Simple Gifts We Take For Granted
In our lives we inevitably become used to what we have, the old desk in my study that I restored myself was something I had always wanted, however, I walk into the room sometimes, walk out again and I wouldn’t be able to say for sure if it was in the room. The same is also true for non material things.
In 1827 my great great great grandfather was a witness at his sisters wedding and is recorded in the parish record as ‘X the mark of Henry Lucas’. He was thirteen at the time and unable to sign his own name. By the time he was sixteen, he was indentured as an apprentice papermaker and at a wedding in the same year it would appear he did sign his name, so some vigorous learning had been going on over the previous three years. It would seem his father was also unable to sign his name and it is reasonable to assume that if unable to write they were probably unable to read.
Just imagine reader, if you will, what it would be like to live with no radio, no television, no telephone, no internet and being unable to read or write. All that you knew would be dependant upon the accuracy and truthfulness of those around you. If one adds to this the life of an agricultural labourer and almost certainly not owning ones own home, then I see an image of a life most hard and vulnerable.
The power of the written word gives the brain wings, we can share the thoughts of the great and good in our own time and at our own speed. This power and a great love of the English language has been a kingpin of my for my family over the past hundred years or so. I am not an academic person, more a product of our Great British comprehensive school system (from which I learned next to nothing) but my families love of literature lives on in me and without this I would be a lesser person. Thank God that despite Nanny States’ (and our once fine British Broadcasting Corporations’) best efforts to bring the masses down to one universally low standard, we all have the freedom to self educate, free of any disipline but our own!
It is my sincerest wish that my own son be able to understand and enjoy our language at least as well as do I and I shall put considerable effort into ensuring that, despite being condemed to raising my child in Chavhampmouth (the south coast of England conurbation, housing some of the lovliest people in our once great nation.)
So dear reader, should you be a victim of the unmitigated bigotry, jealosy and zenophobia that is the ‘big bruvver house’ of England today, do not dumb down, do not adjust your sense of reality and above all do not forget the simple gifts that you take for granted.