Courtesy is such an old-fashioned word but a wonderful art indeed

 

She had a warm smile of greeting and she spoke kindly showing careful loving attention towards all guests. Her open heart welcomed you to her simple tidy home with generosity. Talking with her reminded me of conversations long ago, in black-and-white movies, where it seemed each word and gesture was carefully weighed and considered.  But it is the feeling her courtesy generated that I remember most.  She was doing not just everything to avoid offending you but also providing a safe space for you to be. Where you knew no harm but only help and love would come your way. Her determination to be courteous provided a safety net for every hurt soul that came her way.

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone, let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path."

Bahá'í Writing

These difficult days will pass and all we will remember is how we responded to such tests

 Dear Son,

You asked me some questions last night that really made me think. I’m not sure of the answers but I wanted you to know what I think and why. Then, at least you can make your own decisions in the light of that. Please don’t see this as advice. I wouldn’t presume. But I do care too deeply for you not to respond when you ask.

People do take advantage of other's kindness. Sometimes through thoughtlessness, sometimes because of their own agenda and occasionally because they’re not used to it. Every time it hurts. Especially when you do something in a spirit of kindness and others respond with disdain or just more expectations. They can even respond with anger as if you offered them a smack instead of the hand of friendship. Life is too short to examine all these responses and to understand the why of it. Better by far to move on.

If you are pulling people out of a bad place keep going. Don’t stop to argue with someone who resents that you did them a good turn. Whether they feel small, embarrassed, self-preoccupied, angry or frustrated is neither here nor there. If you did good, it is because it is in you to do so. Don’t expect it in others. They may not have it in their own lives and so cannot give it to others.

Life passes so quickly and good nature can easily be broken on the backs of mean spirits. So, don’t linger. Don’t be taken advantage of, just move on. Everyone you meet will teach you something, if only not to past too near again!

Then there are the tyrants. Those twisted so much that your kindness is not just wasted on them it is bad for them. Kindness to such types empowers and enables them to do even more damage. We have a responsibility not to reward their acts of abuse because the next one they torment needs you to stand firm. You must have the courage, in such circumstances, to hold the line like the 300 Spartans of old. You do this not out of dislike of them but because you know that giving in to a tyrant will merely perpetuate the abuse. At such times I think of all the victims of abuse I have known. Do you remember young George flinching at our table from the sound of a banging van door? In the face of such abuse, I steel myself to screw up my courage within me. What can we do? We are nothing really but, whatever it is we are capable of being at that moment, we must strive to be that. Because on the backs of tiny pebbles the great sea waves crash! We are such pebbles and despite the power of the waves, we remain. Know that long after they have smashed and raged and broken we will remain. We were created to bear and endure. Let them do their worst because we need to focus on doing our very best.

Let’s not be distracted by their activities. We have deeds to do, mighty deeds. Time is short, too short. Life passes by so quickly and the only things we will remember are all those who we love or who loved us. Grab such souls to you. Remember their sweetness and steady your stance. The hordes are coming. Stand fast, dear heart. There is no one I’d rather have at my side in the face of injustice. You have a keen poet’s eye and see to the real heart of things. Trust in such vision, believe the courage that lies within and search for truth always.

These difficult days will pass and all we will remember is how we responded to such tests.  That will be either our lasting regret or our legacy.  Know the importance of such choices.

Thanks for asking, for talking and for being you.

My brothers are hungry too!

We had just bought our first house. It was a small gate lodge with a huge garden. It even had its own little forest in the corner. The kids loved it. This move to the countryside provided the three boys (all under 10) with the freedom to play outside. The contrast between our previous urban existence on a rough estate to this rose garden encircled cottage could not be greater.

