My Irish English Teacher

When I was thirteen we got a new English teacher. He was Irish. He spoke with a Irish accent, a shortish man (or so I remember) always wearing a pin stripped suit, if somewhat rumpled, and white hair and beard.

I went to a Secondary Modern School which meant I had failed my 11 plus and also meant that basically not a lot was every expected of me academically. Most of the time we sort of looked at bits of writing and bit of literature and bits of poetry and it felt like we were never really expected to understand it, never expected to care.

This man tried to introduce us to good literature, he talked about Shakespeare and poetry and literature. He tried to educate us. Trouble was he was Irish. I never knew whether he came from Southern or Northern Ireland (my memory of his soft accent made me think he came from Southern Ireland) but at that time, with the political atmosphere of the IRA and terrorism and bombing in the UK - it didn't matter to me. I heard on the TV that we were at war with Ireland (well basically we were) , that they wanted to maime and kill us. My dad used to visit London sometimes and I was terrified he would get blown up by an Irish bomb. It was a frightened time and I wasn't old enough to understand or even try to understand Irish politics - certainly nothing I saw on TV tried to show me another side to the story. Also my father was a devoutly religious man, being a strong Church of England Protestant so I was very influenced by his prejudice of Catholicism and what that might represent.

My teacher never had a chance - I just argued, played up, called him terrible names and was totally uncooperative. This was not the norm for me, often I was a quiet child who kept my head down and tried to get through the day. Yet he tried to teach us stuff that I now wish I had listened too - I wish I had discovered them then, some I wish I know now.

He left after a few months - it's amazing he lasted that long - it must have been hell working in a Norfolk country school with uneducated, uneducatable kids who just didn't want to hear him.

I often think about him - I often regret that missed opportunity to learn. I wish I knew what happened to him or could even remember his name. I am sorry I was such an awful pupil. I hope he found a school where he could teach and pupils could learn from him.

He once told the class that we would never learn anything - that we deserved the education we got. Harsh but with him this was probably true. I am glad I have fought to recieve and education, worked hard and got to the age of 50 with a better understanding and a way of looking at both sides (well sometimes).

Wish I could tell him that.

Passionate TV

Firstly, excuse the photo of Anne Robinson - I am not a fan of her style and never will be - but I am a huge fan of this program My Life in Books. It is a half hour program shown on BBC2 at 6.30pm where famous people (I am careful here not to use the word celebrity because I feel they are not celebrities but people who have become famous for lots of reasons, not just TV but politics and writers etc. They come on the show and chose books that they love and talk about them; introduce them to the audience and in away introduce themselves to the audience.

There has been a wide variety of people on the show who have all been interesting and have all had something to say. I would be a liar if I said I wanted to read all the books that they recommended but certainly there are many that I would like to read; many that I have already read and many that I wish I could read (different from wanting to read because some of them seem like books I would struggle to get through but wish I had the stamina).

I have found the writers particularly passionate (well I would, wouldn't I) - they talk about books in language that I use, with the passion that I feel. They hold and smell and caress books in the way that I do, and remember the characters and plot like they are old friends. They talk about the memories evoked by reading this book and how they changed their lives or how their lives where changing when they read it. They talk about memories of family, of lovers, of children, even of world events and politics. They talk about love.

I record this program and watch it at least twice - just to feel the joy of the reader - the joy of their language - their joy for books. I feel that this is my program, this is something that I can totally connect to and love (not so much on the TV for me like this anymore).

I hope the BBC keep this program (maybe once a week). Its OK if it is on at a later, even obscure time, those of us who love it will find away.

The program is part of World Book Year (Week?) and has made me think about which books I would talk about on the program - so here is my list of My Life in Books (in no particular order).

The Colour Purple by Alice Walker - I studied this book and though to some it may be obvious this is the first time anyone told me that Jesus may not have been white, he was not the white man with beard and long hair that I had seen on the cross all my childhood. It made me think about what faith was really about - how we all fit in the world of God. It made me think about status and position and pain and suffering and survival and love. It made me think and for that I will always be truly thankful.

The Sea by John Banville - I love this book because of the way it is written, the pure beauty of the writing - I read it with just pure jealously and wishing I could write words this beautifully. I have to say I never really loved the main character, not sure he is really that nice a person, not sure I totally thought the plot and storyline were brilliant but all that is forgiven for such beautiful words. Just to read with pure envy and admiration is an amazing experience.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig - I read this book when I was a teenager and loved it, I guess maybe I wasn't totally sure what it was saying, that I didn't have the knowledge or experience to truly understand his words, but I read it again whilst I was at Uni and really understood why it had impacted on my so much. A basic story weaved around a philosophy for life, a philosophy of loss and love. I tried to explain this book to my college classmates and failed dismally - something I will always regret.

