We Are Not Amused

In 1877 The New York Times reported that US Senator Roscoe Conkling poked fun at President Rutherford B. Hayes for using the word ‘We’ in speeches. He said that he had noticed three classes of people who always say ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and they were emperors, editors and people with tapeworms.

But in English history the usage goes back further. The royal we, majestic plural (pluralis majestatis ), or royal plural was used by a single person who was a monarch or held high office. It was also used in certain formal contexts by bishops and university rectors. William Longchamp is credited with its introduction to England in the late 12th century, following the practice of the Chancery of Apostolic Briefs (Pause for consideration of this post ).

There is a more general term for the use of a we, us, or our to refer to oneself and that is nosism, a word which really needs brown in front of it. Or blue if you are a Birmingham City supporter.

It’s not possible to write about the ‘We ’ without mentioning the most famous recent usage of the word, by Margaret Thatcher in 1989 when she announced ‘We have become a grandmother’. I’m fairly sure Neil Kinnock responded the next time they clashed in Parliament with ‘We are not amused’ to something she had suggested.

Which brings us (the royal me) round to the ‘are not amused ’ part of the phrase. There are quite a few versions of how Victoria came to actually say the words ranging from Courtiers at her dinners to a performance of HMS Pinafore. And then there is the evidence of the monarch's granddaughter Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone, who said in a 1976 interview that Victoria never actually made the remark. “You know, I’m so disappointed,” Alice said. “I asked her, and she never said it.”

We are not amused. But were we at the time? Do jokes become unfunny? Let’s have look at Victorian times and we have to thank Skedaddle for this:

‘Our understanding of Victorian humour is heavily dependent on the surviving historical record, which tends to privilege mainstream (and generally quite respectable) books and newspapers. The kind of jokes that were published in these texts were usually suitable for a family audience. In fact, many of the period's joke books took great pains to emphasise the respectability of their contents and their suitability for a domestic audience - an assurance that hints at the existence of unrespectable jokes, but gets us no closer to finding them’.

Actually Skedaddle does find some but I’m not repeating them as they are very unrespectable . Here’s a respectable one:
“See here waiter, I’ve found a button in my salad”
“That’s alright sir, it’s part of the dressing!”

As I’ve mentioned 1989 earlier let’s try that year’s humour. There are too many tv shows to mention but what a contrast between the last episode of Benny Hill on May 1st and the last episode of Blackadder Goes Forth on the 2nd of November. A poll has the final scene of Blackadder as the ninth most memorable moment of all time.

And what about now? We, as a viewing public, as far as I can tell are not as amused by current comedy programmes as in the past. Father Ted, Morecambe and Wise, Dad’s Army etc are still being watched. Pretty much the same on the radio with Around the Horne, I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue (still going), Hitchhiker’s Guide etc. Maybe it’s just me.

As for a poem to illustrate ‘We are Not Amused ’ I’m at a bit of a loss. The only thing I can come up with is the following where the writer is not amused at the poem but we are.

The Tay Bridge Disaster by William McGonagall

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”

And so on...

Terry Q.

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We Are Not Amused - Let's Have A Laugh

The comment “We are not amused” is widely believed to have been said by Queen Victoria in response to an inappropriate joke or remark made by an equerry. I can’t help but wonder what the equerry actually said in front of the queen. If he was trying to make her laugh, perhaps he was shocked to discover it wasn’t acceptable. According to Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, Alice, her grandmother told her that she hadn’t said “We are not amused” at all. Alice and other young members of the royal family of the time loved Queen Victoria’s sense of fun, finding her jolly with a great sense of humour. She laughed a lot and was amused by many things, apparently. In her later years, she gave the impression of an austere woman with strict moral values. I expect that she held the moral high ground, but I think her facial expression after the death of Prince Albert showed her grief and huge sense of loss rather than austerity.