We enthusiastically carted boxes of our belongings from the hired transport van to our new home. So involved were we with moving we forgot to prepare food. Our younger son, Daniel decided he was hungry and went off to explore our new neighbourhood. He wandered off to a row of pensioner's houses on a lane opposite. A friendly pensioner spotted Daniel and struck up a conversation with our chatty three-year-old who told him how very hungry he was. Andrew welcomed Daniel into his home and introduced him to his wife Vera, a South African. A lovely elderly couple who had spent their lives up to their 40s taking care of their ill parents. It was only after the death of their respective parents that the pair met at the wedding of a relative of Andrew's. They married and had one son.  Andrew worked in the nearby cement quarry for the whole of his life. In their cosy living room Daniel was fed and given a drink and even a bar of chocolate. At their door, as he left, the canny Daniel, informed them that he had two brothers as hungry as he was!  The generous pensioners filled a plastic bag with provisions for his brothers. Daniel returned to our house like a triumphant hunter gatherer.  We were shocked by his audacity and yet impressed with his initiative. When we went to thank these pensioners we found two gems. Both were as kind as they were wise. Andrew had built a huge conservatory, all home-made, with even an oil heater to heat it. Entering that quiet conservatory we would often find Vera working away at a massive jigsaw puzzle on a specially designed table while Andrew read his newspaper.  How many times we’d enter this serene place and be plied with huge quantities of tea and biscuits.

They grew amazing tomatoes and supplied us with jars of their famous chilli and tomato chutney. Andrew’s kindness was constant and in the years ahead brought only joy to all our lives. Andrew taught Daniel how to ride his first bike. They felt like a real family. I remember trying to move our caravan from the garden. It seemed an impossible task until Andrew flagged down a passing tractor driver who had the caravan hauled out in a matter of minutes. It was at that moment I realised what being part of a community meant. Andrew had been brought up in this part of the world. Gone to school here, worked a lifetime in this rural setting. When he flagged down a passing driver they were obviously going to help. He was well known in the neighbourhood and everyone seemed to know him and like him. Daniel had chosen well!

Years later we moved abroad but on visits to Northern Ireland, Andrew and Vera were a joy to catch up with.  Illness plagued Andrew. This huge man with hands like shovels had operation after operation. The cement dust from the years of quarry work troubled his lungs.  On subsequent visits we could see his decline. Slow but remorseless.  He was ever loved and his only son worked hard to make the house suitable for his now disabled father. Andrew was ill but surrounded by his extended family including happy young grandchildren. It was a good 15 years later from that first visit of Daniel to the couple that we got news that Andrew was hospitalised and seriously ill. Daniel sat beside Andrew’s bed during a visit as he wavered in and out of consciousness. Daniel whispered “Andrew is the first friend I ever made in my life”. It was hard to lose this good friend.

We never know the effect our lives have on others. But this couple graced their neighbourhood with their good natures. For my three sons Andrew raised the standard of what being ‘a good man’ really meant. Showed true nobility  can be demonstrated in times of laughter and in times of pain and illness. Just by their existence this couple made this world a better place. They engender hope in all of us that good people transform not just themselves but the wider community too.  They touch lives and sprinkle the gold dust of their kindness on all those they meet. When I see kindness in Daniel I am reminded of Andrew and his bag of goodies on that first visit. 

Managing Animals with kindness

Teaching animal management for two years in a college in Northern Ireland was a good experience. The teenagers were full of heart and soul. They looked out for each other and radiated goodwill. I was shocked at how wholesome the group was despite Mohican haircuts, piercings and tattoos. In the animal room in the college we had hamsters, guinea pigs, birds, rabbits and on occasion dogs, cats, kittens and puppies, miniature goats and snakes. The students had to learn animal handling skills and needed to practice. When I started I viewed these kids as dangerous to the vulnerable animals. With each passing month I reversed my position and realised the kids had much more to fear from the animals.  

These kids harboured no nastiness but I knew even carelessness can damage. However, I saw nothing but consideration and kindness shown towards the animals. Even then I was careful. People in my experience can be kind in public but in private moments lash out. Just because they were gentle when I watched did not mean that when left alone in charge of an animal they might show another side.  Being a teacher made you suspicious of humanity! You discover those with no discipline, those who are physically careless, the occasional student totally void of conscience and it makes you guarded and cynical. For example, I taught pure science in a college in a different town twice a week.  The science students there had a few cruel students in their midst. You saw the way they hurt others in the corridor by word and deed. As a teacher you intervened as necessary, but was well aware that such viciousness would find its expression in other areas outside your control. Students who desire to hurt others can find spaces to practice their favourite sport. Educators have to be equally inventive to spoil their game. 

