William has a fish tank, in which have lived two goldfish for the last four or five years. He has long had a desire to get more fish, and in particular, some mountain minnows to share the tank with the goldfish. We could never find anyone who sold them though.
However, at the weekend, we discovered that out local pet shop had them in stock- probably in no small part due to his regular request. So we bought 4 of the little things, and carried them carefully home and plopped them into their new home.
William gave them each a name.
But later that day, there were only 3 left in the tank. We held our breath, but Will was quite philosophical; ” Ah well, we can’t let these things upset us too much…” he then he stood stiffly before the tank and said ” But Qwerty- know this, you will always be remembered…”
And indeed he would have been. But then there were two.
And then one.
Then none.
And two rather bulging goldfish (whose names by the way are Jaws and Mako.)
Bless him, Will was very upset for a couple of days. We reasoned that this was one of those learning experiences that we all go through in which we encounter some of the hard realities of life. Despite the insulation we would parents seek to provide for all our beautiful kids as they grow into this cruel world.
A life where small fish are always prey to the bigger ones. And they in turn are on the menu of even bigger ones, and it all might just end badly…
All the way up to the top of the food chain- and then up the socio-economic ladder for our own human cannibalistic big fish.
Except this is not a lesson I want William to have to learn. I still hope for a world where small fish swim free, and Nemo finds his way back to his father. A world where small is beautiful and survival is not just for the fittest.
Alas this was not to be the fate of Qwerty and his brethren…
Will and I have a long running rivalry in the form of one on one cricket challenge. In the winter this takes the form of a game in our hallway, with resultant danger for ornaments, décor and the odd passer by on their way from living room to kitchen.
But today the weather was wonderful, and the light was still playable (at least for us, but perhaps not for those wimpy professionals) until almost 6.30pm. It was 11 degrees centigrade here today, with bright sunshine and a whiff of spring in the air.
(The photo above was taken in France though- it is not quite shorts weather yet.)
Today we tried out our new ‘nets’- the first bowl on the (experimental but soon to be adopted by grounds everywhere) block paved driveway.
The rules are like this- I have to get him out (caught or bowled) three times, but he only has to get me once. We use an assortment of balls- basically anything that has not already disappeared into the far distance.
Some of you will doubt our sanity- because for you, the joys of cricket have been obscured by prejudice.
But for me, this simple pleasure is full of pure joy- for these reasons…
The coming spring after a long cold winter.
Being with my boy.
The whiff of competition (particularly as I can still hold my own against a 9 year old!)
And the shape given to body and mind by that most noble of pass times- cricket.
The sound of bat on ball and the glory of a ball sailing high in the direction of the Clyde.
The occasional perfection of the perfect leg break as it turns through the gate and smashes into the stumps.
And they dare to call this a waste of time? I intend to play for eternity when I get to heaven…
I listened to a discussion on Thinking Allowed on radio 4 today about the role of comedy in racism, and anti-racism. It reminded me again of something close to home.
I have written previously about this rock, known as ‘Jim Crow’ which is across the road from where I live-
The history of the rock is the subject of much debate- some of my friends who are local to Dunoon feel protective of it as a local landmark- it has been decorated in this way for well over 100 years, and is one of those local features that people remember, and celebrate, from childhood.
It has been suggested that the rock was so named after a garage owned by Jim Crow in the vicinity, although I know someone who has done some research in the public records and can find no sign of such a business, or of a person with that name.
In my earlier post, I pointed out the link with a tradition that emerged in another place- the ‘Minstrel shows’ of 19th Century America, in which ‘Jim Crow’ was a negative caricature of a black man. The words ‘Jim Crow’ became an insult that was used alongside other offensive words like ‘Nigger’ and ‘Coon’. It also became a catch-all phrase for a set of segregation laws adopted by states across the USA that were oppressive and amounted to state sponsored rascism- the Jim Crow Laws.
The question remains however as to why a rock came to be decorated in this way in a sleepy little seaside town on the West Coast of Scotland?
