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  • Simon Waters
    Terry/Richard/Luc thanks for the welcome & info Re:Terry ... The Siccama isn t with me right now so I ll get reliable information for you tomorrow, but my
    Message 1 of 7 , Oct 1, 2003
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      Terry/Richard/Luc

      thanks for the welcome & info

      Re:Terry

      >Is your Siccama by Siccama or by another maker? Can you give us a serial
      >number for it and the Prattens, at your leisure. Is the Prattens an 8-key
      >conical or something more "developed"

      The Siccama isn't with me right now so I'll get reliable information for
      you tomorrow, but my memory is of it being by someone else but with
      SICCAMA/PATENTEE stamped on it. The Pratten's is a standard conical 8 key
      cocuswood? (not as 'red' as the rudall or wood & ivy- could it be
      grenadilla?) model with what look very like silver keys, and an engraved
      silver lip-plate. It's stamped: BOOSEY & CO/ 24 HOLLES STREET/LONDON/8822/R
      S PRATTEN/ PERFECTED


      Re: Richard

      >> a rosewood Wood & Ivy 8 key
      >> a rosewood Rudall Carte 8 key
      >
      >Or more likely cocus. Yes?

      Absolutely. As will be evident from above I'm pretty unreliable at
      identifying anything which isn't boxwood

      Re: Terry

      >That would be my guess, Andrew, but it would be interesting to
      >verify. Perhaps if Simon could give us the Rudall Carte serial number, we
      >could ask Robert to check it out in the RC factory records to see what
      >timber they called it.

      My memory of the Rudall Carte is that it's identical to, and only a few
      serial nos away from, Terry's 'very late Rudall Carte 8 key'. I'll confirm
      this tomorrow too (don't tend to keep many flutes at home). Presumably
      'Robert' is Robert Bigio, who made my first 'serious' baroque flute, a
      Stanesby copy, over twenty years ago.

      Re: Luc
      >
      >There were a lot of Adlers is the flute business in Markneukirchen
      >at the time. I've got a wooden flute by Robert Oswald Adler (Roa) and
      >got some info from Mr. V.Schindler of the Moennig-Adler company. He
      >was so kind to give me the info you can find on my website.
      >BTW the heading of the picture is wrong: it is R.Oswald Adler and NOT
      >R.Oscar Adler.

      Thanks for the directions to your site, and the info. Robert Oswald
      Adler(1865-1946), the maker of your flute, was the little brother of Franz
      Oscar A (1862-1922), who made mine. ROA's son Johannes seems to have been a
      fairly nasty piece of work. Setting up in competition with his uncle Franz
      Oscar's workshop, he apparently (New Langwill) advertised around 1930 in
      the following terms....:'note the forename - a purely Aryan business' - a
      dig at his by then deceased Uncle's Jewish connections.

      Re:
      >I'd love to see all those fabulous flutes on the net and I hope you
      >publish all measurements.

      Being realistic, the full info will take a while, as I have to do it
      outside my 'day job'. I'll try and post pictures soon though, and build on
      it as time allows.

      best wishes

      Simon
    • Terry McGee
      ... I expect that is also cocus (grenadilla didn t seem to come in in England until the 20th century and it really is more black than brown) but with a medium
      Message 2 of 7 , Oct 1, 2003
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        At 04:42 AM 2/10/2003, Simon wrote:

        The Siccama isn't with me right now so I'll get reliable information for
        you tomorrow, but my memory is of it being by someone else but with
        SICCAMA/PATENTEE stamped on it. The Pratten's is a standard conical 8 key
        cocuswood? (not as 'red' as the rudall or wood & ivy- could it be
        grenadilla?) model with what look very like silver keys, and an engraved
        silver lip-plate. It's stamped: BOOSEY & CO/ 24 HOLLES STREET/LONDON/8822/R
        S PRATTEN/ PERFECTED

        I expect that is also cocus (grenadilla didn't seem to come in in England until the 20th century and it really is more black than brown) but with a medium stain.  So early in the century you get really cocus dark flutes - eg Nicholson's.  Medium staining - enough to defeat the reddish look - came later, with some flutes not stained at all and looking distinctly reddish.

