A Martian on Garvahy Road

Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

Last night a UFO landed on the Garvahy Road. Up stepped Brendan MacColnnaith of the residents’ association. “Are you a Catholoc or a Protestant?” “Neither”, said the alien, “I’m a Martian.” Then piss off”, said Brendan, “Nobody’s martian down this road.”

But to keep everybody happy on the Twelfth, the Diary can exclusively reveal that Jesus was Irish. He lived with his ma’ till he was over 30, she thought he walked on water and he thought she was still a virgin.

“Diary”, The Scotsman, July 2000.

Office Ghost

Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

Indonesia’s finance and economics ministry is going to move its offices because ghosts have been seen roaming the building and scaring staff. The ministry is housed in an old Dutch colonial building haunted by several ghosts, the finance minister Bambang Sudibyo was quoted as sayinng by Indonesia’s online news service Satunet.com. He said the frightened staff pressured the government to move…

“Ghosts force office to move”, The Scotsman, July 2000.

No Go, The Bogeyman

Véronique Campion-Vincent | Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

Marina Warner, No Go the Bogeyman. Scaring, Lulling and Making Mock, London, Chatto & Windus, 1998; New York, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1999, 435 p.

Marina Warner (novelist and historian, whose previous studies link cultural studies and folklore Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and Cult of the Virgin Mary, 1976 From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers, 1995) gives here a very rich study on the figures of fear, mostly male, always very present in contemporary culture. This book has received the Katharine Briggs Award, in 1999.

Myths and lullabies, stories and songs, pictures and movies, all the expressions of learned and popular cultures are reviewed during the three parts of this book: Scaring, Lulling, Making Mock. MW takes the reader on a tour to the lands of fear, through cultures, eras and levels.

The chapters of the first part ‘Scaring’ review the themes of terror, emphasizing their extensions on the side of cannibalism: ‘Here comes the bogeyman’ (23-47), ‘My father he ate me’ (53-77), ‘The Polyp and the Cyclops’ (82-93), ‘The devil’s banquet’ (95-115), ‘Hoc est corpus’ [Corpus Christi feast] (126-135) ‘Now… we can begin to feed’ (136-159) ‘Terrors properly applied’ [Fear-based education] (160-183). They are intertwined with three interludes called ‘Reflections’, where MW comments a painting by Goya, ‘Saturn devouring his child’ (48-52), a sculpture representing the antique monster Scylla seizing Odysseus’s men (78-81), the feast ‘Patum’ a carnival filled with monsters, devils and frightening masks, of the small mountain town of Berga, Catalonia, in 1996 (116-125).

A detailed presentation of the first chapter ‘Here comes the bogeyman’ will show the extreme diversity of the themes approached in this book: an evocation of Goethe’s King of the Alders poem (1782), is followed by the presentation of a contemporary folkloric version in Devon (Dartmoor): the demon huntsman Dewer, and an evocation of one of Angela Carter’s tales in The Bloody Chamber (1975). Several tales and figures of “child-stealers, night-raiders, cradle-snatchers” are then reviewed (from the omo nero to the Baba Yaga going through the Pied Piper, the Sandman and, of course, the Bogeyman), MW discussing in parallel Classical myths, characters of folklore, and the multiple literary elaborations built upon them (Hoffmann’s fairy tale The Sandman (1817), Charles Perrault, Lewis Carroll, but also Michel Tournier (1970 Le roi des Aulnes revisiting the King of the Alders legend in a wartime German setting), Doris Lessing (1988, The Fifth Child), David Lynch (Blue Velvet) and Angela Carter). After a linguistic and phonologic detour upon the origin and evolution of ‘Bogy’ and ‘Bogeyman’, MW recalls that several folktales stage heroes that triumph over monsters, from Odysseus to ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ through Tom Thumb. The chapter closes upon a picture of the fictional cannibal serial killer Hannibal Lecter (hero of “Silence of the lambs”). [This description had to leave out several of the references alluded to by MW].

‘Lulling’ opens with ‘Reflections’ commenting Caravaggio’s painting, ‘The rest on the flight into Egypt’ (186-191). This part is fully dedicated to lullabies and their multiple functions, studied in the three chapters ‘Sing now mother… what me shall befall’ (192-207), ‘Herod the king, in his raging’ (208-233), ‘And thou, oh nightengale’ [Myths of the childish or adult female victim’s return as a nightingale] (224-237).

