Learning Lessons

Recovering from a surprise bug and unable to do any more than read, (no great penance, needless to say), I found Liam O'Flaherty's 'Famine', which was on my shelves for some time and I always meant to read. I read it in two days and must tell you, it is an amazing, a stunning, a riveting piece of work. There are so many parts of it I would like to tell you about, but they are too many, and I really don't want to spoil the discovery for anyone who gives it a go. I urge anyone who wants a meaningful novel to read, get this book. It is a story told against the background of the Irish Famine, also known as The Great Hunger. The Famine was always given a capital letter when written about, and with reason, for it was an event written into all our psyches, albeit some are unaware of it. I would go so far as to say that it may well be at the back of the country's troubles today, for the way the country behaved during the so-called 'boom' which ended catastrophically in 2008 was definitely not the way a population unscarred by massive want or hunger would behave.

Critics who were quoted on the back cover of the book said that Mary was the heroine, and indeed she was, but underneath it all, Brian, her father-in-law, is the most memorable character. All the characters, however, are well-drawn and rounded figures. It is a horror story all the greater because it describes real times in the life of this small island, from which everyone suffered, at the very least psychologically. Most of the suffering though was physical also, living skeletons walked the roads, eating whatever the countryside provided; those who could got away to England or America.

I never can understand the wide spaces of road edges and the fields lying empty of cultivation or stock which one sees when travelling around the Irish countryside. And not too far from our local town, there are paddocks of ragwort seeding themselves everywhere. Years ago there were warning notices in the post office against ragwort and its dangers for horses and other animals. Nowadays, no-one seems to care. Surely with a history such as ours, empty or poisonous fields cry out to heaven. There is no reason for us not to be totally self-sufficient as far as food is concerned with the land and water we have. As global warming, for whatever reason, continues, others will come and show us how to use our fields.

This book about the Famine was all the more real for me because I've been digging into family history recently, and learned that a great great grandmother who died of post-famine fever was carried to Glasnevin cemetery in Dublin on a wheelbarrow by her husband for burial, because no workers would risk going near the body. Another great great grandfather who was a teacher died in Co. Carlow at the time, with his wife and two young children. Everyone was affected in one way or another. This book was written within ninety years of the horror, in 1937, and the copy I have is a paperback edition dated 1979 and published by Wolfhound Press.

Liam O'Flaherty wrote among other novels one called 'The Informer' which was turned into a film by John Ford, who was actually a cousin of his. I would think that 'Famine' would make an awe-inspiring film too, giving plenty of work to extras. The most momentous parts of the book are very visual:

What more can I say! If you can at all, do read this book.

Lots of people say they would love to garden, but they don't have time, or a big enough garden, or the know-how. Well, the latter is easily acquired from books, and also now from the world wide web, obviously. If you don't feel you have the space, and you are short of time because you must work for your bread as well as run a home and pay for the baby minder, (I'm not going to talk about that weird state of affairs just now), and you think a houseplant or two would bring dust and pests into your house (not necessarily the case but it is a widely-held view), get yourself a little sink or fish box, or make a concrete tub, stand it at your back door, fill it with good well-drained soil and grit, and buy some tiny plants. 'Collins Guide to Alpines' , by Anna N. Griffith, published by Collins London in 1972 is the type of book you need now. It gives the names of rock plants which are not in the main hard to find, tells you the type of soil they like to live in, whether they mind getting too wet or not, and when they will flower. When you find these tiny plants you will fall in love with them. The first year you garden this way, you will buy many so-called tiny plants which will take off and become giants; blame the nursery and move them to a border or give them away, and start again. Research and experience will teach you the names of the plants which will stay small. Seed sellers such as www.chilternseeds.co.uk will have seeds of many teeny plants which can be sown outside in your little garden. Or you may want to have another box just for seedlings. Eventually, you may want another sink or trough...but you will not have to walk far to tend your garden, and the plants will not have to be cossetted. You have a whole new interest in life as long as you can keep your plants out of reach of the family dog which was supposed to be the size of a Yorkshire terrier but is daily showing more resemblance to a St. Bernard. You may have to dissuade the family cat from sunning herself on the more cushiony plants, but a few sprinkles of water should do the trick. The library should have books on sink and trough gardening; rock gardening in the title is not always a good bet, as some people have monstrous sized rock gardens with five foot shrubs in them and rocks like the foothills of mountains. Books on trough gardening, though, unmistakeably deal with tiny plants which can be relied upon to stay within the stated limits. And if you ever want to garden in a larger way, all you learn in taking care of your miniature plants will easily transfer to their bigger brethern. Go for it!

