Hanging like old cobwebs
In a shipyard shed
The Clyde is fogged
The far bank
Invisible
And the flow of the old river
Is slowed by friction
Wrapped around
Rolling still, but slow
Like the year
Now passing
If you were to think of things that define us as a nation, most of us would include our addiction to tea.
Then there is our huge sugar consumption- in tea of course, but also lacing almost all of our other processed foods.
This morning I listened to the wonderful radio programme ‘A History of the World in 100 Objects‘ on Radio 4. It is nearing it’s end, but today’s programme described an early Victorian Wedgwood tea set.
And it brought to be again the need to understand history from the perspective of the small people- not the law makers and war mongers. Because the history of ‘Great’ Britain has often been one of militaristic expansionism, and economic oppression.
Slavery brought us sugar, via the terrible triangle of trade that saw African people stolen from their homelands and shipped like expendable cattle to work in the West Indies.
And tea- this was a much later economic obsession. Stolen from the Chinese, with much double dealing and opium peddling along the way, and increasingly adopted as the drink of high society in Victorian Britain.
But because it was expensive, there was a need to find ways to control the production, distribution and sales of tea on a massive scale. For this, we needed new plantations in a suitable climate.
And of course, we also needed a huge cheap workforce that we could control and dominate.
And so we manipulated, shanghaied and cajoled the poorest of another one of our conquests to move to a country far from their birth and work our new plantations in Ceylon.
To make this seem OK, we had to believe that we were doing them a favour. We had to be able to see these people as less than us, weaker, less human.
So we called them a name that befitted their status- a pejorative name. Coolies.
In the British Empire, coolies were indentured labourers who lived under conditions often resembling slavery. The system, inaugurated in 1834 in Mauritius, involved the use of licensed agents after slavery had been abolished in the British Empire. Thus, indenture followed closely on the heels of slavery in order to replace the slaves. The labourers were however only slightly better off than the slaves had been. They were supposed to receive either minimal wages or some small form of payout (such as a small parcel of land, or the money for their return passage) upon completion of their indentures. Unlike slaves, these imported servants could not be bought or sold. (From here.)
These mass movements of population leave their mark on human politics to this day, as does much of our colonial system. The Tamils who were imported into Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) were fighting a bloody civil war until only last year.
All of which makes my tea taste a bit sour.
And it does not get much better for the tea producing nations today. They are slaves to the free market, with commodity prices rising and falling, and plantations mostly tied to multinational corporations.
All the more reason then to drink tea (and coffee) as well as using sugar that has the fair trade mark– yes I know all about the tokenism thing- but my tea just goes down with more satisfaction.
And given my inherited history, it seems the very least that I should do.
Michaela and I watched this the other day- a small American group that have decided to do something simple and rather profound with 10% of their income.
I have always had a bit of a strange relationship with tithing- by which I mean the Evangelical Christian use of the word- giving your ten per cent to the great Agent in the sky (via your local church of course.) Laying down a ‘seed offering’ so that you might get so much more in return.
Giving money to the church to enable redistribution and support for people who are working with the poor- I can get that, but tithing has of course a whole different lot of baggage that goes with it- usually associated with those who need this to be a Biblical instruction so that the machinery of their institution might be oiled- salaries paid, roofs mended.
Churches do need to be funded, but if all our resources go into buildings and hierarchical salary structures then what might be left to use for things outside the establishment?
There are all sorts of potential problems of doing the things that this group have done- but I think it is really interesting…
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So here is my little ten part sermon based on the stacking of logs.
You can make your own analagous links.
- Stacking logs can not be rushed
- There are no machines that can stack them for you- bend your back and get stuck in
- Beginning carefully is very important- you will be building on these foundations
- Neatness is not important, but a well stocked log pile will probably be orderly
- Fresh air needs to circulate in, over and through the pile or the logs won’t dry, and will go stale and mouldy
- The rigidity and strength of a log pile comes from the closeness- the proximity- of its individual logs
- The big ego-bulging logs are the hardest to stack- they tend to topple and teeter and can easily bring the whole thing crashing down
- The smaller logs tend to be the glue that hold together the whole structure
- The higher you build the pile, the more unstable it will become
- The pile is not an end in itself- no matter how decorous. It exists to store and dry fuel that can then burn bright in service of the other
Yesterday was my father in law’s birthday.
Or would have been.
To remember his death in April of this year, Mary suggested we took some flowers to a place he loved. I am not really keen on those displays of flowers tied to lamp posts and benches- the ones that droop and rot into a mess of green plastic. But Mary had a much simpler idea.
