Archives for May 2011

Questions, Questions

19 May, 2011
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Princess

“Why is no one in Ireland allowed to see the Queen?” the Princess asked me. Alas, this is completely accurate as security is v. tight and the Irish public have all become royalists overnight. Actually not, in fact, completely accurate, everyone in Ireland who is remotely famous, well-known or in the media did meet the Queen and they have been warbling about it in a slightly star struck way ever since: please see this effusion.

Also, watching the Queen at a stud farm on the news [only third item this evening, upstaged by the extraordinary DSK adventures and the death of former Taoiseach Garrett Fitzgerald] this evening, the Princess asked who is in charge in England now that the Queen is away. I said that they could call for advice, if they needed it but she persisted, “Does that man who has been waiting forever to be king get a chance to practice?” I think not.

Onwards, next week Obama.

First Communion

24 May, 2011
Posted in: Family, Princess

The Princess made her first communion on Saturday. Although the weather was not terrific, the whole thing passed off reasonably peacefully. Relatives travelled from far and wide: one aunt from Holland, one from London, one great aunt and one grandmother from Cork and all the others from the South side of the Liffey, a journey which my brother pointed out was really further than any other.

As our house, alas, is too small to accommodate visitors, my mother stayed with an old friend of hers – a really lovely woman who is also a friend of mine. When I told her where the ceremony was she gasped in mock horror and said to my mother, “What have we done to our children?” And the location was a little daunting. The ceremony was in a church in the north inner city surrounded by boarded up flats and beautiful, though sadly decaying, Georgian buildings. Very authentic.

The congregation contained more people with tattoos than I have ever seen together in one place. When I mentioned this to a colleague she commented, “You’ve never been on a package holiday to the sun, then.” True, I suppose. Many of them were the kind of people you would feel slightly nervous about meeting in a dark alley. On the plus side, if you did meet them, clearly, “My daughter is your son’s class” would be a get out of gaol free card.

The service itself was lovely. The children looked very smart in their school uniforms. They all had speaking roles [in Irish] and they were very impressive. I was really proud of my little girl who delivered her prayer of the faithful confidently and fluently and who led singing after communion [reprise here]. Unlike other cases I have heard about, the congregation didn’t do odd things like talk loudly throughout the ceremony. Although those of us who spoke some Irish were at a considerable disadvantage as we would hop up when the priest said “SeasaigÃ” and nervously sit down again when we realised that the only other people standing were the first communicants.

After the mass we took ourselves off to a restaurant on the quays which served pizza and things that the grown-ups might like also and the Princess started raking in cash. She did say thank you very nicely to her generous relatives. As with all group events, it took ages for the food to arrive but, miraculously, all of the children were exceptionally well behaved. The boys were clearly influenced by their new jackets [too big, alas, worn over trousers which turned out to be too short, sigh] which they thought were very smart.

All in all, I think it went very well.

Is FÃ©idir Linn

25 May, 2011
Posted in: Ireland

Dublin is just about recovered from the past fortnight. During the Queen’s visit, former Taoiseach Garrett Fitzgerald died. In between the Queen’s departure and Barack Obama’s arrival, he was buried. A State funeral between the two biggest visits of the century so far, I’d say that the protocol people were gibbering by the end of it.

Obama had a very flying visit further curtailed by the danger of the Icelandic ash cloud confining him indefinitely to the land of his (very distant) ancestors. After the collective national holding of our breath which accompanied the Queen’s visit [historic moment, will someone assault her etc. etc.], Obama’s visit was much more relaxing. Ann-Marie Hourihan had a slightly cynical article about the Queen’s visit in yesterday’s Irish Times but she did make one comment that seemed to me very true: “The visit of EilÃs A DÃ³ has raised several interesting questions, but above all it demonstrated a central truth: official Ireland is fascinated with itself and never tires of hearing its own fragile story.”

Anyway, there didn’t seem to be the same need to prove ourselves with Obama and nobody was fazed by the Obamamobile getting stuck on a ramp leaving the US embassy. A huge crowd turned out at College Green to hear him speak in uplifting, slightly not-specific language. We just have a much, much less complicated relationship with America and we could all relax and enjoy it.