'Teach Yourself To Learn A Language' is one of the famous Teach Yourself books, in this case written by P.J.T. Glendening, and published by The English Universities Press Ltd., London in 1963. Inside you will find sensible instructions on what you must do before you proceed to study your language of choice. It gives examples of the type of survey of a language which should be made before you start. The languages surveyed for this purpose are Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Hindustani, Italian, Japanese, Malay, Portuguese, Russian and Spanish. I have found it a wonderful book, which inspires you with confidence in your ability to learn a language.

Irish people have the idea that they are bad at languages. Partly to blame for this is the poor teaching of their own native tongue, well, nowadays, their second native tongue, for we are almost all accomplished speakers of our first language, Hiberno-English. I recall a mature student in UCD telling me that she had just discovered that Irish had genders, Masculine and Feminine, the existence of which she was aware in other languages such as French, but no-one had ever mentioned it concerning Irish. I think that is a sin. What kind of language teaching can lead to that ignorance and confusion? There always seems to have been a school of thought in Ireland that we can learn the Irish language in a kind of osmosis because it is lodged somewhere in our Irish brains, just waiting to come out. But the teaching of languages in Ireland generally is a disgrace. The first thing which should be taught in schools is linguistics. I recall two first-year students in UCD whose first tongues were German and Spanish respectively, who had studied linguistics from the age of seven in Germany and Spain. They got Firsts in their first year university courses, while the Irish struggled with this peculiar discipline. Of course they triumphed later in their further language studies, one in Arabic and Hebrew, the other in English and Portuguese. The former was fluent also in English, Norwegian and Italian as well as of course in her native German.

You don't need me to tell you that we now have a high percentage of young people unemployed. The agencies which are delivering re-education such as Information Technology to these young people ignore the acquisition of foreign languages totally. Yet look on any job recruitment site online and key in that you can speak a language such as German, Italian, Russian and so forth, and you will be inundated with job opportunities just waiting to be filled. The fact that many require a degree should be no problem to our highly-educated populace. Try, for example, http://ie.jobrapido.com/ and put any language in the search box, and give your e-mail address. Day after day you will receive notice of jobs in Dublin or countrywide which are waiting to be filled by anyone who can speak just one foreign tongue. Any government worth its salt should be offering retraining in languages to the young unemployed, even if they only hope to export them to Europe, of which we are supposed to be so much a part. Pshaw! That's what I say. It's time to get real here! You too can learn a language. It's a set of rules which you learn to follow, and a vocabulary which you will acquire if you dedicate yourself to it. Every day people learn new words; the fact that these new words are not English, should make no difference. You can do it!

A Mixed Bag

Tonight I grabbed six books together off a shelf for the blog. The majority of my books are shelved in a vigorous disorder, so these are quite a mixed bag:

The cookery book “Full and Plenty” was written by Maura Laverty and published by the Irish Flour Millers Association. This is an old copy of the second edition, dated 1966. The unusual thing about this cookery book is that it was written by a novelist, and as you read the chapters, this is plain to see. Before every set of recipes comes a story, about love or blighted love, about the sorrows and tragedies in ordinary people's lives.   The chapter entitled “Eggs Cheese and Cereals” tells the story of a loving widowed mother whose daughter married a well-off man, and who went to live with him in England and never contacted home again. Anyway, the story ends with the daughter's return:

' “Wasn't she the foolish poor child,” said my mother, “to cut herself off from everyone when that go-boy of a husband cleared out and left her without a penny?”

“Don't be talking,” said my aunt Julia. “Pride is responsible for many a sorrow. But I think she had every right to warn her mother when she decided to come home. Mary Neelan might have died of the shock.”

“Small fear of it,” my mother retorted. “No one ever died of joy.” Which, of course, is very true. '

You get the flavour of the book now? It's full of lovely, old-fashioned recipes, mostly Irish.