So we went to a bridge over the River Eachaig, next to the lovely Uig Hall- a fine, still place where the river runs strongly around a meander and over a weir before disappearing towards the Holy Loch then the Clyde and finally the deep blue sea.
We stood in silence on the bridge, Michaela, me, the kids and Mary. That kind of stillness that is enhanced by the gentle noises around, and the feelings of pain and loss within. The whole world folds in for a while.
Then Mary threw her flower, along with a little note, into the river.
Taken by the current it moved off. Followed in line by Michaela’s, William’s and mine. It was unbearably sad, but lovely at the same time.
Emily was last to throw in her flower, and as she was standing nearer to the bank, the current took it around the meander and almost out of sight, before it snagged on the bank- a flash of yellow amongst the floating leaves.
This upset Emily- so much so that she wanted to go and fetch it somehow, although this was not practicable.
For me, this spoke volumes.
The river moves on and by, to a distant destination. But no matter how strong the flow it is hard to let go.
It is right not to let go.
Because blessed are those who mourn…
I recently discovered the soundtrack to one of my favourite films- Sean Penn’s ‘Into the Wild’.
The film was from a book by John Krakauer of the same title, which told the true story of Christopher McCandless, who decided to quit society, and his comfortable upbringing, and disappeared into the wilderness. It tells the story of the people he met and influenced, the encounters he had with wild places, and his eventual lonely death in Alaska.
The book is an examination of the place of wilderness in our post-modern world. The film is something else- a visual feast, full of photographic cinematography and gentle simple people. It made me cry- not because of the tragic ending but because of its great humanity.
And then there is the sound track. By Pearl Jam’s lead singer Eddie Vedder. Featuring these two great songs-
Oh it’s a mystery to me.
We have a greed, with which we have agreed…
and you think you have to want more than you need…
until you have it all, you won’t be free.Society, you’re a crazy breed.
I hope you’re not lonely, without me.When you want more than you have, you think you need…
and when you think more then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
I think I need to find a bigger place…
cause when you have more than you think, you need more space.
I am quite old.
One of the reasons that I know that I am old is by my reaction to new music. I love music, it has been one of the primary drives throughout my life. Playing music, listening to music, being moved by music. Measuring the passage of life through the meaning found in…music.
But these days, music has to be more than style. It has to be more than a trendy badge I can wear for a while. It has to have character, depth, emotion and it has to have something to say.
Now these things are very subjective, and that is the wonder of music- a scale of eight notes, arranged and then added to words can convey such variety- but for me, most talented artists need something else- they need experience.
They need to have engaged with the real dirty stuff of life.
Today, Emily dragged me in to listen to Laura Marling. I love it that she does this- she listens to loads of stuff, and if she thinks I might like it, then she is really keen to pass on the knowledge.
And she is often right- Laura Marling does a lovely version of ‘Rambling man’.
In a decade or so she might be great. Right now she is very talented.
So, Autumn is fully with us.
The winds are still quite warm, but we have had a procession of storms over the last few days, interspersed with the odd burst of golden sunshine.
And the garden has given it’s last harvest. A few beans and some beetroot. Michaela planted some winter crops of spuds, onions and garlic- but we won’t see anything from these until next spring.
The hens continue to give us three eggs a day, but they are smaller- as the nights draw in, they are less active. Hens do not have good eyesight, and so they take themselves off to bed at dusk. Safely tucked up into their roost.
Autumn is sad season. Everything is becoming less. Everything is old and worn. And the survivors steel themselves for the harshness to come.
Even we humans, who are largely disconnected from the natural world that feeds us, are affected. We are different animals as the temperatures fall and the light disappears.
All the more reason, I reckon, to be thankful for the harvest.
To mark the time of gathering in and storing up.
A time to remember the grace still present in the resting soil, waiting and storing up energy for the year to come.
It is perhaps useful to recall the Celtic way of thinking about time- as a circle, rather than linear. The circle of the year begins on the 31st of October after the festival of Samhain or ‘Summers end’. The first period of the new year is Samonios, or ‘seed fall’, with the promise that out of darkness will come renewal, and a turning again of the circle.
Turn away.
Saw this and it made me chuckle. I think I have tried all of these options for revitalising church- before more or less settling on the last.
But lest I kid myself that I am cutting edge, lets remember that they were probably doing the same sorts of things 500 years ago.
When this video was made.
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