"Thea, I must have that concert organiser's number!", his commanding baritone sounded in my ear. Bernard van Beurden (1933-2016) invariably called from the South of France, where he lived - he had a modest pied-à-terre in Amsterdam. As a music journalist, I had interviewed him several times and seemed the right person to help him get information from his distant homeland. Then we sat chatting for hours, about the many projects he enthusiastically took up. Bernard will never call again...
You can now log in to continue reading!
Welcome to the Culture Press archive! As a member, you have access to all, over 4,000 posts we have made since our inception in 2009!
(Recent posts (under three months old) are available for all to read, thanks to our members!)
Become a member, or log in below:
You must be logged in to post a comment.