Props and Springs

You could see why several famous silent movie comedians (and some others since then), had made such mileage out of the sequences of simply hanging wallpaper. The ideas of using such props for laughs was also used in several live music hall shows, long before the movies. Wallpaper has changed a lot, but the sense of fun (although our father seemed to miss the point a little) has never been far from such work. Ladders, buckets, paper rolls and glue. What more could you ask for? Add in a few doors, windows, and people, and catastrophe is easily within reach. There are so many routines one could conceive. Of course the best ones would involve making a mess. But picture it now. What fun could be made of such work and (from the artist in me), what works could be made such fun. 

However, my father showed me how to hang the paper straight and true. A skill I still remember. Though given my dislike for such wall coverings, I doubt it will be of much use today. I did use the skill on several set designs I assisted in creating, when working in professional theatre some years later, but in the real world, I prefer a plain wall with art or my own photographs hung to display.

The striped wallpaper of my shared bedroom has stayed with me over the years and there I was looking at it. Fearful of the impending punishment my father was to deliver. I sat on the edge of the bunk bed nearest the door. I had the bottom bunk, my next younger brother the top of this set. My other younger brother (currently lying injured in the hospital, through accidental kite mis-management (see April 1^st blog) ). He usually had the top bunk of the second set and my youngest brother had the other bottom bunk. I was never too keen to lie down and look up at the sagging springs of my bothers top bunk as I waited for sleep. I often wondered  (and often heard) exactly what was to pass down through his sheets and to the mattress, seeping through to ‘my’ air space. Everytime he rolled around, shifting in his sleep, should I be concerned. Could he fall through the springs?

Actually to call them springs was incorrect. There were springs around the outside, but the metal links were just that. Links, which formed an interlocked mesh across the space. It was expected to hold up the weight of a rapidly growing child. On the odd occasion, I had been known to unclip some of the links, just to see what might happen. No cruelty involved. Just a test of ‘weight dispersion’ (see physics again, boy, if we had been taught physics when we were young, I think we could have been scientists). It seems the metal just creaked and groaned more. It’s a good thing my brother was never obese, as sadly many kids in our society today are.

(continued tomorrow)

Getting a Pasting

So my sister and father now created several sound effects behind the well and truly slammed bedroom door. And it wasn’t the outlandish sound effects of a radio comedy (unfortunately). It was a painful reminder of consequences. It didn’t matter that my sister was right, but again, my father’s authority had been challenged. He never liked that. It was one reason we children often worried for each other. Though, if I may return to where this story started, with me sitting alone in my room awaiting the punishment my father was likely to bring, after I had injured my younger brother (accidentally. I will keep stressing that fact). I did not see much sign of the other members of the family staunchly standing beside me to be involved in the punishment. In fact I could liken their absence to that famous of descriptions; Rodents deserting a sinking ship. A smart move, if not appreciated.

It was after my father had returned to the lounge, following that brief telephone call and the door there, had closed (quietly). I waited tensely. Staring at the wall from where I had been told to sit. I believe the ancient pattern of that thin wallpaper in our shared room has been intensely seared into my brain, thus ensuring I will never live in a house with wallpaper ever again, and the thin, thick, striped pattern that made up its vertical length has also forever put me off buying some business shirts.

I later learnt how to hang such wallpaper from my father. We did it several times over the years, in various houses. The old true traditional way. The cleaning of the wall. Scraping and sanding down, then patching any holes in the walls. Washing down with sizing. The measuring and marking out. And then, the expensive part. The cutting of the lengths off the roll, and checking. The wetting, then pasting. Attempting to hang it straight. I say expensive, because there were several things that could go wrong (and usually did). One, we cut a length or two and when checking discovered that the paper had shifted and we were a fraction short or too long. Too long was okay but too short was never good. On some occasions we could get away with that by knowing furniture might hide the join (until the furniture was moved around in the house). Usually, it meant my fathers careful, fiscal calculations on how much wallpaper he had purchased, would be challenged. If not, altogether wrong. Requiring more wallpaper to be purchased. (Don’t forget. There was never a lot of spare money in our household, despite both my father and my mother working). Then corner clips could be made at the wrong angle. Or worse, when hanging we discovered the paper had got turned around and was now upside down. It would then have to be peeled off while still wet, without creasing or tearing it. Straightened, turned around and hung back correctly.

(continued tomorrow)

Goon, but never forgotten

In some ways, not being able to see the punishment dished out by my father, for my sisters response to his claim she had ‘slammed the door’, was a little like the experiences I had growing up listening to some radio shows. Unfortunately, I hit radio towards the end of the weekly serials and comedy shows, when television was starting to challenge the radio’s dominance. I was however very, very fortunate, to have come in on the first repeats of the Goon Shows. These were an absolute highlight to our week, particularly for my brother and I. The natural flowing silliness and incomparable wit that poured from the scripts, mostly crafted by the late great wordsmith (and I will add my personal endorsement, for such that it is) ‘genius’ comic ear (and eye) of Spike Milligan, with delivery assistance from, The late Peter Sellers (another genius) and the third member of the trio, that rotund most honourable and entertaining singing Welshman, Harry Secombe. There were others of course involved. Michael Bentine was in at the start, when the show was called crazy people, he left a short time after it became the Goon Show. And, I believe Eric Sykes, another wonderful performer, who despite his hearing disability, went on to television and film success with his wonderful comic delivery, assisted Larry Stephens in scripting some episodes. The wonderful music (a style of which, some thirty-five years later, I still revel in enjoying), of the Ray Ellington Quartet, musician Max Geldray (and the Orchestra conducted by Wally Stott), with announcer, Wallace Greenslade.  Perhaps the greatest thanks should go to the producers of the sound effects. The Foley performers and sound technicians, from whom much of the shows entertainment was derived. It was something I had the opportunity to take part in many years later, in several forms. But it was their spirit, in my mind, that lent a hand.

My brother and I ensured, even 10 years after the last show had gone to air (just before I was born) it status. We kept listening to the brilliant scripting, the silly humour that so appealed to our funny bones, and the wonderful music. Lines which even today cannot help but be recalled to mind and escape my lips in moments and opportunities so fitting (or sometimes not), but that doesn’t matter. They were the Goons. They epitomised the classic use of the English language. They took full advantage and more of the medium they were in, and created a wonderful world, where, through language and imagination, one could be carried away with a laugh, a word and a single sound effect. But carry us away they did. Over the hills and far away …

SFX:   receding footsteps running away (tramp, tramp, tramp) fading until they stop…..

[a voice calls distantly]:

Neddie: [distant] “is this far enough?’

Gryp: “Just one more step “

Neddie: [distant] Alright, just ooooooooo--nnnnn---eeeee”

(the voice fades)

SFX : A large splash is heard.

Gryp: (Voice nearest the microphone states simply). “That will do nicely”.

(this was my script -with apologies to the Goons, but you get the idea). 

I loved their delivery, the humour, and where the words would take you. The unexpected punch-lines, and more specially, the trademark ones you listened for, throughout the entire show. You entertained so many but particularly two young minds, as few have ever done, and much of what I learnt from them, I have also applied. Dear Goons, Goon but definitely not forgotten.

(Continued tomorrow)

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

And we are back with responsibility for yourself and your behaviour. Which also brings us back to the ‘Missy’ comment, from my father, to my sister and what resulted. After a moments pause, my had sister replied, ‘I didn’t slam the door. I pushed it shut… (pause) firmly”. The temperatures began to rise between them both almost immediately, and as mentioned it was never a good idea. ‘Don’t you back answer me”, was the standard comment (often uttered by my father when we disagreed with anything he said in ‘reprimand’ mode) then “‘Missy’” was again thrown into the argument that was now building. To which my sister replied (loudly), “If I had slammed the door, it would have sounded like this!” And with that, and no doubt all the muscle power of her small framed stature, she thrust her door shut. Hard! It hit the wooden frame, and soundly shut. The sound shuddering through the house with the loud concussive wave that physically shook the dwelling.

There can be no denying that she had proved her point. Conclusively. The shuddering house was testament to that fact. She had re-soundly proven it. She would be very happy about that. Such a convincing, solid argument as well. Her shutting the door firmly, had produced one level of audible concussion, her slamming it, had produced a far more audible and physical sound. There was one slight problem. My sister had slammed the door with her and father on the same side. Time stopped, for just a fraction of a moment, which must have seemed a long, long pause for my sister.