Walking from one group with such dynamics back into my animal management class was like emerging into sunlight. You got to focus on niceties instead of the basics of civil behaviour. On one session on euthanasia they were shown videos of dogs being euthanised. Such was the effect on these tender hearts I learned to have a game or outing to compensate for the anguish it in engendered. Many of them did their weekly placements in vets around the town. They spoke of young healthy dogs been put down because owners had lost interest, moved house or divorced. Their outrage was tangible. Another student spoke about how an animal nurse had sniggered while euthanising an elderly ill dog. The class was outraged at this insensitivity and all pledged to do things better. No laughter or smiles in such circumstances. The ending of life deserved respect. Months after the death of a dog, a heartless snigger can be both brutal and unkind for its owner. One boy said a man brought in his dog to be euthanised and acted as if it was no big deal. All swagger and brass indifference. As the dog died the vet gently stroked the dog on the table. The owner started sobbing and crying in an emotional outburst which surprised the student.  It was another lesson learned. People often hide what they're really feeling. Don't make assumptions.

 All had tales to tell of pets they lost. The bereavement was often still raw years later and would fill the classroom with its intensity. The tenderness of their hearts was a mighty lesson for me. I confess I had become jaded in teaching. You begin to expect less of students and even less of yourself. You wait to be disappointed with their actions.  This class revived my hope in humanity. They were therapy to be with and to this day I am so grateful for what they taught me -  “Every child is potentially the light of the world.”

My Letter of Attack, Dear Des....

A Letter to Des

You live in Northern Ireland and work the land. Generations of mine have worked this land and while shaping their landscape also carved from their time here characters as generous and as unique as the fields they are surrounded by.  

However, you are an interloper.  One of those parasites who move into a community and by terrorising your neighbours seize property and substance.  Owning nothing you hoodwink the widowed or elderly to give over their land management forms claiming you will do all the work for them.  Substituting your own signature you then proceed to claim this money for a full five years.  When owners of the land protest that you are taking their right, intimidation becomes the order of the day.  Forcing yourself into my relative’s home and holding one against the wall by the throat!  When an elderly neighbour is seen peering across the road into your garden you assault him and accuse him of looking at your wife.  Little realizing with his poor eyesight he can barely see his own fence and his habit of staring is born of this defect.  

From owning no land, you merely rented from others, you successfully took their forms and claimed subsidies in their place.  Years later, while no longer on the land and having illegally removed fences and gates from the property, you continue to claim money on this property you do not own.  This abuse of the single farm payment goes unchecked as years later you can still claim this amount despite not owning the land or even renting it anymore. Planning permits are ignored as you construct on property that is not yours, barns and houses.  Complaints by neighbours to authorities fall on deaf ears.  Bullies thrive in today’s world where confusion and legislation fight in incompetent courts.  Time delays in obtaining justice means such characters have their way and painful resignation is the order of the day.  

When the persistent few actually win against you, your approach is always the same. You pay the first instalment of the money owned and then stop all subsequent payments.  Knowing full well for the innocent, court orders, enforcement, unpleasantness is draining and demeaning.  Even appearing in court to explain how they have been abused, is a humiliation of the soul.  “Look how old, confused, helpless I am, such a rogue can seize my land, wrestle control of my property and here I appear month after month pleading for protection” they seem to convey.  And hence the rogue thrives on his tyranny of others.

You and I met many years ago.  I was visiting an aunt whose fields you rented.  You had allowed the cattle in the fields to gain access to her garden and the bullock happily played across the lawn.  I phoned to tell you that your bullock was loose and could easily get on to the main busy road causing serious injury.  Your resentment was obvious but you acquiesced and moved the animal back to your  fields.  Later, after I’d gone you complained to my aunt about my manner.   I know why you didn’t like me.  We looked at each other and I saw a petty tyrant intimidating all around him.  You didn’t know me, didn’t know who I knew, could not work out how I fitted in to the neighbourhood.  As it happens I know no one of importance, have zero knowledge of farming practices or the area.  But, I did sense something as you raised your stick and beat the bullock on its side to chase it out of the garden.    I recognised a bully and applied the same logic I have long used with them.  Never appease a bully, it only empowers them.  Accommodating them in any way will only add to suffering of the next victim of their tyranny.  