The five chapters of the third part ‘Making Mock’ will bring discoveries to the reader, especially in the cultural history dimension of the book. This part opens upon ‘Reflections’ commenting Desprez’s engraving of ‘The Chimera’ (1777), and another set of ‘Reflections’ on the well-known series of Albert Eckhout’s Brazilian portraits introduces the last chapter. ‘In the genre of the monstrous’ (246-261) reflects upon the promotion of the horrible and the monstrous, which have become entertainment in contemporary mass culture. ‘Circe’s swine: wizard and brute’ (262-283) evokes animal metamorphoses and presents the character of Gryllus, created by Plutarch, victim of Circe become swine who energetically refuses the return to human shape he is offered. Gryllus reappears in ‘All my business is my song’ (284-301), but under the shape of the cricket, perpetually singing animal, minute grotesque carved in antique gems endowed with magical powers, and also present in the edges of ancient manuscripts where it parodies men. The happy little singing animal has been utilized in literature, from La Fontaine’s cicada to il grillo parlante of Collodi’s Pinocchio (1883). These utilizations are detailed in this chapter that enlarges on to the role of monstrous characters in the fantastic genres. ‘Fee, fie, fo, fum’ (302-325) returns to folklore with an evocation of the folktales ogres and of the part they play in Basile (1633-36 Il Pentamerone) and Perrault (1697 Contes du temps passé) where they are frequently outwitted and killed by young heroes, male and female. At the beginning of the 19th century, the adaptations and commentaries of folktales by radical rationalist atheist philosopher William Goodwin (father of Mary Shelley) are, tells MW, an early example of political correctness, a strategy “to use fiction and fantasy to introduce children to ideas and thinking and to rationalize their fears”. ‘Of the paltriness of things’ (326-339) develops the figures of mockery and humour that set the ogre and the bogeyman in a ridiculous posture, reduced to nothing by laughter and ruse. The frequent identification ogre/stranger takes MW to examine racist humour, insults and jokes, and the replicas reversing the situation when the blacks accused of cannibalism “take the insults and turn them into a means of defiance” posing as cannibals in calypso songs for example. ‘Going bananas’ (340-373) follows the meanders of parodic inversion through the theme of the banana in contemporary humour. A multiple symbol: phallic signifier, epitomizing the natural plenitude assigned to the tropics (to their bountiful nature as well as to their oversexed inhabitants), the banana has been utilized since the twenties in music hall (they constituted Joséphine Baker’s costume in the Revue nègre of 1926) and the reader will discover the multiplicity of its contemporary uses: racist insult (some English football fans through bananas onto the pitch in abusive mockery at a rejected black player) but also elective food for athletes, base of an economical activity basic to the Caribbean and Central America, emblem of the tropical and musical movie comedies of the forties illustrated by Busby Berkeley and Carmen Miranda, etc.

The ‘Epilogue: Snip! Snap! Snip!’ (374-387) first discusses the mutilations inflicted to the devils in Uccello’s predella ‘The miracle of the profaned host’ (brought by a poor woman to a Jewish usurer and that miraculously resists the affronts he inflicts on the host, a theme close to that of the ritual murder) and cases of destruction of scaring images. Then childish terrors are evoked, especially those raised by the Struwwelpeter of Heinrich Hoffmann (1845) and its castrating character the scissor-man, who cuts the thumb of the child that persists to suck it. Hoffmann intended to mock the cruel and rigid educators of his time, but his books have terrorised generations of children unaware of his ironic intentions. [MW, who still sucked her thumb at seven, had personally asked her father to destroy the menacing book.]

After the austereness and the refusal of images of protestantism, our era is that of the return of the power of images, of the abandonment of verification for the acceptance of their magic and powers; of the raising to star status of great criminals, which incarnate the fears raised by the ogre or bogeyman in their atrocious actions.

Lost Lives

Sandy Hobbs | Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

David, McKittrick, Seamus Kelters, Brian Feeney and Chris Thornton. Lost Lives: The stories of the men and women and children who died as a result of the Northern Ireland troubles. Edinburgh: Mainstream, 1999, 1630 p. Index.

This is a most unusual book. The authors set out to give an account of every person who has died as a result of the “troubles” in Northern Ireland since the 1960s. The entries are chronological, starting with a first death in June, 1966 and ending with case number 3637 in July 1999. Regrettably this means the work is not definitive, since the deaths continue. The authors seek to set out the facts in calm and measured terms. The book contains statistically analysis classifying both the dead and those responsible for the deaths by religion and other categories. Yet, one can well believe that the authors “shed tears while researching and writing” the book (p. 13) and I cannot imagine any reader failing to be moved by some of the stories which are told in these pages.

This book could be read as a sociological, historical or political document and reviewed accordingly. However, for readers of Ambrose Merton, I wish to draw attention to the fact it contains a great deal of material bearing on the popular culture of Northern Ireland. The deeply felt traditional beliefs which are part of the conflicts in Northern Ireland are in certain respects obvious. They had to be taken into account by David McKittrick and his fellow authors when preparing the book:

“We produced a style guide which, with its regulations and examples, grew into a 12,000-word document. We tried to avoid contentious or disputed words, seeking always usages which would give offence to no one. In this context Northern Ireland’s second largest city defeated us, and we sought refuge in a mixture of an uneasy compromise and random use. In introducing victims we use the word L/Derry; after that, we simply use Londonderry and Derry interchangeably” (p. 19).

The problem they faced was that “Londonderry” is the name favoured by members of the Protestant, Loyalist community and “Derry” is preferred by the Catholic, Republican community. The point may seem trivial to outsiders but not to many of the inhabitants of Northern Ireland. A cultural dispute of this sort lies on a continuum which includes a belief, testified to by many of the cases in the book, that merely to be a member of one or other of these communities would make a person a legitimate target for an assassin.

