{"id":5546,"date":"2011-10-16T06:42:04","date_gmt":"2011-10-16T13:42:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/windpilot.com\/blog\/?page_id=5546"},"modified":"2018-04-22T01:11:49","modified_gmt":"2018-04-22T08:11:49","slug":"1947-1965","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/windpilot.com\/blog\/en\/biography\/1947-1965\/","title":{"rendered":"1947 – 1965"},"content":{"rendered":"

Peter Foerthmann<\/strong>
\n<\/a>1947 \u2013 1964<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>I would like to say I emerged into this world on an elegant schooner clutching a screwdriver in one hand and a pen in the other, but actually I arrived wet and howling just like everyone else \u2013 in my case at Hamburg\u2019s Jerusalem Hospital in May 1947. My early years were fairly typical too: plenty of do this, do that \u2013 and definitely don\u2019t do that.<\/p>\n

My mother Charlotte Foerthmann (1915 \u2013 1997)<\/strong><\/p>\n

Resistance was useless \u2013 believe me I tried and believe me it hurt. The world seethed with temptation, positively overflowed with restrictive rules. Some of them even made sense, usually once I found out what happened when I ignored them. I eventually came to appreciate my mother\u2019s firm and consistent approach to child rearing, but that was decades later. Meanwhile I made the most of what freedom I was allowed and enjoyed myself: life was simple and the world full of opportunities. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>My first love proved long and enduring \u2013 and also something to endure, especially when I had to cycle around with her on my back. Hauling her around exhausted me and together we were a source of exasperation for both my mother and my teacher, but like my bike, my violin kept me out of all kinds of trouble. No boy can avoid confrontation for ever of course, but I managed to limit my serious dust-ups to one with my brother \u2013 who still bears the scars of my attack (at least that\u2019s the way his wife puts it) \u2013 and some other kid who never amounted to anything (unless, that is, you consider being a senior international judge at the UN tribunal in The Hague an achievement).
\n\"\"<\/a>Water enjoyed a place close to my heart from my earliest years \u2013 provided I wasn\u2019t expected to wash in it. I loved the waterfront, any waterfront I could reach by bike. The harbourside in Hamburg was ideal: loud, colourful, bustling and full of activity. The only problem was that with so much going on, it was easy to miss something exciting.<\/p>\n

My soundtrack to these years came from Austrian singer Freddy Quinn (now 80 and still living in Hamburg), whose tales of the sea spoke clearly to my young mind. My mother, who sang Schumann and played the harpsichord, was horrified: we were a proper musical family \u2013 my brother Berend on the cello, my violin teacher and stand-in father Hubertus on first violin (in passionate Hungarian style) and the viola \u2013 and we played \u2018proper\u2019 music. <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Ballads of the ocean never featured in the family concerts we used to put on twice a year (and neither for that matter did Bach\u2019s Concerto for 2 Violins even though I actually learned to play it well enough that \u2013 most of the time \u2013 it didn\u2019t sound at all like multiple cat torture).<\/p>\n

My mother had a fine voice, but still I preferred Freddy\u2019s rough tones and could only smirk with embarrassment when she rose to sing. Nothing changes: now that I\u2019m a parent myself I too have transformed into a Martian and know nothing about anything that really matter. But I digress.
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