Well, not all of us, when I got home from work on Monday night no one was home. The children’s bus was cancelled due to the US presidential visit [crucially, not signalled on the Dublin Bus website] and they were traipsing home on foot with the childminder. When I called her they had reached a church about 20 minutes away. I told them to wait there and I would collect them. My poor mites were tired, cold [it was unseasonly chilly], hungry and cranky when I picked them up; they’d been tossed out of the church because the verger was closing up and they were sitting mournfully on the porch. “Obama cancelled our bus,” said the Princess bitterly, “I like the Queen much better.” “Well,” I pointed out, “the Queen cancelled your bus too.” “Yes,” she said, “but she gave us the day off school so it didn’t matter, God save the Queen.”

Oh yeah, and just like the Queen, Obama came out with some Irish. “Is fÃ©idir linn” he announced – as Des Bishop said on twitter: #isfÃ©idirlinn actually means we can and not #yeswecan but there is no direct translation for positivity in Irish. Nevertheless, I understand that the t-shirts are selling like hot cakes.

Sense of Place

26 May, 2011
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle

Email from husband:
For URL nerds
Was looking at headlines on Google news (as you do) and saw this thing about a foiled plot to plant a hoax bomb in Kildare so as to annoy the Queen. The story is a bit dull but what amused me was the Belfast Telegraph’s URL classifications: local ? National ? Republic of Ireand ? Let’s have them all !
http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/republic-of-ireland/gardai-foil-dissident-gangrsquos-plot-to-disrupt-queenrsquos-visit-16002331.html

Weekend Round Up

30 May, 2011
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Princess, Reading etc.

The boys went to two birthday parties this weekend. Very exciting. Birthday party one was in one of these indoor play centre places which they both loved and I dropped them and ran. On my return Michael confided to me sadly, “There was nothing I liked to eat but I drank the orange juice.” They had chicken nuggets, chips, ketchup and cake. When you would really like your child to eat chicken nuggets, you know you have hit rock bottom.

On Sunday we went to a completely different party. The birthday boy was 4 and an only child. As it happened almost all the other invitees were 4 or younger. It was a collection of the north inner city’s middle classes. One pipe bomb could have taken us all out. There were about 20 kids there and a good sprinkling of associated parents. The Princess wandered up to a table where I was chatting to a father who was there with his 4 and 2 year old children. She was deriving mild entertainment from rubbing a balloon on her hair. “My goodness,” said the Daddy of the two small children, “your hair’s standing on end, why is that?” “Static electricity,” she said coldly, leaving him somewhat deflated. That’s the difference between 4 and 8, I suppose.

On Saturday night Mr. Waffle and I went to see The Pride of Parnell Street. This is two monologues with no interval and we were in the fourth row and I was tired so, towards the end I fell asleep until woken by the sound of elderly ladies giving a standing ovation. Oh dear. We did a lot for the average age of the audience. The only person we could see who was younger than us was a little girl of about 9 further down our row. Would you take your young child to a play about domestic violence and the collapse of a marriage? Answers on a postcard, please.

The play itself was good but it dragged. I’m not sure whether it was the direction or the script; I don’t think that it was the format, I’ve been to compelling monologues and at least this had two actors. And it was likely to please. I know the setting intimately and could summon immediately to mind every location that the actors mentioned. It was nicely written. I thought that the wife was really excellent although the husband failed to impress. It was full of [described] incident but I fell asleep [during one of the husband’s bits]. Never a really ringing endorsement. And Mr. Waffle did lighting for the director when they were all students together [Mr. Waffle’s lighting career probably peaked about then] and the director’s wife was in my bookclub years ago. So you can see how we really wanted to love it. But we didn’t. I think I preferred “Thor”. Will we all cry together?

Reading

31 May, 2011
Posted in: Reading etc.

“Wait for Me” by Deborah Devonshire

How many Mitfords can one girl take? The sane sister gives her take on her upbringing and relationships with her sisters. A bit like seeing how the magician’s tricks are done. She has a style that tends slightly towards listing things. There’s a whole chapter at the end devoted to all the great parties she’s been to which, frankly, could have been left out. She’s also much too sensible to be nasty about anyone so that side of her personality, which was visible in her letters, is left out. Which, though worthy, is, alas, dull. Only for the hardcore Mitford enthusiast.