Rebecca by Daphine Du Maurier - I am not really a huge classics fan, really not into the angst and annoying women of many of the Austen, Bronte clans but I love the second Mrs De Winter. (Think that is right???). I love her outsideness, how she lives in the world she feels she doesn't understand and doesn't fit with. Her gentle soul that is so easily hurt and bruised but yet in the end is strong. The wonderful picture of the awful first wife, written so well she appears in the readers mind like some awful beautiful witch, the weak husband, the wonderful scenery and house. I revisit this book often to remind myself of its beauty.

The Essential Spike Milligan - I love Spike Milligan, I particularly love his poetry. I wish I had got to know his work when he was alive, had been able to watch him on TV and explore his older work. I didn't. I read his poetry as much as possible, I buy anything of his I see second hand and am trying to get a full catalogue of his work (particularly his poetry). It makes me laugh, it makes me cry, it makes me think about so much. To me he was so underrated, possibly so misunderstood by his peers and certainly be later generations. I think readers will return to his work in the future and see something new, something wonderful. That it what I see.

Amy Johnson Queen of the Air by Midge Gillies - this is a very personal book and one which I will never forget. Amy Johnson flew with my grand father - we have family photographs of them together and family stories of their relationship! I never really knew who she was, and still might not (this is a biography) but read this book to see if I could understand how my grandfather got to fly planes, what got him there. It was so interesting and I searched the pages for what might have been a clue to him, a mention of him, a feel of him. (There is a piece that might be about him but I can't tell and the author was unable to identify this man either - that I believe is a story for the future). This book is well written and interesting and helped me try to understand a man I never knew, who died in his plane crash in 1936 but has always seemed so exciting to me.

At the end of the show they are asked which book is their guilty pleasure, which of these would they take on holiday if they could only take one. Of course I would take them all but I suspect my guilty please is the Spike Milligan because he can evoke some many emotions and I can see something different each time I read them.

There are many more books I could list here (the obvious omission being Harry Potter) but these are the ones I have chosen here and now.

I would love to know what your life in books is, what is your little list of books and why? Care to share?

Dix

An Unverving Dream

Last night I had a really clear dream. I am not sure how I got to the point but I was in a church (this is a church that I know) although it was much nicer than in reality, much cleaner and more inviting. The Vicar was there. Again a man that I know, a local Father although not the Father of the Church I dreamed about. The Church in my dream is a mixture of the Church I used to attend (a lovely family church that holds good memories) and my local Church as a teenager, which does not hold good memories. The Church where both my parents had their funerals and are buried.

It was a strange dream. When I got to the Church the Vicar (as I called him) passed me a gift and a letter. The gift was a Kite, all wrapped up and new. I was very brightly coloured, red, yellow and white, still in its wrapping and with the card still stapled on the top. It felt strange to get a Kite in a Church and yet I didn't ask why I was being given a Kite. I have recently purchased a Kite and tried to fly it. (I was trying to fly it with a young man who will hopefully become part of my life as we are trying to Foster him), but don't know if this has meaning in the dream, I guess it does.

I never unwrapped the Kite in the Church just put in down beside me. But the letter felt more significant. It was a blue handwritten envelope, neat handwriting, large and clear. I opened the letter and read it.

I remember reading the letter, I remember the look of the words on the page but can't remember what it said, just that I felt very emotional, really happy but also very sad. The Vicar just touched my arm to give me comfort. At this point I looked up.

And there sitting in the Church a few feet away from me sat my Nanny Lou. My maternal grandmother. I have not seen her for 41 years, she died when I was seven and yet she was so clear and she was smiling at me. I could recognise every part of her face, her eyes, her hair, her skin, the shape of her body. It was so real and so beautiful. And it felt lovely and warm and comforting. Like she was there and loving me and holding me. Although I never got close to her. I can't really explain how it felt. Just that it seemed so really, so lovely, so comforting. And I looked straight at her with this letter in my hand and it was wonderful.

At this point I woke up (5.15am) and for a moment I felt happy and loved and comforted and in a wonderful place. I wanted to return to the dream and be back with my Nanny but I couldn't.

