We often think we can remember
past events clearly, indeed we may honestly believe our version of
mis-remembered moments - just as I thought last week I was re-reading The Great Gatsby (I realised I had never
read a word before) or Dirk Bogarde remembered entering Belsen (he was never
there) and I once had a deluded boss who claimed personal credit for master-minding
a successful transaction (in fact his hand was wholly absent).
Similarly we entirely forget past pronouncements, - as David Cameron, with convenient amnesia, has forgotten he once advocated Brexit if he did not secure a decent new deal from the EU (he failed to get one) and now says (improbably) that Brexit would increase the likelihood of World War, a prospect to which he had never previously alluded. In their zeal to terrify the electorate, the Remainers (with Osborne and Carney in their front rank) will say almost anything in the way of alarmist claptrap and I fully expect dire predictions soon of a plague of boils, then of locusts before a climax on about 20 June predicting the death of our first-born unless their cause prevails!
Similarly we entirely forget past pronouncements, - as David Cameron, with convenient amnesia, has forgotten he once advocated Brexit if he did not secure a decent new deal from the EU (he failed to get one) and now says (improbably) that Brexit would increase the likelihood of World War, a prospect to which he had never previously alluded. In their zeal to terrify the electorate, the Remainers (with Osborne and Carney in their front rank) will say almost anything in the way of alarmist claptrap and I fully expect dire predictions soon of a plague of boils, then of locusts before a climax on about 20 June predicting the death of our first-born unless their cause prevails!
Yet memory does play tricks. I now
struggle to remember significant people and events in my childhood, but I do
remember peculiar and oddball things which I had to memorise by rote. I
remember the Australian nursery rhyme we sang at my Aberdeen school (aged about
5):
 |
| The famed Kookaburra |
Kookaburra sits in the
old gum tree
Merry, merry king of
the bush is he
Laugh kookaburra!
Laugh Kookaburra!
Gay your life must be.
I suppose American influences were at a height of esteem in
about 1948 as we also recited The Song of
Hiawatha:
By the shores of
Gitche Gumme,
By the shining Big-Sea
Water
Stood the wigwam of
Nokomis
Daughter of the Moon,
Nokomis
It was not all jack-asses and Red Indians, as we also had
dourly to learn Psalm 46 – The Lord of
Hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is
our Refuge, followed by uplifting stuff (peaceniks would approve) about
snapping spears and burning chariots.
A little later, at prep school, I recall a rather
sinister-looking master with a deep voice reading aloud to us narratives on the
Labours of Hercules and The Siege of Troy – we were entranced by
the adventures of Agamemnon, Hector and Ajax. Finally I remember in about 1955
the Headmaster enlivening one morning assembly with an enthusiastic rendering
of The Lake Isle of Innisfree by W B
Yeats:
I will arise and go now, and go to
Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of
clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a
hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud
glade.
And I shall have
some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
I was impressed then and remain impressed by Yeats’ lyricism, even if
the piece is hackneyed and lampooned by some Irish intellectuals. That
strait-laced English-born headmaster and WW1 veteran first instilled in me a
love of poetry. Thank you, Harry Nock!
-------------------------
If you are thinking that I am meandering somewhat, you are dead right. I
have switched off my brain for the duration of the Eurovision Song Contest, the
annual musical orgy, noisily camp, which I have followed avidly since about
1970. I confess this year to having sat through two semi-finals and tonight’s
Grand Final, listing meticulously the merits or otherwise of the contestants.
Dumb-founded by the elimination of Ireland and the inclusion of Ukraine,
mercifully my memory is another casualty and I cannot remember any of the
tunes, any of the lyrics or, best of all, any of the bizarre costumes or even
most of the artistes (although nobody can forget 2014’s glam bearded tranny
Conchita Wurst!).
At the end my favourites were Australia, pretty Dani In belting out her
number, Poland, with a guy in a red military jacket and painted fingernails
giving us a rousing Euro-anthem; Russia’s Thunder
and Lightning was a wow with
remarkable special effects, the Spanish girl surprised with her zip while my
long-shot was the strong song by the curvaceous girl from Azerbaijan.
Oh no, shock horror! Splendid Australia has just been pipped at the post
by the dismal Ukraine song, a dirge set in 1944, which I assumed would not
survive the semis. Well, the Eurovision is always unpredictable and maybe I am
not the ideal critic. I will studiously resolve to forget everything about
tonight!
SMD
14.05.16
Text Copyright © Sidney
Donald 2016
No comments:
Post a Comment