“Free Agent” by Jeremy Duns[New Year’s Resolution]

This is not my kind of book at all but it was written by a friend from Brussels and my loving husband bought it for me for Christmas. I must say, it was quite thrilling and I was dying to get back to it even though I did get somewhat confused between agent and counter-agent. It’s set in the 1960s and our hero is a spy. Any further details might ruin it for you.

What is hilarious, at least for me, is that the author is so utterly unlike his anti hero. I was emailing him back and forth about the book and he commented that his daughter was sitting near him watching television while eating a jam sandwich and refusing to get dressed while he was mentally preparing for another day of researching secret weapons.

“The Tipping Point” by Malcolm Gladwell

I am coming to this somewhat later than everyone else on the planet and maybe because the internet has changed so many things in the past ten years or maybe because the ideas are now mainstream, I am distinctly underwhelmed. There’s a lot about Sesame Street for aficionados. There’s a whole chapter about smoking that was clearly written for something else and is shoehorned in at the end. It’s alright, I suppose.

“Pigeon Pie” by Nancy Mitford

I thought that this might be another name for “Wigs on the Green” which is a roman Ã clef and given my doctorate level knowledge of the Mitfords due to incessant reading over the past couple of months, I think I have the clef. Alas, it is not and, I realised, as I read, that I had read this before and not enjoyed it much. On re-reading, I wasn’t overly impressed. It’s alright but just a bit slight. Very mildly amusing in places. Sigh.

“Noblesse Oblige” edited by Nancy Mitford

It contains the famous “U and non-U” essay. If you need to know who said mirror and who said looking glass in 1955, this is the book for you. Oh, it’s alright and of mild historical interest, I suppose but it’s not worth a re-read.

“Mothers and Sons” by Colm ToibÃn [New Year’s Resolution]

A collection of short stories on this theme. Some are better than others. I think this collection suffers somewhat from the William Trevor phenomenon where all the stories feel like they are from the 1950s regardless of when they purport to be set. He’s a good writer though. He really is.

“The Ruby in the Smoke” by Philip Pullman

This is a detective novel for teenagers set in Victorian London. It was seriously recommended to me by someone at a party before I was married and I have been meaning to read it ever since. It probably wasn’t worth storing up for 11 years but it’s perfectly acceptable aside from the author’s tendency to lecture about the rights of women. I am all for the rights of women and I would describe myself as a feminist but I feel slightly hectored by Mr. Pullman.

“The Shadow in the North” by Philip Pullman [New Year’s Resolution]

More of Ms. Lockhart, Victorian London’s most liberated young lady. I am now officially tired of Mr. Pullman hectoring me about the rights of women.

“Testament of Youth” by Vera Brittain [New Year’s Resolution]

and

“Letters from a Lost Generation” Edited by Alan Bishop and Mark Bostridge

It turns out that Vera Brittain and Vera Lynn [Blue clouds over the White Cliffs etc.] are completely different women. You knew that didn’t you? I read these two books in tandem. “Testament of Youth” is far superior as it has a voice from the 30s, a surprisingly modern voice, describing the events which are covered in the collected letters and frankly, some of those letters deserve to be cut as Vera Brittain has done in her book. For example, as far as I can see, the bulk of Vera’s brother Edward’s letters in 1918 deal with his lost valise and lost luggage was about as interesting then as it is now.

What is interesting about the letters book is that it quotes from letters which Vera Brittain did not have access to for copyright reasons and includes photographs and copies of original documents. So, we see Victor Richardson’s application for a commission in the Territorial Army which asks – question 1 “Are you a British subject by birth or naturalization?” followed by question 2 “Are you of pure European descent?” Other less vital matters follow. The letters book also provides more general information that Vera Brittain’s clearly could not, for example it states that “In 1934, the year following the publication of Testament of Youth, Vera made the discovery that, shortly before the action in which he was killed, Edward [her brother] had been faced with an enquiry and, in all probability, a courtmartial when his battalion came out of the line because of his homosexual involvement with men in his company.”