I recall the many hundred of moments as a youth watching that same ‘special’ moment (over and over again). Replayed in the famous duel between Wiley E. Coyote© and the Roadrunner©. You remember. The build up of complicated planning, the careful arranging and perfect execution of his often very brilliant plans to watch as something simple went wrong (or the animators cheated). There was always that pause, that moment of realisation that yet again the plan had not worked. It often followed by the look to camera (pleading look), and then the fall, strike, collapse and usually crush of the coyote. Not only once, then repeated and continued, against, canyon floor, rock, wall, cliff, train etc, etc, etc. But it was that pause that was significant. I am sure we have all experienced it.

When my sister slammed the door (this time). There was a loud sound as the wave swept out from the door. Now if we look at physics (yes, physics again) there is the simple explanation that, after a sound wave of considerable size sweeps out from a place there is a minor vacuum created into which (as many know Nature abhors a vacuum), something must fill. In this case, after the dramatic pause, as my father must have realised that, not only had my sister proven her position, she had slammed it back (not just a back answer) at him. And there was now a silence, which he was about to fill.

(continued tomorrow)

Deciding to be proud

Okay, continuing on with responsibility (before finishing the door anecdote). We used to point the finger at others (when we were little children), if we thought we were going to be in trouble. If, by diverting the attention to another sibling or person the action could be better justified, or the consequences avoided altogether. That’s the difference. There are so many ‘adults’ out there today, who want to point the finger at others for the decisions they themselves make. Mainly the bad decisions they make. They tend to forget the good decisions, as they do not bring in so much assistance or opportunity for avarice. The moment something happens and the outcome is not favourable, we, as society, tend hear that dreaded word. Compensation. Somebody should pay compensation to somebody else. Somebody should be compensated for something that happened, fifty or one hundred, or even two hundred more years ago. Even, when they were not directly involved. This appears to be a disease of the modern western society. The all too often throwing away of any personal responsibility, and subsequently, pointing the blame at somebody else, rather, than examining their own possibly poor decisions and actions.

In many of the countries I visited, in Asia and Africa particularly (I cannot speak for Central, or South America, not having been there, yet), I was often inspired by the work ethic of people who had nothing. The personal responsibility they display. In many areas (outside of the main cities), people have to generate their own wealth and create their own sustainability. They had no welfare assistance to draw on. They had no guaranteed income, or even service delivery. Admittedly, it is often a poorer lifestyle than that which I am privileged to have today, but, because of this individual drive I observed a greater level of pride in all things. In the homes, the families, the villages. I saw enormous pride for what they had worked to obtain. Even something as simple as getting a new set of clothes. They were worn with pride, cleaned and dried, with that same pride.

I saw wooden boxes used as dwellings, which literally ‘shone’ from being swept, cleaned and arranged to reflect that pride. People who had nothing finacially (according to the world economists), had something of far greater value. Respect. For each other, as well as themselves. I have shared people’s very meagre meals at their insistance. I have walked dirt roads in the company of people who possess a far greater happiness than many. They enjoy the moment. They enjoy and respect the other. I once took part in building a section of a what was to be a shared, two room dwelling, built by four families, working to save and buy the bricks and materials in stages, as they obtained any little income. They ‘owned’ their house, from the ground up. Nothing happened until they paid for the next piece. They would own it when it was finished. But most of all I saw the link created between personal responsibility and the outcome. Personal pride.

(continued tomorrow)

Naming Facts and Dogs

One of our favourite pets, was a wonderful, tolerant (until in his later years), terrier who had the distinction (and I do not believe I have ever heard of it since), of not only having a first name, but a last name as well (We often suggested mother had named him after an old boyfriend). But if you stood on the steps to call him, on the occasions he had got away out the yard. Yelling out, ‘Michael O’Shaunnessy” at the top of our lungs, drew looks from passing strangers who inquired if a child was missing. They were then confused by our quizzical look, and perfectly natural answer was, “No our dog is.” “So, he’s with this Michael then?” they would enquire further. “No”, we would wonder what was wrong with them. “Michael O’Shaunnessy is our dog!”. They never seemed to hear us properly (or there was a neighbourhood wide spate of partial deafness) as they would say ‘Sorry?” Never understood it. It was simple. Honestly, what else would you name a dog?”

However it wasn’t the name, but the word my father had just called my sister. ‘Missy’. “Missy, the condescending put down. The ‘treat them like a teenage child’ noun, which had immediately been thrown out into the small space between my sister and my father. Well, as mentioned, this could be like a red rag to a bull where my sister was concerned. Never shy about speaking her mind on many occasions, she sometime forgot exactly what sort of occasions she could speak her mind, and get away with it. This may not have been one of those. Let me say here and now, having been involved in many confrontations in my life. When tempers are on the rise, it is always best to not say anything (I never have of course, I just know this to be true). If one could simply close the mouth, and prevent the brain, from total automatic engagement. And if possible, to stop or smoothly change ones behaviour, to prevent the body from automatically over-riding good sense, and causing some action one will later regret. It is surely far more  sensible to simply stop. To shut down. But we don’t do we (be honest)?

The French are even recognised in understanding the ‘momentary insanity’ action. When one will act without appropriate thought (this is attributed to them, but history does argue otherwise). The ‘crime de passion’ legal claim that we have heard so much about. Where one’s passion is not necessarily love or lust, but the passion of living itself. When one is so bereft of sense, driven in a moment of extreme despair to overstep the moral behaviour one would normally exhibit. To lose control, due to an extreme emotional state and then claim it wasn’t your fault, but someone drove you to it. Oh for goodness sake. Come on! You are responsible for you… if you lose control, then admit it!

(continued tomorrow)

What's in a name?

When my father pushed open the door and walked into my sisters room to berate her for slamming the door, we all panicked a little. We always did, when one of us was in trouble. Then we relaxed a little, when we realised it wasn’t specifically any of us that was in trouble this time.  We could all quite clearly hear what was said. “What?” was the defensive whine from my sister, as she was surprised, by my father, suddenly opening the door. “Who do you think you are Missy!”. You don’t slam the door like that!” (whoops, red rag to a bull!) Oh, that term often used by my parents on any of my older sisters. Missy, that was almost as bad as being called by your full name.

Did you ever have that? It always seemed to be my mother who said it that way. When you were asked to do something and maybe you didn’t. Then later when your mother realised you hadn’t, your name was called out. Not quietly, and not just your first name, (providing they could remember which of the eight children you were). It was sometimes a series of names, rattled off, often, oldest to youngest, in a hit and miss attempt to label the right child, and get their attention, when in a hurry to get on with what was going to be said to that individual. I remember sometimes after running through the list of my older sister’s names in an attempt to get to me, the dog’s name was called out before actually getting to mine. Really made you feel special that!

But you knew you were really in trouble of sorts, when your mother loudly declared your full name. To the household, street, and occasionally the entire neighbourhood. (Not that our families names weren’t already known to most). Mother would call all of your names. Being Catholic we all had a middle name. I, unfortunately, had two middle names. I still do, and in some ways it has been helpful to separate me from others with the same first and last name (of which there are a few). At high school, I was the only one with two middle names and whenever they printed a programme for sports or presentations, they had to leave an extra column, just for my single initial. It was funny to look at a list of names and there was one just standing out by itself. It was seldom appreciated by engravers of any trophies when they had to redress the line, engraving the extra initial on a trophy. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t a sports champion or high achiever for the school.

So there it was. If your mother needed to locate you, or berate you, your full name would be called out (eventually), when mother insisted on getting your attention. Fortunately at least, most of us were simply named after the saints. Which was acceptable to the neighbourhood. But not all of us…..

(continued tomorrow)

The Doors are loud

So while the doors were made of a good, thick, solid, timber, they were consequently very hard to, if not completely, impossible to hear through. Being solid, in some ways was a disadvantage for when you pushed them closed, a little too enthusiastically, noise occurred. Without intending to, the slam was sometimes thunderous, and consequently, parents often interpreted this as, ‘Slamming the door in a tantrum’. This could in itself, land the door ‘slammer’ in very hot water. Even when done accidentally, the sound was loud and the concussion felt throughout the house. They were solid. So were the floors and walls, which meant, not a lot of gaps. And although we never were exposed to much on the laws of audio-dynamics and physics, (as mentioned in many earlier blogs), concerning the transference of sound, and pressure, we certainly heard what could occur.

