One of the most difficult things to break to foreigners is the news that Father Ted was in fact a documentary. Not comedy, not satire, honest to God reality, folks.

I give you this, and point to this and this, and leave you to think about it. 

Wednesday
Oct 21, 1942

My Dear Little Girl,

Last night was a beautiful moonlit night. Every star that studded the sky was sparkling like a jewel. The air was crisp, but faintly perfumed, with all the fragrances only a lovely spring night can devise. Today it is raining hard, the wind is fierce and cold. Yes! It is miserable, something you want to pass by quickly, so that the night will again be beautiful.

Life too, Anne, is like the weather. Some days are so lovely, the happenings of those days so enchanting, you never can forget them. Some are so unhappy, you wish they never happened but, alas, they must for your life, your Mother’s, mine, everyone’s is so mixed up with joy and sadness that you never have one or the other for long. One replaces the other with a speed that is amazing.

Thus it happened just two years ago. Your Mother knew and I knew that you were going to be born. Those days were anxious ones, Anne. As the days went by your Mother used to smile at me with those lovely brown eyes. Eyes that shone with courage and resolve. If she had anxiety in her mind she never showed it but it must have been there. In my heart and mind torments raged that no one will ever know. But through all the doubts all the worries and all the long, anxious hours an end came, bringing with it, you.

From that hour, it was early in the morning, the lives of two people were filled with inexplicable happiness. When I called to see your Mother that day I shall never forget the beauty, the happiness that shone up at me from her precious little face. Neither will I forget the pride and the joy that surged right through me when the nurse brought you along and I held you in my arms.

Soon we took you home. The months sped by, and you gradually took a hold in our hearts. You laughed so much at such silly things we did to claim your attention. We showed you off to so many people. Your eyes, so big and questioning never failed to win admiration. Your curly hair was indeed a special joy.

And as each month sped by you grew. First you sat up, then stood up, then crawled, then walked. As each stage passed funny little incidents occurred. Perhaps no one ever noticed them or remembered them. But your Mother and I did. Every night, when I came home from work, there were stories of your conduct through the day to be told. Some days you were good and others you were naughty. Like, for instance, the day when a little mischievous spirit seized onto you and strips of wall paper came from the wall, Other thoughts came crowding into my mind, memories of days gone by when we laughed at you, scolded you, and, some serious times when we worried over you.

The first year of your life passed away, quickly perhaps, but you grew so quickly every day was an adventure not only for yourself but for us. You had a party for your first birthday, and although you sat up like Jacky you probably will never remember it. But that day you got “Goog’ga” for a present. Poor “Goog-ga”. As each week passed he got dirtier and more worn. And the dirtier he got the more you loved him. Then at Xmas,”Teddy” came along. Dear old Teddy. So plump and with such a frizzy coat. In a few months he was still plump but his hair was not so frizzy. Then, you’d never go to sleep unless Teddy and “Goog-ga” were tucked in with you. You’ll never know how angelic, how like a cherub you looked, when after your bath you were popped into bed with your little playmates. Indeed God is good. How many times have your Mother and I crept in to see you sleeping. And how many times have I wiped away tears, gentle little tears of happiness from her eyes when we came out.

All those days were so beautiful, like the night I sat and watched yesterday evening. But soon came the rain. Your lovely country, so free and so proud, was fighting for its life. Those indeed were dark days. I had to leave Mother and you and become a soldier. Thousands of other Daddies went too, because we had to fight so that all the Mothers and little boys and girls could live happily. That was many months ago. I do not know how long it will be before we will be home again together. But rain my little darling does not last for ever.
Through the blackest clouds a little piece of blue appears. The wind blows, and soon the clouds go. So too will peace come and then we can be all happy again.

Because I’m a soldier now Anne I cannot attend your birthday this year. You are going to have a party and I wont be there. But while that party is on I’ll be thinking of you and your Mother. Thinking of the day you came along, and of the days that have gone by since. You are lovely now, like your Mother. Some day, when you grow up, some man is going to be lost in your loveliness, like I was when I fell in love with your Mother. But no matter. We cannot have you forever. While we do we’ll teach you all the lovely things of life, and there are so many beautiful things in life. There are, too, bad things and, these also we will tell you about so that you’ll know how to pass them by. 