Both books do convey the misery of war, particularly the dreadful uncertainty but to me the startling thing is how the first world war seems to have really ushered in the modern age. Apparently, it’s true, wars do speed up social change. Early in her book, Brittain comments on clothes for young women before the war:

… all girls’ clothing of the period appeared to be designed by their elders on the assumption that decency consisted in leaving exposed to the sun and air no part of the human body that could possibly be covered with flannel. In these later days, when I…watch the lean brown bodies of girl-children, almost naked and completely unashamed, leaping in and out of the water, I am seized with and angry resentment against the conventions of twenty years ago, which wrapped up my comely adolescent body in woollen combinations, black cashmere stocking, “liberty” bodice, dark stockinette knickers, flannel petticoat and often, in addition, a long-sleeved, high-necked, knitted woollen “spencer.”

At school, on the top of this conglomeration of drapery, we wore green flannel blouses in the winter and white flannel blouses in the summer, with long navy blue skirts linked to the blouses by elastic belts which continually slipped up or down, leaving exposed an unsightly hiatus of blouse-tape or safety-pinned shirt band. Green and white blouses alike had long sleeves ending in buttoned cuffs at the wrist, and high collar covering the neck almost to the chin and fastening tightly at the throat with stiff green ties. For cricket and tennis matches, even in the baking summer of 1911 we still wore the flowing skirts and high-necked blouses, with our heavy hair braided in pigtails..

Meanwhile, her family have gone from a large house full of servants to a flat where it is impossible to find help and her brother Edward finds himself doing the dishes when the maid is ill – mind you this is still so odd that it’s worth commenting on in a letter.

By the end of “Testament of Youth” I do begin to feel really sorry for Vera. The world has changed utterly and the people she loved most are dead. Unfortunately I find it very difficult to relate to her in her letters as she sounds a bit of a prig. There is a huge difference in the narrative which, is, for the most part, more reasonable and self-deprecating but, also, by definition, written for publication. I think she’s patronising throughout about her parents but she had a difficult time with them, I suppose.

At the end of the book, there is quite a hefty bit on after the war. The author was an early feminist and she talks with considerable enthusiasm about carving out a career for herself. Then, she met another man

Marriage, for any woman who considered all its implications both for herself and her contemporaries, could never, I now knew, mean a “living happily ever after”; on the contrary it would involve another protracted struggle, a new fight against the tradition which identified wifehood with the imprisoning limitation of a kitchen and four walls, against the prejudices and regulations which still made success in any field more difficult for the married woman than for the spinster and penalised motherhood by demanding from it the surrender of disinterest intelligence, the sacrifice of that vitalising experience only to be found in the pursuit of an independent profesison.

Are you listening Oliver James?

She goes on to say:

Today, as never before, it was urgent for individual women to show that life was enriched, mentally and spirtiually as well as physically and soically, by marriage and children; that the experiences rendered the woman who accepted them the more and not the less able to take the world’s pulse; to estimate its tendencies, to play some definite, hard-headed, hard-working part in furthering the consturctive ends of a political civilisation.

Would you say that this has been achieved? No, really?

There is a lot of detail about the early days of the League of Nations which the author ardently supports. However, it makes for heavy going especially when the events are not as clear as they would have been to a contemporary reader – the following paragraph is typical:

“In the opening days of the Assembly, Mr. MacDonald and M. Herriot…had made “Arbitration, Security and Disarmament” the triple slogan of the hour; they had wrung one another’s hands in public, had been photographed together, and now had left Geneva to simmer pleasantly in a consoling atmosphere of peace and goodwill very different from the hectic antagonism aroused by the Corfu dispute of the previous Spetember.

You need to be strong to get through a lot of this stuff.

Anyhow, I think that both these books are too long. In my view, by far the best book I’ve read on the first world war is Robert Graves’s “Goodbye to all that” [in college at the same time as VB and rates a couple of mentions] which I think I will reread and which, if memory serves me, is also quite a bit shorter.

“Gone” by Michael Grant

Very enjoyable sci-fi teenager thing, if that’s you’re thing. Everyone over 14 disappears. Everyone left is trapped in an area with a diameter of 20 miles. And there are mutants. Great stuff.

“Hunger” by Michael Grant

Three months later and the kids in book 1 are running out of food. Not as good as volume 1 but there you are – still very pacy.

“Lies” by Michael Grant

Volume 3, very put downable.

“Plague” by Michael Grant

Volume 4 and we’re back on form – nasty illnesses strike the abandoned children. Not for those who don’t enjoy reading about parasitic insects.