Here is yet more talent
It was May 1989. I was one of a small team of engineers who flew first to the UK and then to Ludvika in Sweden for technical, project management, and quality management work on what were to become the new Thyristor Converter Banks of New Zealand’s upgraded HVDC link.
My last stop was the city of Malmö in the south of Sweden where the Fine Water Cooling Equipment was to be manufactured. This equipment circulates ultra-pure water through the Thyristor Converter Banks for cooling purposes. On conclusion I had a night and half a day in the old part of Malmö on my own before flying home.
After breakfast I went for a stroll to enjoy the beautiful sunny weekend morning and the view of the old streets. I loved it and on the plane I wrote just about my first ever piece of prose. Long hand of course!
Here it is, with apologies to purists for the lack of rigour:-
Impression In Malmö
A cross of streets in the old town was transformed at 11 a.m.
into a pedestrian way. Stone cobbles, old three storey buildings
on either side. Cafes spilled into the street where people
relaxed over nibbles in the sun.
At the end of one arm of the cross was a rock band.
They played well and enjoyed it. But the electronic sound was loud.
Like sentries they guarded the entrance to a fashion shop,
the noise preventing people from entering or leaving.
Elsewhere the people strolled, old and young, relaxing or
examining the beads hanging from racks in the middle of the street.
The women and girls were pretty, mostly yellow haired in simple
light white summer clothes. Equal and confident.
A band came, marching, purposeful. The Malmö Youth Symphonic Band;
some old some young and all dressed in page-boy suits of
dark blue with buckled shoes and brimmed black felt hats,
each with a long white feather curving back.
In the front were two, the leader holding the hand of a boy and smiling,
all dressed the same.
And they played, oh how they played!
Loud, without frills but beautifully in tune.
The buskers stopped playing, the people stopped walking and
talking and stepped respectfully aside. The sound grew louder as
the band approached, a mass of blue immersed in music.
The base drum in the centre being thumped with precision
by a lanky yellow haired youth.
Then the band was gone. Walking, talking, eating resumed.
Four violinists started playing again and drew a crowd, for they
played as one. Four girls, three yellow haired and one Chinese.