        My memory of the Rudall Carte is that it's identical to, and only a few
        serial nos away from, Terry's 'very late Rudall Carte 8 key'. I'll confirm
        this tomorrow too (don't tend to keep many flutes at home). Presumably
        'Robert' is Robert Bigio, who made my first 'serious' baroque flute, a
        Stanesby copy, over twenty years ago.

        Ah yes - that was before he came over to the dark side (making later flutes in grenadilla).

        Terry

                          Terry McGee

                 61 Calder Crescent, Holder ACT 2611 Australia
                  Phone +61 (0)2 6288 8006, Fax +61 (0)2 6287 4263       
                 mailto: terry@...                   
                http://www.mcgee-flutes.com

                   - wooden flutes for Irish and classical music
                 - wooden flute research, restorations and repairs
                 - Irish music group, Ballyhooley
                 - maintenance of the National Carillon, Canberra


        Assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body, and by the ACT Government through its Cultural Council.

      • Luc Verhoeven
        ... later flutes ... The dark side is tempting, I must admit. Luke Skywalker
        Message 3 of 7 , Oct 1, 2003
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          --- In earlyflute@yahoogroups.com, Terry McGee <terry@m...> wrote:

          > Ah yes - that was before he came over to the dark side (making
          later flutes
          > in grenadilla).
          >
          > Terry

          The dark side is tempting, I must admit.

          Luke Skywalker
        • Rod Cameron
          Dear Earlyflute members, Allow me to let various members know that I have delayed my return to my California workshop. I had intended to be at my Mendocino
          Message 4 of 7 , Oct 3, 2003
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            Dear Earlyflute members,

            Allow me to let various members know that I have delayed my return to
            my California workshop. I had intended to be at my Mendocino workbench
            on September 29, and I have now decided to stay on at least till
            October 20 or beyond to allow me to get in the back door of various
            flute collections in mueums in Britain and beyond. Flute work in
            Scotland has been continuing, mostly on 8 keyed instruments, punctuated
            by a most rewarding experience for a Highlander like me....I joined
            with the Chris Norman Ensemble on their concert tour of Scotland and we
            straviaged through the mountains and glens, from the BBC in Glasgow and
            over to Edinburgh and Stirling, with Chris delivering a programme
            heavily inflected towards the Scottish tradition. His "Caledonia Flute"
            CD is well received here in the north. I got to sing a number of songs
            with the Ensemble while on tour, and I found that to be a mighty fine
            change of pace from talking to my wood at the bench.

            Readers will find no more flute related topics by reading below, but
            those who wish a flavour of life in the Highlands may be diverted on a
            slow day by the following...

            Diary extract, August 28, 2003

            The weather has turned 'fresh', and looking out across the waters of
            the Moray Firth towards Cromarty on the Black Isle, white caps are
            everywhere. No chance of seeing the dolphins today. After a long run of
            wonderful days in the seventies (21-25 C) with balmy sea breezes
            keeping the Scottish Highlands free of the muggy humidity of London,
            today has brought a return of stiff sea breezes and cooler days. On my
            walk across the Links and along the beach to the harbour, the Oyster
            Catchers were busy among the grass looking for breakfast tidbits and
            squabbling with Willie Wagtails who sought to invade their turf. Gulls
            perched on almost every chimney pot in the Fishertown, taking it in
            turns to kept up a screeching chorus which I rather like to hear. The
            sound reminds me that I am near the sea front, even when I am lost in
            my work and stooping over the lathe working on some small detail that
            is taking for ever to get right. This morning the tide is high and the
            river mouth looks deep as it flows past the worn stones of the Nairn
            wharf. At low tide it is clear that the river flow is very low. The
            water is warmer than the salmon and sea trout need and they linger in
            the harbour, trusting that more rain will come soon before making their
            way upstream to spawn in the upper reaches of Strath Nairn. Sitting on
            the deck of Pam and Jules' moored boat, we could watch these fish leap
            six feet out of the water. We know they do not feed in fresh water, and
            some say this leaping it to rid themselves of skin mites?