Here is a description of how to make Irish soda bread, by a character in the chapter on bread:

"Pride and happiness dawned like the rising sun in Mrs. Feeney's face. “It's simple,” she explained eagerly. “Just take the full of the little blue jug of milk, as much as you think of flour, a taste of salt and a suspicion of bread soda. And then you mix it – but you don't wet it, if you know what I mean.”

I got my copy at a school sale, but you should be able to find one yourself easily enough. It was hugely popular in Ireland the minute it was published, and is probably one of those books which would sell very well if republished.*

*It has just been pointed out to me that actually Maura Laverty's cookery book has been republished, but in sections corresponding to the chapters in the original editions.  So obviously it would be better to find a secondhand copy!  Thanks to my reader for the tip.

“The Insurrection in Dublin” was written by James Stephens, a writer who also created Mary Makebelieve in his “The Charwoman's Daughter”.  He wrote the work in 1916 at the time of the Easter Rising, and I found this copy, dated 1965, in a secondhand bookshop. It was probably republished because the 50^th anniversary of the uprising was approaching.

I will let the first part of the foreword introduce the work:
"The day before the rising was Easter Sunday, and they were crying joyfully in the churches “Christ has risen” . On the following day they were saying in the streets “Ireland has risen”. The luck of the moment was with her. The auguries were good, and, notwithstanding all that has succeeded, I do not believe she must take to the earth again, nor be ever again buried. The pages hereafter were written day by day during the Insurrection that followed Holy Week, and, as a hasty impression of a most singular time, the author allows them to stand without any emendation.

The few chapters which make up this book are not a history of the rising. I knew nothing about the rising. I do not know anything about it now, and it may be years before exact information on the subject is available. What I have written is no more than a statement of what passed in one quarter of our city, and a gathering together of the rumour and tension which for nearly two weeks had to serve the Dublin people in lieu of news. It had to serve many Dublin people in place of bread. “

'Insurrection' is a beautifully-written book, without any wordiness, an unbearable trait in so many history books. I don't know how historians regard Stephens' account, but it is a pleasure to read. I recommend it to anyone interested in this time in the story of Ireland.   Part of its lure is that it is an account of historic events as experienced by a non-political person.  I have read that Stephens, in company with the novelist Liam O'Flaherty, writes in the manner of the great Russian writers.  How much he was influenced by them I do not know, but his style is sparse, to the point and convincing.

“The Grasmere Journals”, edited by Pamela Woof and published by Oxford University Press in 1991, consists of the diaries of Dorothy Wordsworth, the sister of the poet William. Once again, I will let the Introduction by the editor speak for itself:

“There is simply nothing like it anywhere else. This Journal calls out to us directly across almost two hundred years, and its writer and her world come alive. It sometimes moves in little rushes when days can be noted with a staccato speed; it sometimes slows down to linger on a single figure: a beggar woman, a leech-gatherer, a child catching hailstones at a cottage door, a bow-bent postman with his little wooden box at his back, an old seaman with a beard like grey plush; it sometimes slows to linger on a whole scene: a funeral, or children with their mother by a fire, or a lakeshore on a windy day with daffodils, or a man with carts going up a hill and a little girl putting stones behind the wheels. It sometimes almost stops as the ear catches a ticking watch, a page being turned over, and the breathing of the silent reader by the fire; and then it starts off again at a great pace with the planting and mending and baking and washing and reading and writing and walking and talking, all the weather and the work crammed into a little space of words. “

At times I personally found these journals rather 'dark'. A lot of the entries told of illness, cold, toothache. Dorothy was totally devoted to William in a way most brothers would not tolerate these days; she found his marriage very hard to take and didn't mind admitting it. Then there were bright spots, as when they stop at an inn where they had stayed before:

“My heart danced at the sight of its cleanly outside, bright yellow walls, casements overshadowed with jasmine & its low, double gavel-ended front. We were not shewn into the same parlour where Wm & I were, it was a small room with a drawing over the chimney piece which the woman told us had been bought at a sale.”

Ah, so they had sales in those days too, that is a nice, homely touch.

