarming activity.

Photography occupies my walking outdoor moments though it is sad to see so many fine shots ruined by the absence of a blue sky. Clearly I am meant to study sepia or return to black and white compositions!

From haiku, photography and Zen, my attention is now shifting to the actual practice of zazen or sitting meditation. My day now starts with a good half hour of peaceful, mindful meditation and my principle guide is Andy Puddicombe whose book and iPod audio guides - Get Some Headspace - are  highly recommended. Aside from the sitting meditation, I am also endeavouring to take the practice (kinhin) on my daily walks and thrice weekly into the gym. 

And finely, no summer concludes without the results of London in Bloom - my talented team secured no less than seven Gold Awards and two Silver Gilts on top of seven Green Flag Awards: an excellent season in the office!

Zen, haiku, and photography: its about re-learning how to see

Learning a new skill or embarking on a fresh line of enquiry is exciting. I am particularly fortunate to have grown up at a time when the current race for technological progress was probably just starting.

On my recent trip to Australia my brother and I visited a "heritage village" near Cairns that was made up of various old buildings and the artefacts associated with them. A part of the display inevitably focussed on agricultural equipment - much of it familiar to us from our childhood in the 1950's and 60's on a farm in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe). Gus observed that the reason we had farm equipment from the 1930's was most likely because that was the age that Dad most understood and had been trained to use and repair whilst a student at Seale Haine Agricultural College. The hay making equipment, for example, was made from a mixture of wooden planks bolted together and iron rods - a combination that worked well then, but which would be unthinkable today.

When I was at Springvale, my preparatory school, I learnt how to use a Brownie Box camera, how to develop my own black and white films and, once they were dry, to enlarge and print photographs from them. The heady smell of chemicals, the dull glow of a red light bulb under which we worked and close proximity of everything in the small dark room are abiding memories.

Watching a professional photographer at work and studying his work are excellent ways to re-engage with a childhood hobby. David A.Lee in Palm Springs is both a good friend and excellent photographer and a recent series of photographs that he put up on FaceBook have inspired me to take the plunge and study digital photography.

Great photographs of course do not just happen - they are made by events or the observations of a skilled photographer. Earlier this year David noticed a long line of geese flying through the skies above Palm Springs. True professional and artist that he is, he lifted his camera and made a photograph to share with the rest of us.

Consider then, this Haiku:

kari no kazu                                     a number of geese

watarite sora ni                                migrating - in the sky

mio mo nashi                                   not even a wake.      MORI SUMIO (b.1919)

It is not just the coincidence of geese crossing the sky in a photograph and  a haiku  - but the use of the word "mio" in Japanese that intrigues. In his excellent analysis of the poem (see The Haiku Handbook), William Higginson points out that this unusual word literally means water-tail or wake. Sumio 'borrows' the word normally associated with water to good effect. In this conjunction of the photographic and literary arts, it is just as unlikely to see a wake caused by the passage of geese through the sky as across the desert sands surrounding Palm Springs.

Another great haiku writer, Matsuo Basho (whom I have blogged about before) did not have a camera on his many journies across Japan and during which he wrote the Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches (Penguin books). He used pen and ink to write his amazing verses and sketch his surroundings. I pause my thoughts to wonder what he have done with a camera here? 

Amongst my current reading are two books - one on how to use my new Canon 1000D camera and the other on the practice of Zen. The former is by Ben Long and the latter a re-print of the seminal work, Zen Mind Beginner's Mind, by Shunryu Suzuki. Although both are written by American authors I have no reason to believe they ever met or indeed knew each other. However in both they require their readers (and hopefully followers), to re-tune their mind to see the world through the eyes of a child. Suzuki urges us " to always be a beginner ... The beginner's mind is the mind of compassion. When our mind is compassionate it is boundless."  In his more recent book, Long observes that "because the world is a new place for them, they (children) notice every detail of the objects around them. They have to because they haven't yet learned to abbreviate the visual complexity of the world down to simple symbols ...". In short they retain their "beginner's mind" and he urges students such as I to set aside our adult eyes for those of a child.