Years ago public opinion in a rural setting would bring its own consequences.  If you abused the elderly farmer, a widow etc the community would quickly let the person know their actions were not to be tolerated.  In such tight knit farming communities your actions would have consequences that quickly let you know lines had been crossed.  Now, such is the rural isolation and pressures facing farmers despair, suicide, economic ruin, family divisions, addiction all have broken down the once united communities.  The reason rural communities were so united was out of necessity.  You helped a neighbour build a shed, cut his field, herd a stock etc because you would one day need their help.  Your destiny was linked to theirs.  But more, generations before you had followed the same path.  It felt the right thing to do.  A moral principle was ingrained like table manners and instilled in future generations.  

When staying in my grandfather’s farm for a week, while he was unwell, I was shocked by how many characters came through the door expecting tea and chat.  The door was expected to be open under all conditions and a warm greeting extended whether I knew them or not.  You learned that this was deemed acceptable behaviour and to do any less was bad manners.  My grandfather helped build his neighbour’s houses and was paid in potatoes not cash and sometimes not paid at all.  That too, was okay because most people survived on the generousity of others and you knew that it would be repaid in friendship and respect if not in money.    We all have memories of those open doors and open hearts.  We were shaped at those hearths and kitchens that smelled of soda bread and roasts in the oven.  When something has been lost we have to look back at an older culture to summon a better way.  Each culture had a bedrock of social interaction that gently corrected and directed behaviour.  Today’s splendid isolation does not serve.  We are essentially communities of people in cities and countries who need each other more than we can possible imagine.  Working together on common goals in service will help remind us of the necessity of community cohesion and what wonders it instills in us and our children and grandchildren.  To proceed in the opposite direction will create unhealthy individuals, divided families, miserable communities and serve selfish materialistic agendas.

A salve to their hurts

It was a drawing class and you were excited by your first nude.  The art college had arranged for a sitter and the entire class of art students were ready for this new challenge.  I remember being amused by your description of the reality of that first session.  Into the art room walked a large rumpled middle-aged woman whose flesh folded in creases, varicose veins in abundance, cellulite tricky to catch on paper, puckered like her upper lip.  What a shock you all had from the much-expected smooth pink stained cheek with velvet youthfulness on display.  A real lesson in drawing and in life that day, two hours of detailed depressing preview on aging for those just beginning their youth.

I have happy memories of you sitting on the carpet, leaning against your Dad’s knee as laughter ran out in the home in St Austell.  Family should be like this, I thought all the faces filled with smiles and huge gales of laughter.  More tales shared, music ever present and food, abundant tasty food.  Your Mum weaving everyone together with her smile, letters, visits and love.  Do you remember how she screamed in delight when a son or daughter appeared on the path outside the house.  Arms held wide open as if to greet and thank the universe at this magical spectacle. 

You moved to London and had two jobs.  Even this did not dampen your enthusiasm or serve to exhaust you.  Youthful energy drove you on and when you moved to Northern Ireland with a bunch of friends we delighted in your company.  Having you close by was a treat we took for granted.  Your generosity was constant and how many lovely meals did we have from your hand.  You bought my sons, toddlers, tiny cute judo outfits and they delighted in wrestling you to the ground.  Your home a designer’s dream of grey and chrome and the air full of fresh ideas, business ventures, painting and friends. 

Then your own kids arrived in abundance four bundles of love who gravitated to your side and I remember you lying on the floor covered in small toddlers and babies clinging joyously.  Jostling for the best position.  I watch as you have continued to draw people to you, kindness is such a rare commodity in this world.  So not surprising to find you, even now, years later with a large extended family of friends, neighbours and associates. Your home is fortunately large enough to accommodate all these people. 

I sense the load has grown as of late and the glow of kindness is still there but a price has been paid.  Is it ever so that gentle kindly souls are burdened beyond endurance?  I reckon all of us, on rare good days can cloak ourselves in the array of kindliness and goodwill.  Smiling benevolently at this world, wishing all in it well.  However, certain rare individuals seem to have kindness imprinted to their core, like a stick of rock.  Even when worn down, weary to the core they continue to impart love and service to those around them.  It is such a privilege to know such souls and they remind me of that high standard we should all aspire to.