            I walked up the river past the worn stones that line the old moorage
            built by Thomas Telford in the 18th century. When my daughter was
            young, she used to trace her fingers in the grooves worn deep by the
            same boats tying up in the same spot over the years. Before Telford's
            time, the women of Fishertown would carry husbands on their backs and
            wade out into the shallow water of the beach allowing the fishermen to
            get on board with dry feet. That would not play well on CNN today, yet
            there was wisdom behind it. A man with dry feet was more likely to
            survive the cold and exposure in a small boat as they went after the
            herring through the long night. Everyone had a job. There was dignity
            in the labour and a sense of belonging to a tribe. We now have more
            affluence but less feeling of fitting into an useful slot in society.
            Looking back on my younger days when adversity was everywhere, I can
            see that entering into a useful job at an early age allowed us to be
            forged on the anvil of life by watching and doing. Now, our experiment
            to forge the young only on the anvil of books is not always bearing
            fruit, however I can see that our society demands lots of book-learning
            before you can be useful.

            I pass the family of swans that Kathleen loves to watch as they work
            their beat up and down the river mouth. The parents are rearing seven
            young who are already larger than their parents. Still wearing their
            brownish immature feathers, they act a bit like gangly teenagers not
            quite knowing how to behave. We like to visit another family of swans
            on the small lochan at Brodie Castle, a few miles to the east. From the
            lochan we can walk up a wide grassy field to the Castle which had been
            the seat of Brodie of Brodie. The old Chieftain passed away a few
            months ago in his nineties. He was well loved in the community and a
            patron of the Arts. Brodie of Brodie has left the Castle and grounds to
            the National Trust for Scotland. It is a wonderful human castle that
            has not been under heavy siege. In 1746, the Duke of Cumberland
            billeted his army at the castle the night before that fateful day when
            Bonnie Prince Charlie met him on Drumossie Moor to fight the battle of
            Culloden. Charlie's defeat sealed the fate of the clansmen and the
            ensuing behaviour of King George's Redcoats earned Cumberland the title
            of "the Bloody Butcher" in every Highland glen. The whole Jacobite
            campaign was il-conceived and the Highlanders paid the price; not
            Charlie, who returned to the Continent after narrow escapes to drown
            his sorrows in alcohol.

            Early on in the campaign, Charlie's raggle taggle Highlander's startled
            the English by their ability to take Edinburgh and defeat Johnny Cope's
            army at Preston Pans, and it was to Edinburgh that we made our way last
            Sunday to hear our friend, Michael Marra sing in his concert at the
            Reid Hall as part of the Festival. For once in my life, I thought to
            travel first class on the railway since I now get a discount. We drove
            over the lonely and lovely Dava Moor to reach the tiny railway station
            at Carbridge. Not one car passed us in 28 miles. The heather was in
            bloom and shone purple in the early morning sunlight as we passed
            Lochindorb where the 14th century Wolf of Badenoch's castle still sits
            on a small island with secret stepping stones below the waterline that
            were known only to the initiated. After a dispute with the local
            Bishop, the Wolf burned the town of Forres and sacked Elgin
            cathedral. Closely related to the Scottish king, Robert II, he was
            absolved and his marble statue has him lying in holy repose over his
            grave, hands joined in Dunkeld cathedral.

            The sun continued to shine on the southern Highland slopes as our train
            passed through Dunkeld. The nine pound surcharge that gave us first
            class tickets allowed for innumerable free cups of coffee and the
            sunday papers. Not a bad deal with plenty of leg room thrown in.
            "Scotland on Sunday" paper had a big article on the film actor, Tilda
            Swinton. She lives near us in Nairn with John Bryne and their twins.
            John himself is a man o' pairts, as we say, and works with equal
            passion on canvas and as a writer for stage and TV. He likes to play
            the 'oldies but goodies' on guitar, and he and I have been spending
            hours in our kitchen working through songs with Kathleen singing
            harmonies. My sister, Mary, has known John for many years, and we all
            met up at one of her barbecues up on the hill at Geddes. Tilda just
            returned from a film shoot in Portland and brought the twins round to
            see the flute workshop the other day. We all went out for dinner and
            chat. She, like John, is a very warm hearted person and their young
            twins are fun to be around. The girl, Honour, aged five, wants a wee
            wooden flute to get started on, so I must get going with that soon.