The results of concussive waves of sound, travelling through the air, and through some dense matter, would certainly encounter the ears of our parents (I don’t know if that was one of the laws of physics, but it certainly happened). The weight of the door, smashing into the frame of the door, and the concussive wave that reverberated could sometimes draw a restrained religious prayer from a stressed, and possibly frayed nerve damaged mother. “For God’s sake, stop slamming the door”, was sometimes heard to escape her lips, (usually ‘sotte voce’ as all prayers should be). Though what God and the doors (apart from the one into heave)n had to do with our house I was never too sure.

There was one instance with my oldest sister I recall, where she had had a minor dispute in the kitchen, with her mother, and, being the teenager she was, she had left a little unhappy and made her way to her room, just as father arrived home. Closing her door a little forcefully on the rest of the house, created the very type of shock waves of sound we are discussing. Just as father had entered the dwelling. All he hears, as he enters, is the slam and the large banging vibration of the building echoing down the house length. This is not how he wishes to be greeted. ‘Right’ was the phrase that issued from a tight-lipped mouth as he deposited his jacket on the chair and in his usual ‘fatherly’ manner made his way to the door of my sister’s room. He threw open the door so quickly that my sister barely got to say “ Haven’t you…(heard of knocking)”, was probably going to be the next words out of her mouth, but seeing the look on her father’s face, she stopped and looked at him. “How many times have you been told not to slam the doors in a tantrum.” My father started.

Now. Every so often, when we believed we were right, we, ….. over-stepped our right of reply to anything our parents may have said to us. This was one such classic moment.

(continued tomorrow)

Harden Up?

I have once again drifted away from the ongoing sage of the expected punishment from my father, for splitting open the head of my younger brother (I believe this story started around the April the 1^st blog… but it’s no April Fool). Remember, it was an accident, with serious consequences. Fortunately it wasn’t fatal. It could have been. I have had my brother say it has affected him for life (or so he has been told). Again many members of our family have had extremely serious injuries for one reason or another. Today a phrase I hear a lot (usually said in jest between colleagues) is “Harden up princess”. I am sure this has come about thanks to the widely read fairy tale of the ‘Princess and the Pea’ by Hans Christian Anderson (cough cough)? The idea, that a little bit of pain, will interrupt everything. I mean really! Okay. For him it was a lot of pain. For me it was the expectation of a lot of pain to come. And no I don’t really think the princess and the Pea is the basis for that phrase (But as a storyteller, I wish it was).

There I was, sitting in my shared bedroom. Not that any of the other boys wanted to be within a mile of this room (and were not) at that time. Awaiting the decision of my father as to what punishment I was to receive. I had heard the footfalls since he arrived home. I had heard the steps in the house as he went to the telephone at the front of the house (yes, houses only had one phone, if they had one back then). He had returned to the lounge, closing the door, likely to ruminate upon the method of punishment delivery. I strained to hear any faint sound of possible conversational decision making he, and my mother may have been having. It was fairly pointless. Even if I had had a glass pressed to the door, in that classic of eavesdroppers poses, two doors made it near impossible to hear anything. And the walls? Too thick.

Please remember this was a house built in New Zealand, under New Zealand building conditions, in the Southern part of the country, where New Zealand arctic weather conditions prevailed. Where even then, earthquakes regularly occurred. Not the enormous level. None, with the intensity of the Napier earthquake of 1931, where the city was massively rebuilt, or the recent dreadful Christchurch earthquakes of 2010/11. For which many are still waiting building and assistance. But houses were generally built a lot thicker, stronger and I have to say better, than many I have since seen in countries all over the world. In fact some of the modern construction methods, workmanship (although to call it that is an insult to many earlier builders) and poor quality of materials, truly scare me. I seriously doubt that many houses built today will be around in one hundred years. They just don’t make them like they used too.

(continued tomorrow)

Nature by Choice?

While on the track of Nurture vs Nature. The lessons learnt as children and youths, often take many, many, many years, to be absorbed and become a part of who you are. I occasionally do a double take (and flinch a little) when I see a sideways glance of myself, or the odd photo (of which there are not too many) and see my father’s features suddenly thrown back. This is normal. It’s genetics. We can’t all look, as we would like all the time. But our behaviour is a little easier to understand. We make particular choices.

I am writing this now having just spend five hours of my time (not to mention everyone else’s involved) dealing with two seriously drug-addled, rude, abusive and dangerous young adults whose behaviour, by their own choice, put everyone at risk. I find it difficult to understand. I may have done the odd thing wrong, but I don’t believe I ever was so far off the rails of social behaviour as these two were today. Maybe they never listened to the lessons they were supposed to. Not just from their school, or their family, but all lessons in life combined. I asked my son once if I had taught him anything. He said, that he was responsible for his decisions. A great lesson to take in life, but more importantly he said that his actions may affect others, not just himself. Thoughtful. (And we didn’t need a religion to come to this conclusion). We treat each other as people. It is that simple.

I know these days I see all too much of the selfish side of people. The un-thinking side. The type who blame everyone, but themselves. Sure, they may have missed out on some things. But as I mentioned yesterday, did they try to change what they knew was wrong? Not everyone seems to understand the moral issues which can be involved in their decision making. Even a poorly educated person can know right from wrong. It is a very simple thing to ask of your self. Should I do this? Is it right? I have seen what can happen. I have been here before. If I do it, will the same thing happen? Of course it will! Moral choice can be taught. Where I have been going in the last few weeks with this blog, is talking about punishment, and those of you following have read about the ‘fear factor’ in my youth. But, it also reminds me of the respect. It was not the best way to learn and perhaps I am ‘scarred’. But I am respectful where others are involved. Even if they have not earned it, I provide it. The trouble-makers I had to deal with today had to acknowledge this (Unfortunately they tried to point it out to others they had already abused and didn’t respect, and in the most abusive manner). I didn’t respect them, but there was no need for me to fuel their attitudes, wrong as they may have been. Maybe they will think more on that than on what else will happen. One can only hope.

(Continued tomorrow)

Nuture v Nature

The loud peel of laughter from all the others gathered in the room, as I had blurted out my innocent, reflective comment, was probably what caused the volatile reaction, rather than the comment itself. Those moments, when everyone who laughed aloud spontaneously, has suddenly stopped laughing, as they realise the axe is going to fall, ….. again! On me, … again!

Let it not be said that we did not judge the world, based upon our personal experiences. That we examined what we saw, and thought, using our environment and education. A true combination of the age-old argument for ‘Nuture versus Nature’. Both, were involved. You could say we were ‘nutured’ to observe. And, with most of our family, to comment, on what we saw or thought. It was a part of the ‘nature’ of our families’ make-up. Of course, that is not what the argument of ‘Nurture versus Nature’ is about. How much happens due to genetics, and what happens with the effect of the environment. It is probably unfortunate that if evolution does have it right, that change, due to natural environment is so slow. Otherwise, not only would I have developed the quick mind I possessed, I may also have possessed the equally swift feet and legs. Though, given that argument, my father would probably have developed extra-ordinary long arms and very wide and hard surfaced hands (If you catch my drift).

The comment regarding my father’s age was entirely innocent. Brief, and innocent. The aftermath was not. Despite the best efforts of my mother, to ‘cajole’ my father (that it was not necessary to ‘ban him for life’ from the television), due to the accidental inference he had taken to my comment. It was with what appeared to be great hurt, that my father told me to leave the room. And felt the others in their laughter were scorning all he set out to achieve. I was probably lucky it was late in the afternoon and raining, so there were no specific tasks he would assign me to, but it was the regret I felt later, reviewing what I had said, and understanding what had caused him to feel some hurt.

The comment must have stirred some guilt in him. He was not that old. Even now I am some twelve years older than he was at the time. I am however very aware of the effect of which age is starting to affect my physical body. But I am constantly doing something about it. Changing my diet, regular exercise. I do not drink and have not had a cigarette in the last 14 years. Perhaps, part of his guilt, raised by my remark, was based on the fact he did not seem to consider these things. He had been raised differently, and as I said to him on many occasions in the later years. “I wanted to change what was wrong. I wanted to change what I had been shown, that I thought was wrong, and do it differently”. There was always something to learn from the ‘Nurture’ side of the debate.