Haiku and photography are both craft and art striving to represent a moment in an image that tells us a story or conveys a "truth". The spirit of Zen is found in both. There is much to be excited about as I try to bring my love of verse to re-discovering the craft of photography through the lens of a SLR camera. Friends and teachers be warned - there's a child in the room. 

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

So it's back to school for me . . .

My team recently completed the construction of a bespoke training room in the nursery complex of Holland Park. Using a grant of £8,000 from CABE and equivalent match funding from the council and its ground maintenance contractors, Quadron, the room provides the focus of training for six young apprentices and in time this will broaden to include volunteers and other staff on short courses.

For a former apprentice - this is a real high-point. I was fortunate enough to have been provided with a very structured and closely monitored training in the then city of Salisbury, Rhodesia. Everyone from the City Amenities Manager to the most menial of general workers was in some way involved. From the top there was strategic direction and the odd word of advice or encouragement. In the middle there was loads of support and from the bottom there was good humoured challenge and assistance. 

I was shocked to find that by the time I arrived in the United Kingdom in the early-1980's this sort of instruction was being done away with. The introduction of Commercial Competitive Tendering by 1990 was effectively its final death knell. Despite all the warnings of impending disaster for the industry and amenity horticulture in particular, successive administrations turned a deaf ear.

As this country started to face up to the skills gap under the last government - and which included offering degree courses for the skilled trades amongst other idiotic approaches (why?) - talk started to focus on the need to revive the best of the past. That has thankfully included looking at "modern" apprenticeship schemes and the current government is making the right noises on this front as well (see my February blog on the NEET crisis).

We no longer grow things - we import them. We no longer source plants locally - we fly cuttings and plugs from West or East Africa to the Netherlands, pot them on and then transport them by road and ship to commercial "nurseries" to be grown on and then transported further by road to the municipal depots. It is acceptable for our municipal parks and gardens to be husbanded by low paid eastern Europeans with no skills other than a driving licence. But still we have "Britain in Bloom", the Royal Horticultural Society, Kew Gardens, the Worshipful Company of Gardeners ... the trappings but not the skills!

That's the context. Over the past six or seven years I have badgered my contract management to get the project off the ground and to be fair previous efforts have been made: but not with great success. Missing were three key ingredients: 1. a dedicated mentor; 2. a realistic training programme that focuses on the individual; and 3. an area dedicated to the apprentices' instruction and learning when not in college.

Since last year all three have now been provided and the scheme is now looking extremely positive. The young people come from a variety of backgrounds and educational capabilities. Some have difficulties away from the workplace that make holding down a formal training programme difficult in the extreme - but they persist! They are being challenged and facing every day  with smiles on their faces and a growing confidence that is palpable. 

John Tradescant junior

They have a common goal - to be gardeners. It is a noble ambition and one that has provided me with a livelihood and opportunity to indulge every creative and academic interest. Gardeners come into daily contact with art, design, history, geography, different languages, Latin, different cultures,  world religions, biology, physics, chemistry, ecology, biodiversity, social sciences, people, food, floristry, animals, poetry and music ... the list goes on. 

On Wednesday the apprentices will be doing their usual weekly plant identification tests (10 new plants a week). Everything will be as normal to start - but then their trainer is being replaced by the Royal Borough's Leisure Services Manager.  

As a trained adult skills coach, I ran a horticultural training scheme in the mid-1980's on an allotment site on Spa Hill, near Croydon. When I returned to local government parks management in 1989, I rather expected that that would be the end of my having to coach! But of course it hasn't been: as a manager I am always coaching. What is different though, is the degree of preparation that I am having to put into this lesson. Watching will be the apprentices and their mentor - a highly skilled trainer. Inevitably all will be watching for the cracks . . . I trust that is one area that I disappoint them!