            The train passed through Perth and took a sweep around through Stirling
            where we could see on one side the monument to William Wallace on a
            nearby hill and high on a cliff above the town, Stirling Castle. We
            were soon bound through Linlithgow to Edinburgh, but the man whose
            concert we were going to hear, Michael Marra, would be lingering first
            in Stirling. He was billed to open for Van Morrison at 7.30pm right up
            in the Castle courtyard . How on earth Michael was going to do that gig
            and then get himself to Edinburgh for a 9.15pm curtain, I could not
            imagine. In fact I could not imagine someone like Michael tearing
            himself away from hearing the whole Morrison concert through, except
            possibly by having his own concert in Edinburgh at 9.15pm. It was not
            for us to worry about, but I did, because I know what kind of quiet
            passion Michael brings to bear whenever and wherever he puts his hands
            on the piano and raises his gravelly voice to a rapt audience. With my
            pal, Val Dean, we three have travelled thousands of miles across the US
            West in search of the soft underbelly of American culture, down great
            canyons, into small towns, through the Navaho Nation, up and down Reno
            and the Vegas drag, and along the Big Sur. Every night we would find a
            wee motel and sing songs together...everything from Michael's own
            songs, Bob Dylan, or Catholic hymns ( "Great tunes! ", Michael would
            say about those old hymns). On a second journey out to the States,
            Michael directed and harmonized with me in a wee CD called 'Songs I
            Love'. Val was a major player in that project. For an old folkie, like
            me, it was a dream come true.

            Edinburgh was in splendid mood as the train pulled into Waverley
            Station and we walked up to our hotel in the afternoon sunshine. The
            Royal Mile was awash with "Fringe" street theatre of every
            description....flame swallowers, tango dancers, mime shows, comedians,
            over eager dramatists, human statues painted gold, hairy men lying on
            beds of nails, singers, swingers, dead ringers, belly dancers,
            prancers, lancers, bearded ladies, plaidies and sorrowful Sadies, they
            were all there swarming among the crowds and around Edinburgh's old
            town of narrow closes and ancient tall buildings. All was merry and
            bright in the warm sun as we.....
            ...to be continued

            and a further moment...
            September 26

            I rose early this morning after spending a pleasant night at my
            sister's house at Geddes on the hill above Nairn. She has bought a
            strip of land between two farmer's fields and built a wood house on it.
            The gardens are now finished and the situation is quite lovely. Birds
            were dashing hither and thither in the morning light as I looked out to
            the west over the green rolling fields and woods that took the eye
            beyond the narrowing of the Moray Firth to where the sea meets
            Inverness and beyond to the hills of Wester Ross. There was such a din
            of noise in the garden as the birds went mad to get to a few scraps
            that Mary had set out for them. Sometimes a big hawk will perch nearby
            on a post, and suddenly things quieten down considerably.

            John and I went out in the morning sun and walked east on the tiny
            one-lane road that passes the house. It is barely wide enough to
            accommodate the width of a small car. These 'single lane' roads are
            everywhere in the Scottish Highlands, and they encourage courtesy among
            drivers. It is impossible for opposing vehicles to pass each other
            except at the 'passing place' bulges which occur every few hundred
            yards. When meeting head on, the car nearest to the bulge must reverse
            till enough road-width is achieved. I am told that visiting Frenchmen
            and Spaniards find this yielding a very hard thing to do.

            This morning there was no car in sight as John and I sauntered up the
            brae, tasting the wild brambles that grew along the dry stone dykes.
            The berries were dark and sweet and intermingled with bright, red
            rose-hips signaling that autumn was nigh. The clouds in this part of
            the world are an important part of the view. Joni Mitchell's 'rolls
            and folds of angel's hair' were everywhere with the sun coming through
            the middle. It shone upon the white, skip hat of the farmer as he moved
            down from his barn with the collie dog, both with a measured pace, so
            that the small herd of milking cows in the lower pasture continued
            undisturbed until the two were upon them. The farmer started to
            whistle. Not a whistle that would signal the collie to move out in a
            confining arc and do its job containing the kye, but instead he
            whistled a bonnie Scot's air, "O Rowan Tree". It rang out sweetly to us
            as we moved along the road above the farm, the air perfectly in tune
            and the phrasing compelling. I was quite won over by it, and Lady
            Nairne's words came to me...

            " How fair wert thou in simmer time,
            Wi' a' thy clusters white,
            How rich and gay thy autumn dress,
            Wi' berries red and bright.