(Continued tomorrow)

Insult to Injury

Before choosing weapons, I had to consider several things. Age was one of them. I was young my father was older. Given the age of my father, and that too could be a sore point. I believe I once caused him insult (a duel, a duel you cry?) unintentionally (not to say that any other times I insulted him were intentional). We had been watching a Formula One motor race and my father was sitting in ‘his’ chair. This is important to understand. When watching television, we children were at the end of the room, farthest from the television itself, sitting on the sofa, or the ‘pouf (small ottoman), or one of the other straight chairs. Fathers ‘Chair’ was a recliner type, which was nearest to the television, so we were always behind him, out of his line of sight, as it seems, we fidgeted, and this would put him off watching. ‘Even now, one of you is jiggling your leg, I can feel it” He constantly used to complain (sorry but edginess can do that to a person). However, this particular occasion as we watched the end of the motor race on a wet Sunday afternoon (wet, where we were, not where the race was), the slim driver climbed from the cockpit of the vehicle. The commentator said in a thrilling voice, “And there he is, a winner at 42 years of age’. Immediately after this comment I had looked up as this fit racing car driver, who had valiantly thrown his vehicle calmly around a racing circuit at a couple of hundred miles per hour for a couple of hours turned and gestured to the delighted crowd.

I had of course, looked past my father in his chair. Sitting with a couple of bottles of beer (these were those long tall ones), stacked beside him on the ‘coffee’ table and a glass with the familiar looking froth head around the lip. Perhaps he also a plate of his deep fried‘mock’ whitebait fritters (fried grated potato fritters), which he only cooked for himself on Sunday for lunch, or occasionally when there was a Saturday test match on, sitting next to this. I recall the visual of him in the chair, the slightly large form partially reclined (he possessed a bit of a beer gut, so his stomach swelled forward in the chair, adding to the shape). His legs thrust forward in a comfortable position ready to nod off (and snore) as he often would in his ‘unwinding’ time from the weeks work.

Innocently I opened my mouth after the commentator had raised his congratulations to this incredible athlete and said, ‘ Gee, he’s even older than you, dad, and look at what he’s done.’ It was supposed to be an innocent remark about how well the driver had done, but, even as the words escaped my mouth, I heard the possible meaning ring in my ears as everyone started laughing.

(continued tomorrow)

Tribal Law? Spears at Fifty Paces?

Now just before leaving the subject of duelling, and returning to the saga of the injured brother (alright, the ‘Badly’ injured brother). How preferable would it have been, to have those punishments conducted with the same rules as duelling? Two people, each of them having a choice of weapons (which had to be agreed upon), with witnesses to arbitrate the matter? The power, and ability of ‘seconds’, to step in to stop excessive, extreme, or dangerous methods (because even duels were stopped if one combatant was injured in such a way that prevented the other combatant from winning honourably), this would be a crucial component. They could have helped in many situations I found myself in. I can picture it now the larger size of my father’s frame filling the room, My smaller, younger self (I was a little shorter then), standing before him, the seconds to our left and then, that moment of decision. Selecting weapons.

Knowing what I know about my father, distance would be important. Even if he had the reach, I had to choose something suitably distant (ICBM’s were out, of course, unfortunately). I also had certain skills which I knew my father didn’t possess (I was very good at throwing horse chestnut ‘grenades’. Another game we played in the park). I think I knew, a little of the way his mind worked, having competed against him in chess over the early years. And beating him several times in the many games we had played, gave me a little confidence.

There was always the ‘stand your ground’ method (tribal law, in some indigenous cultures) where each of us would take turns to stand in one place and, have the other person throw a spear at the other? It seemed I already knew how to throw a stilt and thus cause damage, albeit accidental (hence the reason we are discussing this predicament). But, a spear at distance, I wonder?

I had in later years attempted the javelin at high school. It was just unfortunate that the year I got to try out, our form accepted a 6ft tall 13 year old behemoth, who, could not only throw a javelin three times further than any other student, but ended up throwing the discus clear across the practice field and breaking a window of the English home room. He was then selected for the inter school sports. The sad thing, it was easy for him, for me it too a lot of effort to even raise the interest of the sports coach. And while he was readily available after school for coaching, I was having to get to my after school hours jobs, so as to have a little money. The first inter school competition was astonishing when he first walked out to the team line. I heard a collective groan from the opposition. He won the event, and the discus, and then decided he didn’t really want to do it anymore. But by then, records had been set and I was not even on the radar. So, no skill there, spears at fifty paces were right out.

(Continued tomorrow)

Stuff of legends?

Such famous clashes as told in the story of King Arthur and the legends of the ancient cultures led to the attitude of the romantic period and the concept of duelling in defence of honour rather than deciding a battle, or trial by combat. As the types of  ancient warfare evolved, no doubt the single combat became increasingly less dominant, but it was the philosophy of the contest, which would lend inspiration to the ‘gentlemen’s duel’. A favourite film of mine is Ridley Scott's debut film, ‘The Duelists’(1977), based upon the Joseph Conrad short story ‘The Duel’. It tells the story of a duel between two Hussars over a 15 year period in early 1800’s around the time of the Napoleonic wars. Employing all the rules and honour behind such an event (and beautifully filmed). In this period, Politicians and supposed community leaders (including magistrates and even lords) were not averse to the action of duelling, for a ‘point of honour’, although banned by the various monarchs, presidents, and acts of government. The secretive (although often well known)‘pistols at dawn’ meetings (though originally the sword or sabre was preferred), the selection of seconds and the choice of weapons decided.

It was the choice of weapons idea that I probably would at least have liked to have had a say in, when confronted by my father, when about to receive a punishment for some slight or misdemeanour. I can picture it now. The array of various articles which could be used to strike, slap, whip, whack or wallop. Anything went, if the punishment was ‘on the go’ as it were. If it was to be administered within seconds, the hand was often first, ensuring a ‘first strike’ before I could move out of reach. Then if there was an opportunity, something more serious would be grabbed and used. It was probably important not to misbehave, if ever in the area of the shed. Too many sharp items in there, Or the kitchen come to that. But the serious implements for punishment, came out when sent to the room to await the ‘Return of your father’.

Over the years I received strikes from all sorts of items. From hands, belts, electric jug cords (never a favourite), wooden spoons, spatula, fish slice (lets just say several different ‘kitchen utensils’ and cover the whole gamut), walking sticks and rulers. Mind you the rulers were mainly the nuns. Did you know they seem to have been issued with special 15 inch (37cm) rulers (an extra 3 inches longer than normal, possibly for the extra grip when swinging), that were extra thick, sort of a, 15x3x0.4inches (37x7.5x1cm). I have also been hit with a hospital crutch (there always seemed to be one of those in the house, due to someone breaking something), a vacuum cleaner tube (the story of that one was sort of funny –later blog), dog leash (sans dog), a horse bridal (sans horse, fortunately). I had a plate whacked against my leg once, it broke, then I got extra punishment for the broken plate. Don’t think that I was always getting belted, or that I was exceptionally bad, it was just the way things were for some of us when we were young. (“And you try and tell the young people that nowadays…. And they won’t believe you”- the Four Yorkshiremen. Monty Python©1974)

(Continued tomorrow)

‘Boy’s Own’ Duelling

Duelling probably occurred in many early European cultures. Presumably where villages and small towns were under constant threat of invading hordes, and some required the valiant defending by selected warriors. As the status of the warriors increased, competition levels would rise. Classic literature enhances such competitions. The Beowulf legend and Egils Saga regale such stories. Duelling would also most likely, have formed a part of the judicial system. That form, in some circumstances, probably took on a ‘trial by combat’, between an alleged guilty person and, a chosen ‘defender of the village’. Depending on the skills of the individuals, not necessarily the best way to decide actual responsibility or guilt, but no doubt a good crowd-pleaser and entertainment. Probably such a system was not dissimilar to what I would be shortly facing with my father. Not that I was guilty, but definitely responsible for part of the accident, as I have always claimed.

