The Pegasus Awards

Eva Van Daele-Hunt IF



Pegasus Nominations

Year Category Song Sample
2018 Best Filk Song I am I  
2018 Best Writer/Composer    
2016 Best Classic Filk Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2016 Best Exploration Song Terra Nova  
2015 Best Classic Filk Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2015 Best Writer/Composer    
2014 Best Writer/Composer    
2012 Best Gaming Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2012 Best Writer/Composer    
2011 Best Filk Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2011 Best Romantic Song Rain on Berlin  
2010 Best Magic Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2008 Best Filk Song Die Puppen (The Dolls)  
2005 Best Filk Song Stimmen im Wind  

Eva Van Daele-Hunt (née Wiest) is a criminal judge by day and a roleplayer, musician and songwriter by night. She joined the filk scene via Star Trek fandom in 1995 and has been an active member of the German filk community ever since. Her music mixes elements of folk and lieder; her lyrics are ballads, sometimes mysterious, sometimes eerie and almost always sad. She enjoyed a thorough education in classical music and today plays recorder, guitar, piano and church organ, although she loves to dabble with every instrument she can get her hands on (bodhran, flute, saxophone, cello, glockenspiel and others).

In late 2001, she joined Christine ('Crystal') Blum to form the filk duo 'Summer & Fall'. The two redheads, who were Interfilk Guests at GaFilk 2007, International Guests at Consonance 2008, Guests of Honour at 2010's DFDF (Das Frühlingsfest der Filksmusik)and Guests of Honor at Concertino in 2015, have so far released two CDs (Last Sunny Day in 2006, and Into the Blue in 2012) and one songbook (Harvest). Furthermore, since 2007, Eva/Summer performs with the filk-barbershop quartet 'Barbership', which also includes Katy Dröge-Macdonald (alto), Steve Macdonald (tenor) and Eva's Canadian husband Rafael Van Daele-Hunt (bass).

Rafael and Eva, who perform together under the name of 'Pair o' Dice' and were Guests of Honor at DFDF in 2018, live in a small town in Southern Germany. Their latest project is the formation of a family trio with their daughter Talea (born in 2008) who plays trombone, is taking musical theater classes and has lately become an honorary band member.

Representative Work for the 2018 Pegasus Awards.

Terra Nova (mp3)
(in memoriam Robert Falcon Scott)

Copyright © by Eva Van Daele-Hunt 8/2012
Recorded for Pegasus 8/2014
Lead vocals: Rafael Van Daele-Hunt; harmony vocals & piano, Eva Van Daele-Hunt
All Rights Reserved -
Used by Permission

(In the winter of 1911/1912, the Englishman Robert Falcon Scott and the Norwegian Roald Amundsen competed for the honour of being the first man on the South Pole. Scott's ship, and hence his whole expedition, bore the name 'Terra Nova'.)

Cape Evans, day 1. It’s the first of November in 1911 AD.
The moment has come. We’ve departed due south in detachments on sledges and ski.
I’m keeping this log wrapped in oilskin - it seems like a lifeline to lands I once knew.
God knows - maybe scholars will read it some day, though it is not applause I pursue.

Amundsen, finally! Why all the secrecy? Why would I stop you and how?
I've faced fate before, I have never shown fear nor regret, and I’m not starting now.
The Pole’s so much more than a dot on the map where meridian lines interlace.
We’re politely denying; „It’s science“, we’re lying, and yet we both know - it’s a race.

Day 32. The weather is worsening. All are soaked through and nigh blind.
The motorized sledges won’t work in the cold - we’ve unloaded and left them behind.
Two ponies were ailing and had to be shot - they were spending themselves in this snow.
Once we climb Beardmore Glacier it’s bound to clear up. We’ll raise speed on the polar plateau.

Day 54. It is Christmas. We’ve laboured a good 18 miles through the storm.
Had pony-hoosh, plum-duff and biscuits for dinner, our tent overcrowded, but warm.
We sang a few carols, then sat in a hush while the wind sang its answer outside.
The world seemed so vast - we sought refuge in laughter, yet, deeper, the emptiness cried.

Terra, Terra Nova, last white rim on the map and a promise unsaid,
Terra, Terra Nova - always just one pace ahead. . .

Day 65. 88 degrees south. I have chosen for strength and esprit,
five men for the pole: Laurence Oates, Edward Wilson, "Taff" Evans, H. Bowers - and me.
The others turn back - their support shift is over. They’re brooding and hard to console.
Teddy left me the handkerchief flag from his wife; I have pledged it would fly on the pole.

Day 74. Lord, I’m tired. My toes feel like marble and start to turn black.
We’ve now man-hauled the sledges for 400 miles and I feel every step in my back.
Still, we’re cheerful and blithe - we’re so close to our goal! One more day at this speed might suffice.
Our hearts race ahead - we can hardly keep up. There is something ahead on the ice. . .

Amundsen, say, do you care who I am? Does it sting when they mention my name?
My men give account of your poise and good nature. My jealousy fills me with shame.
Still it’s I who broke ground! You’ve not challenged my claim. Your blunt telegram was but a dare.
For all set-backs and strains, we have not given up - do you hear me? We almost are there!

Day 75. He was first. We’re defeated. A tiring trip back lies ahead.
Amundsen left us some stores, meaning well, but it feels like derision instead.
We’re disheartened. Great God! What a desolate waste of harsh edges and pitiless light.
No prize for our toil and no nightfall to veil the offence of that flag in the white.

Terra, Terra Nova, grey horizons close in in a strangling embrace,
Terra, Terra Nova, where do we go from this place?

Day 105. There’s a shortage of oil - it appears our tins were unsound.
Minus 40 degrees. Each 200-pound-sledge starts to clog up and freeze to the ground.
Evans has fallen - he’s addled and weak. I’m afraid he won’t last at this pace.
Step by step we walk into a hazy, bright void and the winds cover up every trace.

Day 133 - - - or four? I lost count a few pages ago.
Laurence Oates knew his illness was slowing us down. In the evening, he left for the snow.
When he opened the flap, said „I may be some time“, we were struck by the courage he showed.
There was greatness and strength in that quiet, last choice, though it was not in line with the code.

Amundsen, how I am struggling to wish you fair skies and a swift, safe return!  
Survivor and victor. I smile as I watch our last oil feebly flare up and burn.
Yet, each day, in my mirror, your eyes hold my gaze, so alike in ambition and pride.
In the books, maybe, I will live on for a while as your shadow - the Captain Who Tried.

Day 142. Pray, England, provide for our wives when we’re gone.
Wilson and Bowers have not stirred for hours. I’ve hardly the strength to write on.
Barely 12 miles to the depot, and yet half a world and a lifetime away.
I’ve lain waiting for almost a week in this blizzard. . . drawing closer each day. . .  

Amundsen - - - Roald, somehow you were here by my side in these frozen, lost lands -
almost a friend midst a terrible beauty that no-one but us understands.
It was done. In the face of that feat it seems vain who was first, if we came back or not.
Anyway, thanks that you stayed till the end. Robert Falcon Scott.

Terra, Terra Nova, past the ridges and rifts when the north-winds have died,
Terra, Terra Nova - only one step to the side. . .


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