“Should other peoples and nations be unfaithful to you, show fidelity unto them; should they be unjust towards you, show justice towards them; should they hold aloof from you, attract them to yourselves; should they disclose enmity, be friendly to them; should they poison your lives, sweeten their souls; should they inflict a wound upon you, be a salve to their hurts.”                                     

Baha'i Writings 

Humanity seems really weary for want of a better pattern of life to which to aspire.

My father was headmaster of a school in a small village in Northern Ireland high in the Sperrin mountains.  You learn a lot from your parents, not so much from what they say but more from what they do.  From my father, I learned tolerance and a search for knowledge.  In that small polarised community, Catholics on one side and Protestants  on the other, two communities existed side by side.  As one village wit sarcastically pointed out to my father, “You try and stay on the fence between the two communities and there isn’t room on that f__king fence!”  In a place, where some parents would stone the visiting psychologist’s car, in fear of them labelling their child as having special needs, it was tough at times.  Ignorance is scary, not funny.  Those who shout loudest are not necessarily the people we should listen to.  Volume rarely equates with insight.  Those who stir up hatred and prejudice do not appeal to our intellectual side but to our more animal instincts.  The few that try to speak to grander principles, such as the independent investigation of truth, will never be given the populist platform bigots possess.  Perhaps, it is easier to speak to the worst side of human nature rather than engender thoughts of the nobility of mankind.

I had a colleague who ran a business in the town nearby, a good man, married with two children.   For decades he was a pillar of society and then he lost his footing.  He had financial problems and he used client’s money to make up the shortfall.  Of course it was discovered, only the hardened criminal with expertise or the very lucky escape such deeds.  The local paper was frank but surprisingly fair, highlighting in an article the financial mistakes and criminal charges but also speaking to his forty years of service to the community.  The national tabloid newspapers were not so balanced.  They ran lurid headlines that assassinated that quiet man.  He was found in a fume filled garage dead, the tabloid newspaper open beside him.  When did these newspapers get the green light to degrade, humiliate, eviscerate, hound the famous, plague the bereft and expose only the very worst of our civilisation?  We have cultivated that taste for excess and the perverse in all of us and it sells newspapers very well but at what cost to all of us?

Is that the only way individuals can feel good about themselves, by constantly observing and gloating at the degradation of others?  To me it is akin to a short man digging a trench around himself so that he can appear taller.  The sad news is there seems no end to the depth of this trench.  Just when you think the press has reached an all time low they discover a whole deeper darker level.  Reporters should enquire into situations as much as possible and ascertain the facts, then set them down in writing.  Such news is a mirror of the world and it is a potent instrument that should be used with justice and equity, not to torture the subject and degrade the reader.  They have a  mighty responsibility.  They are not meant to manipulate for material gain, malign for malicious intent or magnify the misdemeanours of our society. Humanity seems  genuinely really weary for want of a better pattern of life to which to aspire.

It is surely in finding a better of pattern of life real hope lies.  My mother taught me kindness not with words but deeds.  A neighbour’s cat died after giving birth to five kittens near our home and I remember being awed as my mother set herself the task of hand rearing these five small bundles of fur.  We had big thick brick storage heaters, which were great for sitting on, and she used one of these for the kittens, placing their bed just above the heater.  She used an eyedropper to feed them regularly and had names for them all including the best feeder Big Boy who was impossible to fill.  I watched as she fought to save them all even the runt a tiny still shape under the feet of the rest.  They all survived and I watched engrossed at how much work and dedication it took to keep these tiny fragile animals alive.  It seemed to require incredible act of determination and will power.  When they were fully weaned she found owners for all of them.  The local postman took two of them.  Within weeks, he and his family suddenly decided to immigrate to Australia.  Unbelievably to me, as a child, he had the two cats, one of whom was Big Boy, euthanized.  I was devastated by how much work it takes to keep something alive and how little it takes to end a life.  It suddenly seemed when it comes to ending life, thoughtlessness is an advantage.  