I think the answer lies in the incredible popularity of the minstrel shows, and the wave of songs and dances that captured popular imagination at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th Centuries. Quite why this form of entertainment became so popular is difficult for us to understand from a post modern perspective. It was carried along by a new beat and verve brought by ragtime music and cakewalk rhythms but perhaps also by a rather more sinister human characteristic- the need to look down upon, or even demonise the other.
‘Coon songs‘ sung either by black performers, or more often, white men with black painted faces, were incredibly popular. Some of these songs sold millions of copies of sheet music all over the world.
The Coon songs were performed in popular shows wherever entertainment was required- particularly in mass holiday destinations- like 19th Century Dunoon, at the height of the age of steamers on the Clyde. According to an entry on Wikipedia, this is what they were all about-
Coon songs’ defining characteristic, however, was their caricature of African Americans. In keeping with the older minstrel image of blacks, coon songs often featured “watermelon- and chicken-loving rural buffoon[s].”[14] However, “blacks began to appear as not only ignorant and indolent, but also devoid of honesty or personal honor, given to drunkenness and gambling, utterly without ambition, sensuous, libidinous, even lascivious.”[14] Blacks were portrayed as making money through gambling, theft, and hustling, rather than working to earn a living,[14] as in the Nathan Bivins song “Gimme Ma Money”:
Last night I did go to a big Crap game,
How dem coons did gamble wuz a sin and a shame…
I’m gambling for my Sadie,
Cause she’s my lady,
I’m a hustling coon, … dat’s just what I am.[15]
Towards the end of the era of Coon songs, it seems that people began to object to the racism at the heart of the formulae. There is also some evidence that black performers began to subvert the songs by turning some of the humour back at the white listeners. Laurie Taylor, as part of the discussion on the radio today placed these songs in a longer line of black comedy, including Richard Pryor and Chris Rock, who use humour to confront their audience with the narrow stereotypes they might otherwise regard as acceptable. However, there also appears to be a danger in this form of activism, as in some ways it gives permission to air these views.
There was also an interesting point about how certain popular performers can be seen ‘exceptions’ to a more wider prejudicial view. In this way, they confirm the stereotype as much as they confront it.
Richard Pryor stopped making jokes using the word ‘Nigger’- here he is (WARNING– as ever, his language is a bit fruity.)
Back to the rock.
I had previously suggested that I would like to see it redecorated.
I certainly would still like to see more local knowledge of the tradition that this rock comes from, as I think we always need to learn the lessons of history, lest we repeat the mistakes again.
Lest we find a new section of the population to demonise.
We have just had a lovely weekend with our friends Andy and Clare, along with their kids Sam and Hannah. The sun shone, and it was great to spend time with them all, and for them to meet some of our friends up here too.
We have known them for a long time- I reckon I have known Andy half of my life, and Clare not much less. We have been around each other through lots of changes and challenges. We attended the same church in England, and Andy and I played music and led worship. We also spent a lot of time in the mountains together.
Life sends you in different directions. We moved to Scotland, but Andy has taken the radical step of stepping outside the rat race (he was an IT consultant/project manager) and working for a Christian charity called Fusion.
In fact, if you are interested in how church might better connect with the community that surrounds its crumbling walls- then I recommend you check out some of the things that they are doing. In fact, Andy would love to hear from you if you want to know more- he has responsibility for developing contacts in the North of the UK- and Scotland.
Some photos (note that Clare managed to avoid the lens- she is good at that)-
This made me smile- I hope it does you too. I loved the combination of folk music, space monsters and animation.The music is by a collection of folk superstars that make up ‘The Imagined Village‘- vocal on this track by Eliza Carthy…
I was saddened today to hear of the death of Michael Foot, journalist, writer and former leader of the Labour Party whilst in opposition from 1980 to 1983.
Foot was the leader of the Labour party at the time I discovered politics. It was a time that we can barely remember let alone understand- when great ideologies confronted each other across the dispatch box. On the one side, Thatcherism– in all its free market elitism and on the other, a Labour ideal of the rise of moral egalitarianism, and the battle for a fairer and more equal society.