Many of the entries take for granted an awareness of the assumption made by paramilitary groups that they had a right to enforce “law and order” in their communities. Some deaths appear to have been “punishments” for activities such as drug-dealing or informing. The small photographic sections includes a number of commemorative murals, this form of outdoor art being a prominent feature of the Northern Ireland troubles. There is also a striking photograph of a wake for a man killed while attending a funeral. {Murders committed while the victim is mourning or worshiping have a particular cultural resonance.) His coffin is open and a young child is being shown the corpse.

One of the first victims described in the book (Case No, 3, pp. 28-29) was Matilda Gould, a 77 year old widow, who was a Protestant. It appears that members of the Protestant para-military group, the Ulster Volunteer Forces, intended to set fire to a Catholic owned bar. However, they accidentally fire-bombed the home of Mrs Gould, who happened to live next door. A statement attributed to a man convicted of the murder of a Catholic barman is worth close examination. He was reported as having later pointed to the bar next to Mrs Gould’s home and saying:

“That’s a job I done, but I done a funny wonder. I threw a petrol bomb through the wrong window and an old lady got burned. That’s the window, I put it through there.”

Here we have him acknowledging responsibility for a death. It seems probable that he knew that she was a member of his own religious community. Yet his language habits are so taken for granted that he can use the rhyming slang “funny wonder”, meaning blunder, to refer to his own actions.

Tae a Fert

Sandy Hobbs | Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

Sandy Hobbs
LTAM 22, 2000

This poem has been circulating recently in Paisley as a piece of photocopylore. The first line was missing from the copy supplied to me. However, since this is evidently a parody of Robert Burns’s address to a mouse, it seems likely that it ended in the word “beastie”.

Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts to stir and enormous wind*

The neeps and tatties and mushy peas
Stert working like a gentle breeze
But soon the pudding wi sauncie face**
Will have ye blawin all ower the place

Nae matter whit the hell ye dae
A’bodys gonnae have tae pay
Even if ye try to stifle
It’s like a bullet oot a rifle

Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair
Tae try and stop the leakin air
Shifty yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Prae tae God it doesnae reek

But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap a thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom

God almighty it fairly reeks
Hope I huvnae shit ma breeks
Tae the bog I better scurry
Aw whit the hell, its no ma worry

A’body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or two are nearly bokin
I’ll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile

Wis him! I shout with accusin glower
Alas, too late, hes just keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome any mair

Where e’re ye go let yer wind gan’ free
Sounds like just the job for me
Whit a fuss at rabbies perty***
Ower the sake o’ won wee ferty***

* “and” should presumably be “an”.
** the haggis
*** Rabbie’s party, i.e a Burns Supper
**** “won” should presumably be “one”

The White Lady of Longnor

Gillian Bennett | Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

This text appeared in the Buxton Advertiser, 24 June 1933, where it is attributed to “an old copy of the Longnor Parish Magazine”. It was noted by Gillian Bennett, who suggests that the story is reminiscent of The Devil in the Disco.

The White Lady of Longnor comes out of the adjacent Black Pool, and flits about the roads. She was disappointed in love, rural gossips say, and so perambulates at the old trysting time, in hope to meet her faithless swain once more, and find him true.

She has been seen almost within living memory. On one occasion, Hughes, “the parson’s man”, of Longnor saw what he believed to be a graceful and stylish young damsel walking towards him, apparently expectant of a kind welcome.

Hughes was nothing loth to afford it her, so, as she drew near, he opened his arms wide to encircle her with a fervent embrace. But she had “melted into air”, into thin air”; or, in his own words, he thought to clasp warm flesh and blood, “an theer wor nuthin”.

In the same parish there used to be a public house called “The Villa” where much junketing, merrymaking, and dancing was in vogue amongst the rustics on high days and holidays.

Here there suddenly appeared amongst the pleasure party a sweet, fresh lovesome girl, dressed all in white, as if for a festal occasion.

She danced with one swain after another, and the fun grew fast and furious till at length the more sedate members of the party began to exchange suspicious glances, and suddenly the whisper went forth, “The White Lady of Longnor”.

The whisper had barely gone the round when the place of the strange visitor was void. She had disappeared as suddenly and unaccountably as she came. This was her wont, and the party, in compliance, broke up and dispersed.

As a labourer, who was practically a contemporary of the incident, remarked, “Theer was never no more dancin’ at ‘The Villa’ “.

Apostrophes

Sandy Hobbs | Letters to Ambrose Merton # 22, 2000

Under the heading “Farewell, My Lovely, in the last issue, I suggested that popular usage was leading the the death of “apostrophe s”. here are two more pieces of evidence.

A pub in central Paisley calls itself “Hamishes House”. Is there one Hamish? Or are there more? Hamish’s? Hamishs’?

Ira Levin’s novel The Stepford Wives was recently republished for Sight and Sound by Bloomsbury of London. On page 32 there is a reference to “a pitcher of Bloody Mary’s”. This book was first published in Britain in 1972 and presumably earlier in the United States. Was the punctuation the same originally?