dooo-do-do-doo
Tuesday, November 10th, 2009Krakow, Poland
She heard the whoosh of the car racing at breakneck speed through the puddle.
She turned to see who, on that busy street behind her, would wear the splash.
It turned out to be her!
The car had sounded as if it were further away, but no.
Funny really, coz at that exact moment she was traipsing up the street wondering about how to use a blog post written a few days earlier. She was contemplating saying that although it was written on a bright sunny day, ever since then it had been drizzling or down-pouring. She was considering commending the decision to bring wet weather gear, thankful that having needed to use it only a few times up til now, we were now feeling justified in bringing it. Rain jackets are the kind of the thing that take up a lot of space (a whole backpack’s worth for our family), are hopefully not used often, but are invaluable when needed. They’re not too dissimilar to an insurance policy; reassuring to have, but you hope you won’t need it. This week alone – in fact, this puddle-splashing episode alone – made lugging them through forty degrees plus for months on end, all totally worthwhile.
Today we watched/listened to the trumpeter play his stirring tune – twice! It is another one of those surreal experiences to realise you are witnessing a tradition, which has been performed for almost a thousand years with a break only during the second world war (or is that an urban legend? I’m not sure). Every hour since the early Middle Ages a golden trumpet has emerged at the west window of the dominating St Mary’s church on the square and played the famous-in-Poland piece of music, the Hejnal Mariacki. It is then played to the north, south and east as well, and at noon is now also played on national radio. But for the last seven hundred and fifty years it has never been completed; the final note has always been left off, allegedly in honour of the trumpeter, who was killed by a Tatar archer in 1241, shot through the throat by an arrow as he played. (Sad, as the story is from a Polish perspective, if you think of it from the Mongol’s point of view, their guy was a good shot!) There’s an irony in that – the trumpet call was used to warn the townspeople of attack by outsiders. It was also sounded at the opening and closing of the city gates, to inform of fire (such as the great fire that destroyed a large part of the town in the 1400s) and of course, as a timekeeper too. Whenever we are in the Rynek (market square) on the hour, we are compelled to stop and watch, and today, to wave. The trumpeter even waved back! And some of the children mulled over theories of why the trumpet call should sound so much clearer today than other time we have heard it (hint: first clear sunny day, no fog or mist or drizzle to muffle the call). It was a truly fascinating observation to the more scientifically-minded amongst us, a theory they tested on further (always dismal misty) occasions.
The next time we read “The Trumpeter of Krakow” aloud (excellent book – do get it!), the kids will have their own memories and experiences to bring to the book, instead of just my old-memory descriptions. Now they have walked down Pigeon Street themselves, they have heard horses hooves clip-clopping on the cobblestones, they have been to the Small Square and the university, and they have heard the tune, so integral to the plot of the book.
If you’d like to, you can click here to hear the bugle call for yourself too. I’d suggest you pour a glass of tea while you wait (just like in Poland, where tea is drunk from glasses sitting in special metal or wicker holders), because it will take a minute to load. Don’t worry – you won’t mistake the call for your whistling kettle.
rayres