I love Shakespeare's “Macbeth”. I studied it in school and have never tired of it. It has everything of human nature in it, with the added merit of being short, which anybody reading this blog now knows is an important virtue in books for me. The murder scenes, the ominous chanting of the witches, the guilt-ridden nightmares of Lady Macbeth, the neat plot in which Macduff turns out to be a man 'not of woman born', and in which Great Birnham Wood comes to Dunsinane, all combine to make a gem of brilliance unsurpassed, Who could ever forget Macbeth's soliloquoy after the death of his wife! Close your eyes, imagine a Scottish accent:

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

 To the last syllable of recorded time;

 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

 Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

 And then is heard no more: it is a tale 

 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

 Signifying nothing.”

The “Dictionary Of Literary Terms” by Coles Editorial Board, part of the series of Coles Notes published by Coles Publishing Company Limited of Canada, is simply a very useful book for students, giving concise meanings for the terms you will find in works of literary criticism, for instance:

“Imagery: The use of figurative language to enrich poetry or prose. Imagery conveys word pictures. Imagery evokes an imaginary, emotional response, as well as providing a vivid, specific description. Compare, for example, - What you are saying is unpleasant for me to hear, - with “These words are razors to my wounded heart” (Shakespeare, Titus Adronicus.).”
I think now we get the picture.

“The Silent Duchess” was written by Dacia Maraini, who, we are told beside her picture on the inside cover of this Flamingo 1993 paperback, “is one of Italy's best-known female writers.” The blurb ends by saying that “The Silent Duchess has been hailed across Europe as a modern masterpiece.” I came across it in a university bookshop in Dublin. At the heart of this work is a stunning mystery, which I do not wish to destroy for anyone who might read it, so I cannot say much more, except to assure you that for that reason alone, it should not be missed. This translation from the Italian is by Dick Kitto and Elspeth Spottiswood. An historical novel, it reads quickly and easily. I would be willing to bet that you will not guess the outcome if you decide to find and read it. It is at times very sad, without, however, dragging the reader down, and it ends in hope, illustrating the tenacity of a human spirit no matter what the odds.

Whatever book you are reading, let it bring you hope and joy.

A Sturdy Constitution

I found “The Public Speaker's Treasure Chest – A Compendium of Source Material to Make Your Speech Sparkle” by Herbert V. Prochnow, in the recycling centre. It was published in 1959 by A. Thomas & Co., Preston, and is full of jokes, epigrams, and phrases to help make a 'sparkling speech'. There is a section with enough biblical quotations to confound any proselytizer who might come to your halldoor, that is, if you are the type of person who enjoys such engagements. Nowadays the world and his wife are used to public speaking, judging by the numbers who ring in to radio talk shows and discuss just about anything without a seeming tremor of embarrassment. Perhaps that is why someone chucked this book into the recycling centre, where not many clamoured to reclaim it. Here is a joke I found and enjoyed, although perhaps you may not share my amusement, since I am considered to have no sense of humour:

'Heard at the Zoo

A huge elephant and a tiny mouse were in the same cage at the zoo. The elephant was in a particularly ugly and truculent mood. Looking down at the mouse with disgust he trumpeted, “You're the puniest, the weakest, the most insignificant thing I've ever seen!” “Well,” piped the mouse in a plaintive squeak, “don't forget, I've been sick.” '

There I also found “Bunreacht na hÉireann – Constitution of Ireland” published in 1990 by Irish Government Publications, nestling companionably beside an Irish Labour Party publication of James Connolly's “Socialism Made Easy”. Perhaps some socialist has passed on to a more just world, or someone has followed a political disagreement by disavowing all connections with his/her former comrades, Whatever, I brought them home. I think everyone should have a copy of the Constitution, and I will be able to give this to someone who hasn't. James Connolly's little book, published first in 1909, I would keep if only for the fact that he was so ignobly shot while crippled and unable to stand, following the Easter Rising of 1916. It is very well-written, in concise and persuasive English. I know where I stand on such things, I believe all should have a reasonable amount of land for themselves and their family, to do with as they think best provided that it is used and not left as a danger to health. I do not believe that large tracts of land should be allowed to be in the hands of just a few, and passed on down through generations of their families, to be used for their own personal gain. Mine is quite a simple outlook, simplistic, I know some would say. But there is one belief of mine that I never see in books on economics or anywhere else, unless I am reading the wrong books: I do not believe in the charging of interest on money loaned. I believe it is at the bottom of all financial troubles, and that it is morally wrong. However, very few ever mention this, but take it as a law of Nature that interest should be charged on loans. It is a dreadful evil which exists almost without question in the western world. Anyway, here is a quote from Connolly's little book:

“.....the question to be settled by Socialism is the effect of private ownership of the means of production upon the well-being of the race;........Personally I am opposed to any system wherein the capitalist is more powerful than God Almighty........No worker is compelled to enter a church and to serve God; every worker is compelled to enter the employment of a capitalist and serve him.”