As the societies developed (so the romantics would have us believe), duelling contests would become very public displays, and the contests, inevitably becoming restricted to the upper classes. The lower classes being far too busy working, growing food and providing sons for the wars of the lords. The Lords, whom with companies of knights, would provide special entertainment and competitions, not just of sword and shield, but the famous ‘jousting on horseback’. A favourite classic story of my youth, Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott, captured such events. I understood it was not an actual accurate record of the circumstances (since it was written in the 1820’s) but sparked a whole vanguard of published works centred on the notion of kings, knights, armour, nobility, chivalry and that which is central to duelling, honour. None greater, than the much written about, King Arthur, the epitome of the classic honour legend in text.

The are so many variations of the King Arthur legend, aside from the fantasists collections of a magic sword and the all powerful wizard (not that I haven’t enjoyed some of those versions of the legend). I prefer the idea of a 5^th century leader, post Romans, attempting to bring together the factions of a misaligned country, both politically and socially. The idea of forming a capital, where honour was paramount and duty was to the people, even if, as the legend goes on to say, he was betrayed and broken by love. Still, it is a great example of very honourable concepts. The many stories of the knights which have been told, and their personal quests, being the moral compasses of the nation. Great purpose is held in the stories and true inspiration. And in all, it is the ‘sense’ of honour which prevails.

An entertaining and informative article by Chris Hutcheson and Brett McKay on duelling, comments that in 1526 when the treaty between France and Spain broke down, Frances I and Charles V challenged each other to a duel and while it did not eventuate, it brought the age of duelling back to Europe afresh.

(Continued tomorrow)

The Duellists

My father and I were due to face each other in yet another conflict. It would be a different kind of battle. His will. His intention. My ‘derriere’ (my backside).

There was a time in history, and I do not doubt that various versions of it still occur today, where a person whose honour was slighted or disrespected, would elect to challenge another. To challenge one, who had affronted, insulted, abused or caused embarrassment to that person to a duel. A form of formal combat, usually with choice of weapons, between two people, in front of witnesses, to settle a quarrel, or point of honour. In history it has been written that such duels often occurred between great warriors and famous persons.

There was a time, when two armies would face each other in battle readiness. Prepared to fight and die (not all of them I am quite sure), on the agreed battlefield.  Even that, is a sign of the way battles used to differ, from battles which are fought today. In ancient times it appears, a battlefield could be chosen in agreement (by those at the top of the food chain as it were, who probably wouldn’t actually be at the battle?), usually ahead of time.  The two armies would gather and move to the agreed location. Then often, prior to the main conflict, two ‘champions’ would face off against each other as representing their individual armies. It may have been a fight to the death or, to submission. This may on occasion, have decided the outcome and prevented a full battle, but in ancient times, more often, it would likely be seen as a sign or display of the ‘Gods’ favour, towards one side or the other. Though this would be more for the morale of the soldiers, than any actual proof I’m sure.

Significant single battles have become ‘the stuff of legends. Recall the famous Sunday school lesson, of the battle between David of the Israelites army, and Goliath of the Philistine army (The basis for one of my mothers favourite phrases, ‘You bunch of Philistines’), in the Valley of Elah. And we all know how that one ended, after a forty-day wait between the two armies (Strange how often the bible uses forty days as a waiting period for things? Wandering in deserts, the rain falling for the Ark, the wait on the Mount Sinai to receive the commandments. Could someone have done the translations incorrectly? Or did they just pick a convenient time period?). Another famous duel from the period was that of Achilles’ clashes with both Ajax and Hector in Homer’s Iliad .

This continued through the early Roman periods, and the famous ‘Gladitorial’ schools of the empire, where representatives fought for the ‘honour of the ludos’ or against a champion of an opposing town or province, in the spectacle of the ‘games’. Where public opinion could support a single fighter, or scream for his destruction. (Not quite as honourable?)

  (Continued tomorrow)

Speaking in Tongues?

The ability to communicate (not just with my father, before the receiving punishment I was currently then waiting for, in the room - see blog April 26^th and earlier) is often underrated. I used to believe I was a good communicator, when working as a professional entertainer and operating a small production company. It was not until I took on a job, where sometimes my life has literally depended on the necessary skill of good communication, that I truly realised how appalling I was and in some ways still am. I am not speaking strictly of communicating in my first language. English. Admittedly, there are those people to whom languages come naturally. The possession of a ‘good ear’ (I sort of had that), a good memory (I still have that) and the opportunity to practise a foreign language are three essential components to learning languages (ah, there’s the rub). Sadly all three were not really available to us with any consistency. The segregation of foreign language speakers, into their own little enclaves (don’t believe it when they say we are a multi-cultural society, New Zealand included), restricted diversity and exposure to the different languages. The Slovakian family next door, only spoke English with us, The Dutch family up the road, only spoke English with us. (Bas, in fact, used to laugh at my attempts to understand). The Italians, only spoke a type of English, (and don’t mention the Irish families). Sure there were many different cultural families around us growing up, but apart from the odd food festival, the only diversity we saw was in some of the vegetables that were at the greengrocers, which we never saw our mother buy (“Strange foreign muck”, I’m sure I heard her say more than once).

They say the best time to grasp any language is to learn it in your early years. This is something that many foreign students (elsewhere in the world) do in their schools, everyday. In Australia today, there are also many students learning a foreign language (mainly English). Unfortunately there are also many learning English, who make it sound like a foreign language. But in Australia today, apparently, one in seven people currently say ‘good morning’ in a language other than English. But only one in twenty-five English-speaking people born in Australia, speak a language other than English. You have to admit that does show a certain laziness. I have a few times attempted to ‘acquire’ another language. Unfortunately, not with application of purpose, but with whatever is the fastest way to temporarily speak another language. Hence, I hear certain words in other languages, but don’t speak fluently. I often claim it is due to the inconsistency of my work, which prevents me from attending regular classes I would need, but, lets be honest. It is also from my own personal laziness. I always seem to think there is something else I should be spending my time on. And there is for now. That is to finish relating the incident of the kite, the stilt and my injured brother (see blog April 2^nd 2012).

(Continued tomorrow)

Do You Believe?

I saw a brilliant program years ago. We missed the first few moments of the broadcast (hence I will never, ever go into a film that has already started…ever!) and we were captured and engaged by what appeared to be, an audio recording of the first Mars landing and its failure. Yes, I said Mars, and maybe that should have been a clue, but, as I argued then (all eleven years old and well informed), I had been reading other sources who were suggesting very strongly in scientific terms, this was going to be an event in the near future anyway. The program continued, before going into the core of the documentary. The ‘brain drain’ currently being experienced not only in Britain and the United States of America, but worldwide. The program explained the loss of many essential key personnel, scientists and important thinkers. They interviewed people who names were familiar to us, including a person introduced as Neil Armstrong (Neil Armstrong had never given an interview after landing on the moon) and bearing in mind that there was still world wide suspicion as we (the major international powers, not ‘we’ the family), were engaged in the cold war behaviour (those of you who have never learnt any history might need to look that up as well). It was informative and it was quite frightening (The program, not just the cold war behaviour).  It turned out to be an April Fools joke. But raised many ideas and arguments in our house. Someone’s idea had stimulated us very quickly. We had all engaged. We were entertained, but also fooled. We believed what someone else had shown us. As mentioned yesterday, Rene Magritte in 1929 with one painting, explained a concept of the treachery of images.

Hence, (I say this to all current generations) there is never anything quite as satisfying as reading a good book. It is a personal dialogue between yourself, the work of the actual author and your imagination. When you improve ‘your’ understanding of somewhere else, something else or someone else. They also state if it is a novel, or non-fiction. (usually, just inside the cover). One of my favourite quotes was ‘if a man can read, he can learn anything”. I thought it was in Taylor Caldwell’s historical ‘novel’, ‘Captains and Kings’ (read around 1974) but without reading it again, I may be wrong. I do know Robert Heinlein, whom I also read a lot of in my youth, said “Span of time is important; the 3-legged stool of understanding is held up by history, languages, and mathematics. Equipped with these three, you can learn anything you want to learn. But if you lack any one of them, you are just another ignorant peasant with dung on your boots”. Wow! I did not want to be a peasant with dung on my boots (even if we did stand in the odd cow pat growing up – later in another blog). But unlike many young Europeans, we were only made to learn the one language and any other, was a choice made in later higher education. Fortunately that has changed in Australia the last twenty years.