And as I lay in bed I suddenly began to feel strange. To feel drained and unhappy, as if the dream, far from being good was a pointer to something terrible that is going to happen. I can't explain why I feel like this. It was so odd to go from almost euphoria to utter misery in such a short space of time.

All day I have felt incredibly tired and drained (I have woken up to write this). I have lacked energy and sharpness and just felt like I am being told that something in the future (the near future) is not good. I have dreaded the day. I felt like I was looking for signals to tell me what was coming. I was often aware of the dream and the memory during the day. I found myself smiling at the memory of my Nanny and then shivering at the feeling that followed. A terrible contradiction. I know this is really OTT but it feels like I should be grateful to wake up tomorrow. That is how strong the feeling is. My body had ached today, I struggled to have any clarity of thought and absolutely no enthusiasm. I just want to go back to bed to sleep and yet am almost fearful to do so.

I like to dream. It has often helped me sort out problems and definitely helped me find ideas for my writing. But this was not nice. I very rarely have nightmares and even they have not left me with the feeling that I have carried today. This was not a nightmare, it was beautiful and yet it has left me feeling devastated. Even writing this is giving me butterflies inside.

I hope tonight will be better. I hope that I can sleep as normal.

Been a long time gone

I have not written on my blog for such a long time but have thought of it often. So finally remembered my login details and decided to get back into it.

News

I am suffering with one of those grotty virus type colds at the mo. Sore throat, blocked nose, tired eyes, hacking cough and it has drained all my energy. It has really drained my energy and is making me feel just YUK, YUK, YUK!!! I just want to sleep all the time which is really rubbish and haven't managed to get any of the jobs done which I wanted to this weekend. Having no energy is a real drag - mind you I have watched lots of old stuff I recorded on the DVD recorder and enjoyed most of it, especially The Genius of Photography. And have managed to clear down the memory somewhat so I can record some new stuff.

I will finish with a poem by (yes you guessed it) my favourite SpikeY!

NEW MEMBERS WELCOME

Pull the blinds
on you emotions
Switch off our face.
Put your love into neutral
This way to the human race.

London
April 1971

Sometimes I think it would be nice to do this. Just switch of my emotions, close down my reactions and sail along without hassle or pain.

DiH

Just one last note - I am going to church tonight. It is my second time - I found it comforting last time but not sure why? Tell you more later - maybe?

And this is me today (1)

It has been a frustrating day. I really want to continue to make a difference in my work but find myself continually frustrated by appointments, transport breakdowns and problems, other staffs lack of understanding etc etc. But I should be more patient, I am sure it will continue to improve and that I will be able to help organise my work, and hence improve the SU daily life accordingly. I guess it is just my impatience with others that frustrates me the most.

I have loved writing this blog - I know that it appears nobody has read it yet but me and that nobody has made a comment but somehow that doesn't matter. I can write a little everyday and more importantly I managed to start and finish a short story - however simple it was. Around 2000 words created in one sitting at at my computer.

I am really tired tonight and also very cold. It has appeared a nice sunny day for April but in reality the cold was biting. I have just moved from a comfy position in front of the fire to a much cooler study to write this. I feel the cold.

Nothing very exciting has happened to me today as nothing really exciting happens to me most days. But hey, that is my life and most of the time it is ok. I went shopping in Tesco for just a few bits and ended up still spending nearly £40 and can't quite understand how it was so much, how it was too much again.

I did notice that the local church was having its roof mended. There was a fairly big hole in the roof from the recent bad winds and storms. It was round, where the tiles had slipped and looked almost like a hurricane had hit. The vicar said it was going to cost loads to get fixed but they must have only been up there one day and it looked good as new. I was surprised to see that the roofers were just using a ladder and no scaffolding but hey, perhaps God was their Health and Safety officer!! I notice, as did my colleague, that the church had a kinda of walkway (there is probably a better word but can't think of it) all the way around the roof and the men were walking on it. I thought how great it would be to get up there and see the view or even better get to the top of the tower and look over the village and beyond. Maybe I could even see my house from there.

The vicar is very nice, much more like the kinda of vicar I was used to as a child. Yet again I find myself thinking about faith and God but something seems to hold me back. This continual battle between what is right and good and what the church seems to represent and present to the world. I find this whole issue of sinners etc really hard to take because I believe that people are basically good and just do bad things and make mistakes. I believe that given the chance we could all care about and maybe even love each other. Maybe this is why I am so quickly disappointed with people, with life in general. This hippy attitude probably doesn't help me cope with life.

Anyway enough of the hippy claptrap. Time to go and sort out some email etc.

Will write again soon - possible.