            John told me that the farmer was elderly and a bachelor. From the
            distance he looked upright and young in his gait. A gentle thump with
            his stick on the rump of the largest beast set the cows into slow
            motion towards the upper pasture. They took their time. Man and dog did
            not disturb the pace. The cows knew where they were going, and with the
            birds singing, the sun shining, and the black cat surveying all from
            the barn door, who would want to rush the moment. Once in the upper
            pasture, the farmer closed the gate and made his way back along the
            crest of the field so that we could see him with his collie in relief,
            and beyond him the touquoise waters of the Firth that divided us from
            the Black Isle and Cromarty to the north. His tune continued
            throughout...

            Oh! rowan tree, oh! rowan tree,
            Thou'lt aye be dear to me,
            En twin'd thou art wi' mony ties
            O' hame and infancy.

            Rod Cameron
          • lelondul
            Having been a lurker here for sometime (my interest lying primarily in traditional Irish/Scottish/Breton music), I have learned a great deal from all of you
            Message 5 of 7 , Oct 7, 2003
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              Having been a lurker here for sometime (my interest lying primarily
              in traditional Irish/Scottish/Breton music), I have learned a great
              deal from all of you about both earlier music and it's fascinating
              instruments. However, I wanted to take a moment to thank Rod for his
              prosaic journal and sharing it with us.

              I dearly hope someday to see Chris Norman (and his ensemble?) and
              your giving us a 'backstage pass' however brief, certainly brought
              some intrigue to this grey day in the Pacific Northwest.

              Additionally, being from a place where the 'clouds are an important
              part of the scenery' as well, I was immediately transported to your
              briefly sunny moors and highlands and I feel a nastaligic beckoning
              from a land that I've never even visited! Thank you Rod, I hope you
              don't mind that in your abscence, I've contacted Mr. Gallagher in
              West Virginia to make me a flute ;)

              Regards,
              - Ryan
            • Lasocki, David
              Dear Ryan, ... in traditional Irish/Scottish/Breton music), I have learned a great deal from all of you about both earlier music and it s fascinating
              Message 6 of 7 , Oct 7, 2003
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                Dear Ryan,

                >Having been a lurker here for sometime (my interest lying primarily
                in traditional Irish/Scottish/Breton music), I have learned a great
                deal from all of you about both earlier music and it's fascinating
                instruments. However, I wanted to take a moment to thank Rod for his
                prosaic journal and sharing it with us.

                Rod certainly writes prose, but I'd say he's hardly prosaic and
                in fact quite poetic.

                With best wishes.

                Yours,

                David

                David Lasocki, Ph.D.
                Head of Reference Services
                Cook Music Library, Indiana University
                e-mail: lasocki@...
                phone: (812) 855-2971; fax: (812) 855-3843
                list of publications: http://php.indiana.edu/~lasocki
                mailing address: Cook Music Library, School of Music, Indiana
                University, 1201 E 3rd Street, Bloomington IN 47405-7006, USA.
              • lelondul
                Haha! Quite right David - thanks for catching that. Yes, poetic indeed. Please take no offense Rod! My kingdom for a grammar-check tool in addtion to
                Message 7 of 7 , Oct 7, 2003
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                  Haha! Quite right David - thanks for catching that. Yes, poetic
                  indeed. Please take no offense Rod!

                  My kingdom for a grammar-check tool in addtion to spell-checker ;)

                  Cheers,
                  - Ryan

                  --- In earlyflute@yahoogroups.com, "Lasocki, David" <lasocki@i...>
                  wrote:
                  > Dear Ryan,
                  >
                  > >Having been a lurker here for sometime (my interest lying
                  primarily
                  > in traditional Irish/Scottish/Breton music), I have learned a great
                  > deal from all of you about both earlier music and it's fascinating
                  > instruments. However, I wanted to take a moment to thank Rod for
                  his
                  > prosaic journal and sharing it with us.
                  >
                  > Rod certainly writes prose, but I'd say he's hardly prosaic
                  and
                  > in fact quite poetic.
                  >
                  > With best wishes.
                  >
                  > Yours,
                  >
                  > David
                  >
                  > David Lasocki, Ph.D.
                  > Head of Reference Services
                  > Cook Music Library, Indiana University
                  > e-mail: lasocki@e...
                  > phone: (812) 855-2971; fax: (812) 855-3843
                  > list of publications: http://php.indiana.edu/~lasocki
                  > mailing address: Cook Music Library, School of Music, Indiana
                  > University, 1201 E 3rd Street, Bloomington IN 47405-7006, USA.
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