Now, as an adult I look back and wonder at my Mum’s thoughtfulness and kindness.  She worked, had three children, nursed my invalid grandfather fighting gangrene and yet found it within her to lavish such kindness on five vulnerable kittens.  I suspect that, is what good people do, they instil in themselves the habits of kindness, every hour and every day.  Steeling themselves to do good in this world.  It is not easy, it is backbreaking and it is hard finding that extra energy to see to the needs of others.  But there are so many like her around us, looking after our young, our elderly, the disabled, the ill every day and night.  Pushing themselves past limits of human endurance and we will never read about them in newspapers.  It is a shame really, because these are the people at whose feet we should be learning what it is to be a real human being.   They, by their deeds, foster families and communities whose ways give real hope to the world. 

           

 

She was omnivorous and ate everything but people

There is a monument in Valletta in one of the beautiful parts I found recently.  In fact, there are many lovely monuments around this historic city.  For example overlooking the main harbour there is a huge prone figure lying flat on his back as if on a bed beside a huge bell.  The Siege Bell War Memorial commemorates the victory of the Allied forces during the Second Siege of Malta from 1940-1943 and remembers the many who paid with their lives in defense of the island. 

The proud tiny island was almost constantly bombarded during this period.   At a time when the war could have gone either way and entire countries in Europe were over run in days/weeks this tiny island and its defenders, planted deep in the Mediterranean, on the critical shipping routes of this region, stood firm for three years in their walled city and would not submit. In 1942 Malta was awarded the George Cross. In bestowing the award King George VI said '...to honour her brave people, I award the George Cross to the Island Fortress of Malta to bear witness to a heroism and devotion that will long be famous in history'.

It perhaps helped that the Maltese had a heritage of withstanding such attacks dating back to the great siege of 1565 when just 600 knights, a few thousand mercenaries and a few thousand Maltese irregulars – in all between 6,000 and 9,000 managed to hold the city against 40,000 fighting men of the Ottoman empire.  

However, it is not the courage of the Maltese but their kindness that I wish to celebrate here.  Nearby there is a monument to a foreigner to this island.  

It is dedicated to Clement Martin Edwards who died on the 17^th March 1818 and reads

“Few could vie with him in usefulness of talent

And fewer still possessed a heart more benevolent

Or deposition more social. 

He died in the prime of life

But lived long enough to know

how fully he had secured

the respect and esteem of all good men.”

 What a lovely way to be remembered.  I have a horrid feeling mine will read something akin to

"She was omnivorous and ate everything but people

With a temper foul to bear and look that would curdle butter

Her purpose in life appeared to be consuming as much chocolate as possible

but take heart dear passerby, as you read this gravestone

because however bad you are, you are better by far than her!"

Here is a panoramic view of the harbour of Valleta, if you fancy a quick look.

http://www.vrmalta.com/malta-virtual-tour/Valletta-Grand-Harbour-from-the-Great-Siege-Bell.html

angels whose feet walk upon this earth even as their souls are soaring through the high heavens

Our news is so often dominated by celebrities whose lives are followed by masses hungry for their latest intrigue or disaster.  Or alternatively, by our politicians, who disappoint us with their greed and corruption.  In a world where the bankers have stolen breathtaking amounts of money and even our clergy fight to free themselves from the stain of child abuse it is often hard to find news that lifts the soul.  But this week a death notice strangely left me moved.  On Page 26 of the newspaper there was a small article at the very bottom about a certain Don Ritchie from Australia who had died at the age of eighty six.  Not a celebrity, nor politician, nor clergyman, he didn’t raise money for charity, nor was he famous.  He lived near the sheer cliffs of Sydney Harbour and during five decades he managed to save between 160 lives.  People, who having lost all hope, had come to end it all by jumping off the cliffs.  Ritchie would spot would be suicides, from his home nearby, and walk to the cliff edge and smile and ask “Can I help you in some way?”  A modest man who courted neither celebrity nor praise, he helped by engaging with the desperate and often invited them back to his home for tea and a chat.  His quiet approach worked and because of Ritchie so many were saved and so many returned to thank the quiet man for his help.  As one survivor described him, “An angel who walks amongst us”.  So in this world where so much crap grabs the headlines and good men are rarely found, I’d like you to remember one Don Ritchie.