It was a time before sound bites, and when media manipulation was not the primary skill required by a political leader. Rather, the ability to debate with passion and integrity, and to move people by the power of your voice- these things were still of value.
And Foot was part of this long tradition- a Labour man from a very non working class background, who nevertheless will forever be associated with ‘Old Labour’, whose core principles still have a hold over me.
Foot also presided over a party whose radical policies of nuclear disarmament and opposition to war in the Falkland islands were formed in a time of chaotic social change. It was a time when the left wing of the party, under the strong influence of supporters of Tony Benn.
And yet Labour suffered their heaviest ever defeat in the General Election in 1983.
Foot, aged 67, frail and always scruffy in his Donkey Jackets, crumpled suits and wild hair, resigned soon afterwards.
Principled, passionate, intelligent and perhaps a little eccentric. How I miss politicians like Foot. I suspect we will not see his like again…
By way of a tribute- here are some clips. Each one a little time capsule from a different time. From the dark years of mass unemployment, the decimation of Britain’s industrial base, and before the euphoria (then betrayal) many of us felt under Tony Blair…
It seems that comments by Tennis player Andy Murray have been taken to a T Shirt. In 2006, whilst being interviewed by a Daily Mail journalist (and I know that many of you might agree with me that those words may contain an inherent contradiction) Murray got himself in trouble as follows-
So, for the hard of thinking, let me state here that: I did the interview with Andy Murray and Tim Henman a couple of years back where Murray talked about ‘supporting whoever England were playing against’.
It was a clearly a sarcastic remark. He was responding to teasing from your columnist about Scotland’s absence from the 2006 World Cup and derisive laughter from the mischievous Henman.
It was reported in that context in this newspaper at the time and the exchange was run as a transcript.
A couple of days later a red-top got excited about the comments, lifted a couple of them into a ‘story’ that took on a life of its own and from there the truth was lost.
But the story has carried on.
The latest incarnation of this can be seen in the sale of these T-shirts-
These shirts are being sold as Football World Cup shirts. ABE stands of course, for ‘Anyone But England.’
The perhaps overly zealous policeman who reacted to the shirts appeared to have some concern that the shirts might foster and encourage racism- which is of course an offence.
At very least it appears to tap into wider popular prejudice and division between our neighbouring countries. Football has this way of being a conduit for all sorts of prejudice and base emotions- it is like a kind of religion without a moral code sometimes.
I know my own reaction to this- which is that I find this narrow sectarian stuff very depressing. I do not often feel the heat of prejudice personally, despite living in Scotland and having an English accent (although someone did call me a ‘white settle’r today- albeit with a smile.) I just think that most of us should just know better. The fostering and celebration of narrow judgemental views is never really victimless- there are always vulnerable people who suffer, if only kids in the playground. There is also the fear in me that these fires, once lit, might become conflagrations- if not in our generation, then perhaps in the next…
Today, one week after my recent adventure, I took a trip over to Bute.
It was a lovely day- very cold, but full of sunshine. As ever- the camera travelled with me…
During lunch, I visited the local Coastguard office, to fetch my canoe. There was some confusion as to who had the key- it turned out that the lock up that the canoe was in was actually used by a former member of the coastguard to store his scaffolding. This is Argyll after all.
Eventually a very nice man turned up with a large bunch of keys, and what he called a ‘universal key’ in the form of a large hacksaw. The universal key was not needed, as the first actual key opened the padlock, and I was reunited with an old, battered and rather well travelled green canoe.
It was good to see it again. We have some more adventuring to do.
Here is a photo someone took- I am out of view behind the police launch.
Michaela and I took a trip down to the west bay this morning. We went to see David Torrance, the man who raised the alarm, and said thanks. He seems a really nice guy, and I will be forever in his debt. He was in the right place, at the right time, and did the right things.
We then went round to the Rock Cafe for breakfast, and stood watching the sun sparkling on the sea around the Gantock Rocks. It is a lovely cold sunny day today. I looked a where I entered the water and marvelled at how far I swam.
this fragile tent 