I could not possibly give you Connolly's ideas in one small review, nor would I want to. If you are interested, please find his book for yourself. But to most of us nowadays, these are truths and are self-evident. But still, not much changes, and the majority of workers are still counted among the poor, both categories usually being spoken of as interchangeable.....and with good reason.

I found Cyril Connolly's “Enemies of Promise” in a secondhand bookshop, stamped all over in red ink for fear that the reader might return it for resale. This practice always mystifies me, since even if the book is purchased secondhand, if it is well looked after, surely it could just as easily be resold with further profit. I have never read anything by Cyril Connolly, and the first page I opened was sad, I was touched by his words:

“The new school my parents chose for me was on the coast. At first I was miserable there and cried night after night.My mother cried too at sending me, and I have often wondered if that incubator of persecution mania, the English private school, is worth the money that is spent on it or the tears its pupils shed. At an early age small boys are subjected to brutal partings and long separations which undermine their love for their parents before the natural period of conflict and are encouraged to look down on them without knowing why......I have never met anybody yet who could say he had been happy there. It can only be that our parents are determined to get rid of us!”

I realise that children in England or Ireland rarely are sent to these schools now, but I have often wondered what the difference between them and orphanages could be. I speak as one who actually disapproves of most forms of schooling, and who believes that we should keep our children about us and educate them ourselves, as the law allows us to do. Particularly in these days of internet, there should be no need to farm our children out to the care of others. Of course that would not suit those who need women to work outside the home for wages far below those paid to men, as is still generally the case, according to research published in the last few days. I'm sure you will be able to find it for yourself if you search online. Now here is a link to just one of many websites which you will be able to use to home-educate your children if you so desire. For literacy and language, they need only simply read books: http://www.khanacademy.org/ will take care of all other subjects. You will save money on school textbooks, school uniform, shoes, and school transport, there will be no need to ferry them to and from school, and you will not need to pay an au-pair or housekeeper to look after them. This could save your sanity and your marriage.

“How to be a Nigerian” is another little book from the recycling centre, written by Peter Enahoro, a journalist in Lagos, and published by The Daily Times of Nigeria Limited 1966. It is written in a light-hearted way, and from it I learned, guess what, that Nigerians are just like the rest of us, except for one thing, tribalism. Nigeria, Enahoro explains, was a country invented by Europeans for their own use and benefit, but it is actually an area in which live a large number of tribes, and all the members of each individual tribe unite for the good of their own people. He says:

“The Nigerian society is strictly organised into a variety of tribes. So consuming is the devotion to tribe that if St. Peter were a Nigerian, four-fifths of us would be wasting our time in church and Heaven would soon spill out The Gatekeeper's tribal group of Nigerians. Tribes transcend individuality.” When a Nigerian names a certain person as being a member of a certain tribe....”the reference to his tribe already points to the kind of man he is certain to be. The gentleman in question may never be known by name throughout the conversation, but the fact that he is Yoruba, or Ibo, or Efik is sufficient to identify him.” I cannot say personally if this is all true, but if so, I presume Enahoro is talking about types rather than actual personalities, as it has a racist ring to it otherwise. Other than this assertion about tribalism, it seems to me that there is no difference between ourselves in Ireland and people in Nigeria. Some of the drivers are terrible, some of the customer service people are rude, some who work in service industries are corrupt, what's new?There does seem to be corruption in government, certainly more overt than in these islands. I suppose there will always be areas in which countries differ to a greater or lesser degree. Personally speaking, I had Nigerian friends years ago, and spent evenings in the Overseas Club in Dublin playing cards with them, and they were genial and funny companions. I often wonder how they fared later in life.

Finally, straight to you from the junkyard:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdSQQo_5el0

Have a good week, all!