(Continued tomorrow)

Ceci n'est pas une pipe (Rene Magritte 1929)

It could be this constant reinterpretation of material (see blog June 7^th) that is also interfering with teaching and learning. I was horrified recently talking with a friend and their son, who is at high school. In English, he has only read one book during the entire year, but has watched 8 films based upon the different books they are learning about. How poor a learning experience is this. This is immediately removing the reader/listener (viewer, in the case of these students), from the personal journey or interpretation of the concepts and meaning in the text as written by the author. Certainly, when reading a book, people develop their own interpretation of the content, based on personal history (see how we are staying on track with the latest divergence from me waiting in the room for my father?). Your interpretation may not be exactly what the author had in mind when they wrote the book. But unless you can sit and talk with the actual author, that is how you reach an understanding about every book. You interpret it and make your decision based upon your understanding.

Watching a film (while very enjoyable and takes less time) can never be a way of understanding the book itself. For the film, is already a re-interpretation of the book’s meaning by another person, of whom it appears, may never have even read the actual book they have made the film about. But the director may have developed the film from a script they were commissioned to direct. Or even worse a director may have been halfway through making a film, before being fired and replaced by the studio with another director, who may want to create his own influence on the film and script. This also happens with writers being replaced on a project. I know it was never a classic book, but the film ‘Kindergarten Cop’ took 17 teams of writers to rewrite before the final script according to studio gossip. Apart from the theme, I wonder how much of the original survived through this process?

And was this the concept Rene Magritte delivered to his audience in 1929 with ‘The treachery of Images’? Arguing the idea that everything we see, is an interpretation of the original. Even the chair you are currently sitting in, is an interpretation of the idea of a chair. This may not be so easily applied to books but it is possible it can so easily be applied to film. Have you ever watched a mock-umentary? Where the film is made in the very style of information delivery, that of a documentary, yet, its content is not true or actually revealing. These forms of film making, play upon common knowledge of the populace. Use of stereotypical behaviours, characters and beliefs, which unfortunately some actually believe are the real behaviour, characters and situations.

(Continued tomorrow)

Leaning on the Giants

There were certain figures (here we are again referring to history that some of us have learnt) that raised their thinking to incredibly significant moments and ideas. Many of which not only changed other research, but also literally, changed the world (one or two are even responsible for changing the ‘shape’ of the world, in how people understood it anyway). Sometimes however, while it sounded like a good idea at the time, it may have been incredibly wrong, but until further knowledge was acquired, from other thinkers, sources and experiments, it held sway with the general populace or those ruling them. Some understood, some accepted. And consider the challenge. Some thinkers’ ideas changed the world without the support of any group, organisation or individual, initially. In fact, many, by going against the then current paradigms (political, physical or theological), challenged the ideas that ran the world or the powers (that thought they did).

To those ‘giants’ we owe an incredible debt. And it should be acknowledged as necessary, by teaching of history to all people today. This would give us a very real sense of perspective and place. Ask a young person today the first phase question. Do you believe in evolution or creation? Then if creation, what form? A classic quote by one of the renowned philosophers, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche was, “Is Man one of God’s blunders or is God one of Man’s blunders?” (yes the capitals for God and man was intentional). This is a delightful approach to a serious field of study. And studied, it has been. There have been times when the differing views have split families, communities and entire nations. Seldom, has there not been in man’s history, a theological war, somewhere on the planet. Sadly this continues today on a global scale. I for one, do not understand the need. (more later) Now, if they say evolution when you asked the question, ask them where (as from the evidence of today’s thinking), ‘mankind’ evolved from. Can they name the three most recent species of the evolutionary tree. And no, monkey isn’t one.

This type of knowledge should be a part of all education. The basics. No different to learning the basics of language, maths or history. All have their place. Even faith and religion (I see the two as different) has a place. Unfortunately difference of theology today appears to cause greater division. It is well documented, even in the Middle Ages, during the ‘Dark Ages’ (called that for good reason), there was a coming together of knowledge that allowed peoples of all faith to study in the Muslim world. Because of that collaboration, the sciences, and much wisdom survived. That knowledge, used frequently today, in everything from health, transport to the wide variety of sciences today, survived, because respect of all knowledge was the cornerstone to the religious leaders of the time. They understood the essentials of knowledge. And where education cannot only be about the now, as appears to be the case with most current systems! It must be about the all. That, which has gone before. Those giants we should happily lean on for support not stand on for advantage.

(Continued tomorrow)

On Giants Shoulders

It was the scholars from all cultures who created much of the knowledge we use today. Many, through the journeying of thousands of miles, to certain centres in the ancient world, which allowed further ideas to be developed. Fortunately, some were drawn to major centres where societies, organisations and sometimes, sponsors, allowed for the support of such scholars and individuals. Some organisations built entire complexes to house and feed these scholars, which allowed these ideas to be freely developed. Others formed small social groups of powerful thinkers who worked on ideas. This was not dissimilar to the universities and research scientists working for the corporations of today. However in 1960, twenty per cent of any major company was involved in research, yet, according to recent statistics, this year (circa 2009), that figure has dropped to about four per cent. Is there less to discover? Less, to research? Or, have we become more efficient at the research? Or worse, do we restrict research to that which is only financially beneficial?

There are auspiciously many more universities today, where some wonderful research and thinking is occurring (and some really obscure and ridiculous research). Are we still making the same gigantic leaps in knowledge as occurred in the ancient and developing world? In our thoughts and deeds, our steps forward in civilisation, are we achieving with the same drive and goals? Do we simply stand on the shoulders of the ‘giants’ and enjoy the view? Should we not be building ladders or platforms to take the ‘giants’ ever higher? Have we made life too ‘permanently’ satisfying for some scholars and academics (the old resting on their laurels comes to mind)?  Should we not expect results, rather than having these academics purely ‘controlling’ what others are thinking?

I recently had to complete a series of assignments in relation (although not really) to my employment (No, I’m not an Academic). They wanted the assignments written in the university style for the entire course. This meant reforming other peoples thinking, structuring it correctly and specifically, referencing every idea I mentioned in my writing. In the original draft submission which I had a supervisor review, there was a comment after one particularly strong argumentative paragraph I had written, in which I proposed a ‘new’ idea. The comment written in the space at the side of the text stated. Where did this idea come from? REFERENCE?). I called them up and said “I thought of it!” I was then told, “You can’t do that! You have to reference where the idea came from.” I didn’t understand. I repeated. “No, I thought of the idea. I formed the idea, based upon what I had read and that has already been referenced in the assignment”. This fell on deaf academic ears. Needless to say, they would not accept this. I had to drop the idea and rewrite what other people thought and what respected academics had written before me. I think perhaps, today some of the Giants have fallen over from the sheer weight of all those academics standing on their shoulders simply re quoting all the other academics.

(Continued tomorrow)

Power in language

Throughout history people have previously made great journeys over great distances to fight and kill one another, in the name of one theology or another. To kill, in the name of one power, or another, or to kill simply in the name of greed. Others, far more importantly I believe, have travelled vast distances in the interest of learning, or to discuss with or hear the thoughts of great thinkers. Aside from such cultures as the Roman Empire and Greek Empire (from whom much of our current Western Civilisation is supposed to have derived), they, while conquering, also gathered information and developed great techniques to record and share it.

Interesting question for you, the reader, here. In keeping with this current blog about communication. What is recorded as being the spoken language of the Roman Empire, In particular in Italy (as we call it today)? Please don’t think Latin…. (Too late!) or English (seriously?).  Now think about it for a moment. There existed, in the one place, a massive variety of persons from all parts of the Empire. Romans, Gauls, Goths, Greeks, Egyptians, Carthaginians, Nubian's, Persians, etc, etc etc, as well as an incredible number of gathered soldiers, slaves and merchants from all parts of the known world. Any ideas, yet? You can see why language skills are essential. Not just for keeping up with the local gossip. It has been officially confirmed that the common language was, Greek. And not just because of the Rosetta Stone (Please tell me you don’t have to look up what that was? For those who do). It was the stone tablet containing the same passage in three languages (Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, the middle portion Demotic script, and the lowest Ancient Greek) and led to the deciphering of Egyptian hieroglyphics by the early archaeologists. Learning languages we sometimes need such a device to find the common ground.

