Tales from the Lake published by Amazon Kindle

This collection of short stories was written in and about Italy during the time I was living there, from 1992 to 2001, and then until 2009 for a large part of the year, after which health – particularly eye problems – suggested a return to the UK and closer proximity to Moorfields Eye Hospital. Not that I do not have the greatest respect for the Italian health service; it is just that most people feel more comfortable discussing their medical problems in their own language, and I am no exception.

The stories concern themselves mainly with the interaction between expatriates and the indigenous population. Around Lake Trasimeno (The fourth largest lake in Italy and the biggest on the peninsula at 11 miles by 8 miles) there are said to live 2,000 British people. Together with expats from Germany, the Netherlands, the USA, Sweden, the Philippines and various other countries, they come to live in Italy for a number of reasons, the high quality of the food being one of them, the stunning landscape another, the (usually) agreeable climate yet another. No one comes because they think the Italian government is better than their own, but possibly incompetence and incorruption are less unacceptable when clothed with the exoticism of a foreign language.

If you live in Italy, there is always a lot to do, most of it in the open air. In Italy the sun is the defining element. There are cold days, wet days, days in which you trudge up to the post office against a biting east wind that has travelled unchecked from the Urals, only to receive a postcard from a friend in Britain saying ‘How I wish I was in warm, sunny Italy, like you.’ There is also plenty to write about, if you are any kind of a writer. But there always seem to be better options – harvesting the olives, buying wine from a newly recommended vintner, driving down to the town in the valley (where there is a big weekly market), eating fresh fish at a lakeside restaurant, driving to Assisi, Siena, Gubbio or Arezzo to see masterpieces of Renaissance art, or to Pienza for some wonderful cheese. Or even just to wander up the mountainside with the scent of thyme in your nostrils, keeping an eye open for vipers, wild boar and the seldom-seen porcupine. Often, in the late afternoon, it was our pleasure to take our little boat across to Polvese island, there to swim or, in the early autumn, to walk round the tiny island amid a sea of wild cyclamen, stopping to pick delicious porcini (if the fishermen didn’t get there first, which they usually did).

With all these delights at hand, it is a wonder a single word ever got written. But it did; and Tales from the Lake is the result.

Best Bent Wire

BEST BENT WIRE, a novel by Colin Cooper, is now on Amazon's list of e-books, and is available on devices such as Kindle, iPhone, iPad, PC and Mac. The UK price is £4.59, including VAT.

This is the description given to Amazon:

"Set against the background of international interest in the Iranian oilfields 60 years ago, this novel is concerned with the ultimate futility of most military operations, and how it affects the life of one young British conscript in the Suez Canal Zone in 1946. For one thing, he is not suited for the job of intelligence agent. For another, he violates the then-prevalent code of military conduct by falling in love with an Egyptian girl, an involuntary action that leads to the cancellation of the operation and a prison sentence for the young man who has put emotional fulfilment before his military duty. Many years later, he tries to trace the girl he was prevented from marrying.

It could be a sad story, but the author chooses to stress the comic aspects – which are never very far away when the armed forces are involved."

James Fenimore Cooper and Berlioz

'GREAT chief! We are pledged to exchange tomahawks. Here is mine. It is rough-hewn. Yours too is plain. Only squaws and palefaces love ornate weapons. Be my brother; and when the Great Spirit sends us to hunt in the land of souls, may our warriors hang our tomahawks side by side at the door of the council chamber.' – Berlioz exchanges conductors' batons with Mendelssohn in 1843.

Mendelssohn died four years later, at the early age of 38. Berlioz, six years his senior, died in 1869, aged 66. James Fenimore Cooper's The Last of the Mohicans was published in 1826 and had achieved enormous success across the world. Berlioz knew about squaws and tomahawks, and clearly Mendelssohn did too; they may even have discussed the book together when they met in Rome.

D-Day

I am writing this on the 65th anniversary of D-Day, commemorating the landing in France of the Allied forces in their successful campaign to rid Europe of the murderous Nazi regime.