Maybe it will be years before you will be able to read this letter but when you can you’ll know at least how much we love you and how much you mean to us.

I am looking forward to seeing you soon and to seeing those big brown eyes of yours laugh back at me. Until then my little girl.

Goodbye and God bless you on your birthday. 

From your adoring

“Dad-da”

From Letters of Note.   This makes me cry like a fool. 

I’ve been watching Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation on Youtube. This programme was a documentary that was broadcast in the 1960s. In it Clark gives his views on various important epochs of Western Civilisation, and what made them important. Quite a bit of it is Clark speaking directly to the camera, a style of programme that would not be permitted to exist today, for fear of boring the audience. Also, the camera goes into enormous detail with regard to the monuments, buildings and pieces of art shown: the programme seeks not merely to refer to these items, but to give detailed views, to educate the audience as to the pieces’ characters. This is because, it seems to me, to be due to the fact that the audience were not going to be able to view these pieces themselves. Many of the audience in 1960s UK were bound by the country’s borders, and expensive air travel meant that Italy, France and Germany might well have been the Moon.

Another salient point is the sheer confidence of Clark’s views. He carries none of the doubt we now are obliged to incorporate into cultural theory these days, as a result of Foucault, Derrida, etc, where the meaning of images and signifiers are conveyed by a complex system of cultural beliefs that reinforce stereotypes and political systems, making statements of value highly suspected. Instead, Civilisation is for him firmly rooted in the Western world, where white Christian men compose works of art never surpassed or exceeded. Of course, this removes the worth from other cultures, and ignores the sheer intelligence displayed in China, Japan, etc. 

Still, the programme itself is interesting, and it is a valuable resource to have it available online. It would never get made again these days.  

Enjoy. 

Happy Friday.

This is my life right now.

As some of you may have gathered, I like writing fiction. However, I don’t get to do it a lot, so to change this, I am going to post some work I have done here now and again. 

I have a few things going on at the moment. One is called The Ladies Marathon, one The Good, one The Magician, and, well, a few others. The ideas will keep coming, you see, and I have to give them a home.

Some of this stuff is rough, very sketchy, and I don’t care. I need to get this stuff out of my head.

Brace yourself, Brigid.  

Remember that small little portrait I wrote about? 

It made the national press, no less:

http://www.independent.ie/national-news/art-may-be-imitating-life-in-one-uncanny-portrait-1929946.html 

http://www.kilkennypeople.ie/news/The-spooky-story-of-Dame.5753639.jp 

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/lifestyle/books/irish-authors-incredible-link-to-her-witch-subject-14547968.html 

On Saturday last I opened up the Independent and saw a two page spread on it. I can understand how people would really engage with this sort of lifestyle, it must be very addictive to see your name in the paper all the time. Still, as fifteen minutes of fame goes, it is not that bad.  

This is a hugely useful resource. It is a collection of channels that can used for online learning or even just food for thought, on subjects as diverse from literature to science. Enjoy. 

This blog has been down since Sunday. Any attempt I made to find out what was going on revealed less information than a redacted CIA report. I am not pleased.

I’ll do a proper blog for you all tonight (hold your horses, the lot of ye!), but in the interim I just wanted to let you know I was back on air.

Maybe you have heard of it, maybe you haven’t. But XKCD is a very clever online comic that has a lot of followers.  Reddit, the website that allows users to post interesting websites, were having an interview with Randall Monroe, the creator of the comic, and asked for questions. 

And my question was voted number one. 

I asked my question on the basis of my own posting. I don’t work at blogging for a living, but instead work at a fairly busy job. Sometimes my blogs are, well, less well prepared than others (No! You lie! I hear you cry) and I was wondering if Mr. Monroe had the same problems. You’ll notice he really didn’t give a specific response to the question asked, but none the less, my life is so empty and shallow enough that I’ll take what I can get. Thanks, Mr. Monroe!