Many others also contributed to a wealth of historical and relevant knowledge. This is why history is crucial. I have read in another book source that Abū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī  (yes, I had to copy that out very carefully) a Persian scholar responsible for developing the decimal place in the western number system (among many, many other things) made extensive journeys from China to India and Greece in the 8^th century, at a time when travel was definitely not a rapid event, simply to pursue knowledge. How hard is it today for young people to travel down the road to their local library or to hear a speaker at the university (if you have one nearby)? Even if offered a lift. Yet offer a movie and they are out the door, or a concert ticket (for the right one they would probably walk over broken glass) and they come back no brighter, just more excited. But such people as al-Khwārizmī , contributed vast amounts of knowledge, to what many in the general populace today, have ignored or forgotten.

(Continued tomorrow)

Spreading the word

Lets briefly examine the difference between the spread of ideas around the world at the turn of the last century (20^th Century) and the current Century (21^st Century). The means to spread a concept, produce an idea and distribute it has accelerated. Phenomenally. It must be difficult to maintain a creative standard, when the work is so rapidly being absorbed. An item can be seen (and in many cases illegally distributed) so rapidly that the idea is familiar, before the opportunity to consider or even develop it further, is made by the artist. In past era’s, a work was observed by a small group and slowly, through word of mouth or, the movement of an item, it was heard of, or sometimes seen by more and more people.

In early times, or so I have read in the works of Plato, he was the Greek, who wrote about Socrates and his ideas. Actually, I often wondered if Socrates really existed, as the only information we have of him, was in the writings of Plato and Aristotle.  I mean, if you wanted to say something, but didn’t want people thinking it was you, create a non-de plume (or a non-de person?). Some people say the same about Shakespeare don’t they? Or was that just a movie too? In the early days, people gathered to hear ideas in a forum. An open public space where information would be announced, presented, debated or argued. Some of these ideas may have been written down by scribes and stored in some places. The great Library of Alexandria for instance (and looked what happened there), but they would also be spread by word of mouth. And here we are, at the issues and advantages of language.

Have you ever played the game called (traditionally in English) ‘Chinese whispers’? Where sitting in a circle, one person whispers a message into the ear of the first person to one side (so others cannot hear it), and they then whisper it to the next, and so on around the circle. It can be played in any language, or so I have been told (except sign language perhaps). If you have never played it, I recommend playing the game just so you can understand what happens. But when the message is unexpected, it is amazing how scrambled it becomes. A classic version is told as a message from the trenches in World War One was passed along the lines, from the embattled sergeant in the field saying “We are going to advance, can you send for re-enforcements? Up through the ranks and various ears and mouths of those in the commands, right up to the four star general. Where, after so many have passed the instruction, along he receives the message as “I’m going to a dance, can you lend me three and four-pence” (an old English Currency). Good communication is essential and language skills vital to aid in development of such ideas, preferably the spreading of good ideas.

(continued tomorrow)

Nothing New In History?

Part of my Masters degree included “Studies in Contemporary Society”. An inspection of the development of Western culture from the Greek, through to European Philosophy, and including an examination of the current interpretations of art within today’s society. It was interesting (and a little upsetting) to note, that there was, and is, a terrible expansion of marketing involving the acquiring and reshaping of many previous historical ideas and artists works, particularly today, with modern art and music by many of today’s artists and performers. There are many clever original artists out there. But this ‘market’ is suggestive of a lack of certain creative ideas by some artists, unfortunately, many who then appear to dominate simply by commercialisation of their art not of respect for their talent.

While there are certainly new uses and presentations making use of various current media formats and interesting combinations of materials and techniques, I am referring to many of the actual ideas. This is very evident in the commercial film industry, where a movie, not yet ten years old, is being remade and ‘re-interpreted’. Where movies are remade, leaving the original concept and completely alter what the original film was. Many times the films have nothing to do with each other or even the concept. Why call them by the same name? Why not create a new title? Better yet, why not create a new idea?

Commercial music is also doing the same. An artist can record a song, and within a few months it is re-released as another ‘new’ version. Either mixed differently, by a particular person (trying to make a name) as a ‘Producer’, by a famous D.J. or even reworked by the original artist themselves. Sometimes it is the way the bass is remixed, or the vocals, but my issue is; it is released as if it is something extra-ordinary and ‘original’. This is excessive. Probably sadder is, that there is even a market for it. It is this market that effectively narrows down the options of listeners, viewers and audiences. It is different to hearing another performer present a ‘cover’ version. They acknowledge that. But this is practically denial of what has gone before. And surely, that must be a fault. The fact that demand is so high for much of this produced material by those purchasing or financing is frightening.

When any history is ignored, it is not just the idea that it may be repeated. Indeed it was in Eruption that Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) wrote, “It is not worthwhile to try to keep history from repeating itself, for man's character will always make the preventing of the repetitions impossible”. Even then, it was recognised that behaviour and ideas would occur again and again. Indeed, much of what we see today is produced based upon ‘formula’. The identified ‘market’ demands and they provide.

(Continued tomorrow)

Sing a Song of History

“In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
He had three ships and left from Spain;
He sailed through sunshine, wind and rain.”

There were different ways to learn about history. And never underestimate it, history is important, to each of us, in our own way. Knowing what has come before, can also be amusing. When my own son was young, I recall him watching a cartoon with some friends of the ‘animated’ Chipmunks (The drawn version, not the computer graphics of today’s films). Involving a small group of chipmunks who were able to talk, and of course ‘sing’. My son and his young friends were watching the program with a parent present (something we always believed was important to assist with understanding concepts of what they were watching) and of course, while the chipmunks  were singing a song, I joined in the words (not quite with the same high pitch of the chipmunks I will add). Without realising it at first, I sang along, as he and his two friends turned to look at me with open mouths. I realised they were staring and stopped singing. “That’s amazing” his young friend said. ‘You guessed all the words”.

That is a simple example of what happens when you don’t know history. The song of course, was a 1960’s hit which I was familiar with. (Not saying that I first heard it broadcast or played in the 60’s but certainly over the years). I recall saying to them something convincing such as, “Parents know everything.” (I wish). No doubt they proved that saying wrong in the next few years. Or at least, if getting older now, as they are, they realise we knew more than they gave us credit for. While parents may not know everything (which is probably advisable), the possession of experience should never be underestimated. Experience from living, education, and the mistakes we make as parents, which ultimately shape our history and our abilities. In that way our histories definitely influence those who come after us.

The more one is aware of history of course, and it’s influence, the better your opinions (of which we all have many) are, and the better informed the facts in your discussions can be. It is the losing of the general knowledge today, which bothers me the most. The apparent lack of a collective, acquired knowledge, learnt from multiple sources and verified (very important that!), for which people come to understand their information and current situation and place. Basing all knowledge on one piece of presented information, such as local news or worse, a movie, is a very unreliable method of information gathering and information acquisition. Unfortunately this method seems to becoming more common amongst the younger people today. A recent, very, very, scary example of this lack of real knowledge, apparently by current, mainly younger generations than my own (although hard to tell as the information came from technology sources used by many of all ages), were all of the tweets concerning the Titanic celebrations. large numbers of people ‘tweeting’ each other with tweets such as…. ‘OMG. The Titanic was real, not just a James Cameron Movie. I didn’t realise”. See article.

(Continued tomorrow)

Speaking out at home

Don’t misunderstand me. I know children are also learning things today. But much of their methods are not effective. The knowledge they are acquiring is far more specific with less general knowledge. I believe knowledge should come from a wide information base. When it came to language skills, I know I was fortunate and with the encouragement of our mother, and my older sisters, I was able to read before going to school. In the room I shared with my brothers, we had the building blocks and traditional (Victorian era) alphabet wooden blocks, which encouraged forming words, and games that involved counting, word and card games, were played. We played board games, such as Scrabble®. Not play stations. We read books (most of them more than once), not computers. My older sisters played a variety of musical (and sometimes not so musical) instruments, and my parents (and later my sisters) played records or we listened to the radio (The Goon Show and similar were my personal favourites – more on those in a later blog). Throughout it all we grew up learning. There was even a time when my father used to paint. I recall we had several of his original art works on the walls. Mind you he never appreciated the occasional discussion of the tree and waterfall painting, which at first glance drew comments from visitors such as “That’s a nice painting of a horse.” It was something to do with the light and shade of the painting. There was another painting of a horse and when you saw that, then the other was clearly a waterfall. So we were educated and exposed in the necessary skills (even if much of the music came from Readers Digest collections, at least I learnt a lot about where today’s music came from).

