On Sunday night, 20th July 1969, we, as Cambridge undergraduates of King’s college, were returning from a party and stopped to look at the moon which was waxing crescent with around 30 per cent of its surface visible. A waxing crescent is, of course, the first phase after the New Moon and is a great time to see the features of our only satellite’s surface.
We were standing in King’s parade opposite King’s college chapel and discussing mankind’s first moon landing. Had it happened yet? We weren’t sure.

At the college there was only one television set which we junior members could watch. It was placed in a rather small and not very hospitable room next to the bar. I recall never having watched anything on it except for the first episode of ‘Dad’s Army ‘which had started up in 1968.
My thoughts about the moon was that, as a symbol of the Greek goddess Artemis and the Roman Diana – the virgin goddess who swore never to marry – was now about to be violated by men. I, therefore, did not feel too excited about a new frontier of science and technology; a fresh land to be explored but, instead, saddened that this untouched satellite was about to be all but raped.
I also felt that, as the new world had been conquered by an alien civilization from Europe, the moon was about to be similarly conquered by new subjugators and that, in my old age, Saga holidays would be offering cut- price vacations to the ‘Mare serenitatis’ (sea of tranquility) or the Aitken basin, the moon’s largest crater at 1,600 miles across.
As we know, in hindsight, nothing like this did happen in the fifty years that followed that ‘giant leap for mankind’ (although people like Elon Musk might probably change all that within the next ten).
The US of A was then not particularly popular with us radical students. I was, that previous year, trampled by a horse at Grosvenor Square, during an anti-Vietnam demonstration in which police violence on a scale never before experienced in the UK had been used. The then president, Nixon, was of a similar ilk of the present POTUS, although, at least, he was able to string sentences together that made some sort of grammatical sense.
I sometimes wonder if the USA has ever been an adored ally of the UK, at least since the death of that supreme president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
Grosvenor square, when I visited it earlier this week, is a much changed place from that vicious mayhem of 1968. The US embassy has moved south of the river to Battersea (much to trumpet’s chagrin) and the former building is now being turned into a luxury hotel. On the lawns of the square there was live jazz, food stalls and a convivial atmosphere with people basking on deckchairs in the brilliant sunshine of a London heat wave.
The moon means so much to me. I do sense it as a supreme feminine presence and on that ravishment of her silver sex I feel that there should at least have been one woman present. Those were other times, however, and even today no woman has placed her foot on our virgin goddess satellite.
Last year there was a spectacular lunar eclipse at Bagni di Lucca and an entrancing concert was arranged on the grounds of the Villa Bonvisi in the old part of the town.

If you missed this concert you can read all about it in my post at
The same singer, Charlotte Potter, will be joined by Bagni Di Lucca’s own tenor Claudio Sassetti for a concert in the Circolo dei Forestieri square this Monday at 9 pm. For more details see:
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2246885345408999&id=100002626665671
Some planets in our solar system and those systems that lie beyond our cluster have more than one moon. One morning I woke up after a strange dream in which I felt I had been abducted by alien beings from another galaxy. The planetary inhabitants that had abducted me had two moons for their universe. Here is the description I wrote while still under the influence of those beings. Believe me, I am not mad, or ‘Luna-tic’, as they sometimes say!
HORIZONS
Gigantic cliffs stand peaked like wings of gulls
and cut through sky of indigo. Two moons
lie hung upon translucent pregnancy:
this is the planet where there is no sound.
At dusk spiced crimson rocks drum granite chords
which penetrate hard entrails of stilled earth,
bronze sands vibrate with fluent overtones,
ionosphere drops ultrasonic waves.
Here is the summit and below hot seas
of sapphire circle coastlines, solarized
and drawn towards cerise-soaked longitudes:
the night is stretched out like a waking cat.

























La scalinata principale e’ molto particolare.



Visitai ieri, sotto un nevischio, il bunker segreto a Uxbridge, centro di comando, sotto il Maresciallo Dowding, dell’undicesimo gruppo della RAF che, con i suoi mitici caccia Spitfire e Hurricane, nell’estate del 1940 causarono la prima sconfitta del regime nazista nella ‘Battle of Britain’ – la battaglia d’Inghilterra – così, assistendo gli alleati nel 1944, dai porti inglesi, di sbarcare in Normandia e porre fine alla Seconda Guerra Mondiale.