It reminded me of the first American I met, a few days before the invasion began. My family were living in the Quantock Hills, in Somerset. American soldiers were training somewhere in the area, though we never knew exactly where.

I, my sister Wendy and my brother Clive were playing an informal game of cricket on a flat stretch of grass at Courtway. We had a few stumps, a bat and a ball, and that was enough. I was 17, Wendy was 16, Clive was 13. I suspect that Wendy only joined us because she had nothing else to do on that warm June evening. Courtway was a remote hamlet in those secluded hills; a post office-cum-shop, a corrugated steel chapel, and a few houses and cottages, a pub called The Bell half a mile distant, and that was it.

As we played our game, we noticed an American GI watching us. He was in uniform and wearing a steel helmet. He wanted to know the rules of this strange-looking game. We told him, and invited him to join in. This he did, with more enthusiasm than skill. When it came to bowling, he was inclined to pitch the ball like a baseball player. When it was his turn to bat, we had to warn him that if he connected with the ball as a baseball player would, the ball would disappear into the gorse bushes and in all probability be lost.

When we had had enough cricket, we asked him back to our cottage, and he readily agreed. Indoors, he apologised for not taking off his helmet. His head had been shaved, he told us, and he was self-conscious about his appearance. None of us could guess that 60 years later that style would be in vogue.

Because security was tight, he would not reveal his real name; because he came from Georgia, he said we could call him George. He was a good guest. He told us about his home in Georgia and his family. He played the violin, though without any professional ambition. I brought out my own violin, and George played it, my mother accompanying at the piano. What George would not do was tell us about his army activities, beyond the information that he had been called up ('inducted' was his word) like thousands of others in Franklin D. Roosevelt's determination to crush the spread of Nazism. We understood, and didn't press our questions. We all knew that the invasion was imminent, and that security was important. 'Careless talk costs lives' was a slogan imprinted on our minds from the beginning of the war 5 years earlier.

Before he left, George gave his home address to my mother, who in return gave him ours in case he felt like getting in touch at some later date. It never happened. We heard that George's landing craft had been sunk before it reached Utah Beach, with no survivors. Utah Beach was exceptionally well defended, and American casualties were heavy. We were grieved to know that George was one of them, and that so friendly a young man would never grow to full maturity and lead a normal life. My mother wept.

Three months later, I was called up, trained as a specialist radio operator and, in February 1945, sent out to France to take part in the last 4 months of the campaign. My mother was anxious: she had experienced some of the horrors of war during her time as a nurse in France during World War I. My father had also served in France, and seemed to take it for granted that that was young man did. As for myself, I was determined to 'do my bit', to do what was asked of me without complaint.

I crossed the Channel on D-Day+235, or thereabouts. Some of the men in my new unit had crossed on D-Day itself, and did not let me forget it. They were justifiably proud of their action, and felt superior to anyone who came later. One of them even, in a fit of irritation, called me a 'D-Day dodger', as if I had made a deliberate decision to avoid the danger by being only 17 at the time and working for the war effort in an aircraft factory.

After the failure of Hitler's last counter-attack in the Ardennes (the 'Battle of the Bulge'), two months previously, there was a feeling of victory in the air. But I never forgot George, his gentle manner, his courtesy, his friendliness. He had, of necessity, been trained to fight, but he was not a soldier. Any more than I was.

Did They Like Me?, a new book by Colin Cooper, has just been published by Doberman-Yppan, Québec. Aimed at the young musicians who take part in competitions, it is an alphabetical guide to the things that the music academies do not teach you.

Having sat on more than 60 competition juries, Colin has had an unusually wide experience of the various problems experienced by a young musician. All too often the musical inspiration of young players is obscured by non-musical matters, and it is hoped that Did They Like me? will go some of the way towards making their talents more clearly observed.

The title is one of the questions sometimes asked after a performance by a competitor. If the lessons of the book are absorbed, it should be asked less frequently.

"... Friendly yet analytical ... I hope that this book will become the reference work it deserves to be." - Classical Guitar magazine.