This daily involvement, of visual and spoken information, was part of our discussions and the forming of ideas, were held as essential in our growth. At times there were arguments, sometimes very intense, sometimes loud, but recalling many of them now, it was often over a different opinion regarding a piece of information. Not just over what television channel people wanted to watch (Another advantage was that then there was only one channel. Not a lot to argue over). Of course, you had to stand up for yourself, and sometimes the one who would provide the best argument would win.  Sometimes. Emotions often hindered what a person was trying to say, and it was also often affected by the age of those arguing. Hence, we rapidly learnt a need to A: improve vocabulary, B: increase knowledge C: develop clarity. D: improve our presentation of the information. Having older sisters who were already attending senior classes to my introductory ones, led to a faster learning curve, showing me where the basics of language and maths were going to be taking me.

All of this ability to do what many did not have the opportunity to, such as learning to read, until attending a school, would not necessarily assist me in explaining to my father what had gone wrong with the stilt-kite rescue and subsequently injured brother. Admittedly I had developed my language skills, but as mentioned (blog April 1^st) I didn’t have a sound grasp on physics.

(continued tomorrow)

Where has all the knowledge gone?

Today, even amongst many colleagues (mainly the younger ones), I am considered ‘weird’ in that I can recall items of ‘trivia’ (for ‘trivia’ read ‘general knowledge’) that was common knowledge when I was younger. I heard an interview with Steve Allen in 1998 where he was speaking about his book ‘DUMPTH©’. He explained that as width is to wide, Dumpth is to Dumb. He referred to what was then occurring in the United States of America as, “the ‘dumbing’ down of America”. Where basic knowledge, information and skills were being lost. From what was considered the very basic and simple skills, such as reading, writing and maths, to the tragic loss of a wider general knowledge, particularly history.

Much of which information is being lost amongst the general population in many parts of society. There seems to be massive knowledge drain, or intelligence loss throughout the world today, particularly in the technically and financially ‘advanced’ countries of the West. I often argue it is a social laziness, which drives this loss to ever greater and wider affect in our education system and then into the ongoing affect on our society. While we have access to technically advanced equipment it appears we have begun to rely more on the equipment than using it simply as an assistance tool. There is serious fault with that. Recently I was asked why I maintain such a large personal library of books (actual physical ones, on shelves) when everything is available on the internet. As I pointed out in a very quick demonstration, the disadvantage with the internet is knowing what is there, where it came from and how to find a single specific fact among the many thousands of pages of data, personal quotes, paid priority information (where a company pays the server to prioritise their listings in searches, yes, it does happen) and advertisements. In just a short 19 years (which is how long the World Wide Web has been available to the general population - circa 2012) the western society has lost probably a good half of what was general knowledge as taught in the schools. It is frightening. It is possibly more frightening that with this technology, many have become solely reliant on electrical power.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to tell a group of students attending a high school in Australia today, “You must write an essay about the Eureka Stockade (a significant event in Australian history, for this example)…. with a pen!” And imagine saying that all spelling must be correct and to help you along, there will be a power cut for the next week. Oh the cries of shock and horror that would probably resound. “How are we meant to get information if we can’t use the internet?” would probably be the first scream of woe. Let’s reintroduce them to the library? Let’s learn a little about research again and cross-referencing, not just pulling up the first page of the internet (probably among the 18000 hits that usually turn up). Lets learn information as we used to. Oh, but first lets get back to teaching the young to read and write…. And add.

(continued tomorrow)

It’s not the repeating of history. 

Through out history. The written history, and never forget that history is written by the winners (quote is often attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte, or Alex Haley, depending on which version of history you read), and sometimes, though seldom, history, or a version of it, is written by the survivors. There are many examples of those who have held power over others and many, many words going on to explain the outcomes of that power. As I said on the very first entry of this blog, this is ‘my’ history, as I remember it. With all it’s misquotes and self-aware events. While worldwide there have been many significant, incidents, tragedies, achievements and truly awe-inspiring moments and events, it is what we ourselves experience, that truly shapes us.

How we perceive a moment in history, and integrate it into our memory. It is the sum of ‘I’. Not so much the ‘sum of us’ (‘Us’ being used here as a collective of the human species in general). For there are seldom matters that affect everyone, never the same, but often impact on the ‘I’ differently to others. How often have we heard someone reacting, to our reaction to a moment, with a totally opposite reaction. Phrases such as, “Pull yourself together. It’s only a…. (substitute their reaction here)”. I recall one of the more internationally famous moments, the death of Lady Diana in a car crash. Unfortunately for me, I was not grief stricken, nor shocked (this may have had something to do with my line of work). Others were in tears. As I said to many at the time, “More than two hundred people died in car crashes in the world that same day. Yet they did not receive the world-wide attention. They were not deemed ‘news-worthy’. But I am sure the impact on those families associated with the incidents found it historically significant to them.

The passing of time historically creates many ‘myths’ and false memories. I believe the media play an enormous part in this today. I recently watch a movie where the protagonist returned to 40 years in the past. While I had many laughs at the way they ‘played’ with history, I was very aware that many of the younger people had no idea what had gone on just forty years before. They may be able to relate the latest song title, artist, some can even talk about recent authors (in the popular fiction only) but ask them what happened after the Great war (WWI) and they are unaware of such things as the ‘Spanish Flu’ pandemic (epidemic being affect locally, Pandemic meaning larger area, in this case it was global) that actually killed more people than died during the war (see this for brief outline http://virus.stanford.edu/uda/). In the same way they have the opportunity to access an incredible amount of information today, they are losing the general knowledge that most of us took for granted (we used to have to read books mind you).

(will definitely have to continue this tomorrow)

Till the paw falls

I was however sitting in the bedroom, still awaiting my father to come out of the lounge room and approach my room. To bring with him, his response to the incident, and to face the expected physical punishment. Right now it was as if he was playing with my mind as well. Teasing me somewhat. The old, ‘cat-toying-with-the-caught-mouse’ routine.  When the cat is lying nonchalantly, watching the usually slightly crippled mouse. As if, totally un-interested in any further assault of its captive. The shock ridden mouse, struggling to understand. Torn between the need to escape and unsure if it already has. All of the mouse’s senses heightened through whatever incident led to its capture. Its small heart racing, its nerves trembling and escape may be just within reach. But then the paw falls. The cat suddenly switches back into aggressive hunter/killer mode and grabs the ‘poor wee timorous beastie’ (little bit of the ol’ Robbie Burns poetry there, since we were living in Dunedin at the time of this story taking place), and the mouse suffers yet another cardio-pulmonary infarction and relives its entire short life all over again.

Just to digress on that point for a moment. Have I already mentioned one of my favourite authors is Terry Pratchett? His wonderful sense of humour and appreciation of literature really strikes a chord with me. I mention him now for his different view to the above phrase. In his series ‘Discworld’ ( a wonderful exceptional collection for anyone wanting to be entertained and have their thoughts encouragingly stirred, probably with a large spoon and a by coven of witches, if Mr Pratchett had his way) Mr Pratchett introduces the Character ‘DEATH’ when somebody suddenly dies.  DEATH appears and when the person complains “I thought your life was meant to flash before your eyes.” DEATH replies (and when death speaks it is in capitals, as befitting the purpose) “IT DOES, IT’S CALLED LIVING”.  You have to admit that is a very clever viewpoint. His writing is full of such subtle and brilliant comments.

But back to the cat and the mouse, or, more correctly, my use of the cat and the mouse analogy, as a way of explaining the situation I was experiencing at the time, with the non-arrival of my father, to the door of my room. The mouse by now, having experienced several minor heart attacks, the odd claw, probably thrown up in the air and on landing suffering several impact injuries as well (which for myself were definitely a possibility also, once my father actually started in on me with his punishment), would believe his life would be over (you can see my reason for starting this analogy?). The cat in total control, would be drawing out the incident only as much as it wanted. Till bored or sufficiently satisfied with its display of power and in the same way for me, here the power definitely lay with my father.

(continued tomorrow)