Laughing is good for us. Seeking amusement, we look for the comedy, the cheerful light-hearted recreations that will make us feel uplifted and happy. It is personal choice, we all have our favourites whether we are going out to be entertained or choosing what to have on TV. Sometimes, the really hilarious moments are self-made. This is definitely the case with my crazy family. Put me in the company of my wonderful niece and within seconds we will have sparked each other into squeals of laughter, usually about nothing, and I will be crying and rushing to the loo with comments about double strength Tena pads making me laugh even more. If her mother, my sister is with us, the hilarity is increased and the three of us are best left to it. We can’t help it. We still laugh at things that happened years ago. At my nephew’s wedding ceremony I broke the silence of a solemn moment with a very loud, giant snort. I will never live it down. I was trying not to cry and holding my breath then the snort just happened. The mirth has lasted far longer than his marriage did, sadly for him. My father had a ‘thing’ about curtains being closed correctly. Two curtains would have to meet exactly in the middle, the drapes had to be equal and the overlap had to be uniform all the way down. It didn’t matter who closed the curtains, he would have to give his finishing touch. Perfectionist. At his funeral service, my sister and I couldn’t look at each other as the curtains closed in front of his coffin. We were both thinking the same thing and finding amusement in the saddest of circumstances. It proved our resilience.

That is us. Amused and amusing at the same time, like lots of families. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had a large family. I hope they laughed heartily at daft things and had silly moments like we do. I hope they broke the silence with a massive snort, or worse, and I hope, like us, they were amused more often than they were not.

I found this poem,

I’m not sure it it’s fact or rumour,
Queen Victoria lost her humour,
Deciding one day she refused
All attempts to be amused.

Some say it was indigestion,
Others claim that’s speculation.
I believe what’s widely known,
That she hurt her funny bone.

Phil Ward, 2012

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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A Favourite Painting - Matilda's Trees

 

Trying to choose a favourite painting, like a favourite book or piece of music is so hard it is almost impossible. I like the work of lots of artists. Yesterday, travelling home from an adventure, the journey, thanks to the sat nav, took us over the Pennines and through Mottram in Longendale where the artist,  L.S.Lowry used to live. I love all of his work. I remember feeling quite emotional when I saw his paintings for the first time. This was in Salford, long before the gallery bearing his name was built.  His painting ‘Going to the Match’ was in the news last year when it was purchased and saved for the Lowry collection. Going to the match is what I plan to be doing later, so the painting might have been a good choice, but instead,  I’ve picked ‘The Cripples’.

Lowry painted ‘The Cripples’ in 1949. It’s one of my favourites of his work. I have a print and a fridge magnet and it always makes me smile. I’m slightly worried that my admission to being amused by it makes me a bad person. I am amused by Lowry’s humour in the painting. I’m not mocking the subjects.  Apparently, there’s controversy about the content and the title and I’m a bit shocked about that. I’ve got disability issues, so does my husband. The painting isn’t about us or anyone else. Cripple is not a term in use these days when we refer to people with disabilities but I’m not sure if it should be considered offensive.  I feel sure that Lowry didn’t paint anything with the purpose of upsetting anyone. As a Christian should I be upset by paintings of Christ’s crucifixion reminding me of His suffering? I will admire the work of the artist.

Steven Robert Bruce is a local artist who has produced excellent paintings. He has a website showing a collection of his work. One of my favourites is his painting of Ian Holloway celebrating Blackpool FC’s victory at Wembley, going into the Premier League. I don’t know where the actual painting is. I wish it was at the stadium.

My favourite painting of this week – it might be replaced before weekend if we’re looking after her – is the latest work of art by our youngest grandchild, four year old Matilda.  She was painting, freestyle, and created a fabulous tree scene from her own imagination. I’m amazed and enchanted as I often am by my grandchildren.

My poem, from the archives,

Salford

Industrial landscapes
Where nobody escapes
From human desolation.
Salford, grey and worn-out
Drab people hang about
Seeking some consolation,
Painted as matchstick men
Back in the decades when
Lowry found inspiration.

Shelagh’s taste of honey,
Tony Wilson’s money
Invested in the city.
High-rise in Broughton Park
Poems of Cooper-Clarke
So sharp and smart and witty.
A gentle, summer breeze
Wafts around Salford Quays
Modern style simplicity.

Pamela Winning 2015

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Enslavement - History

When I was young and starting out in my working life, I was amused by a cartoon poster on the staff room wall depicting a group of disgruntled workers, with one of them shouting, “They can’t sack us, slaves have to be sold!” It was harmless and was meant in good humour at the time, but it wouldn’t be acceptable now.
 

Recently, a statue of merchant Edward Colston was toppled and pushed into Bristol Harbour during the George Floyd protests related to the Black Lives Matter movement. Colston was a figure of controversy for a number of years, concerning his involvement in the Atlantic slave trade. He is one of many British merchant / slave traders and there are things to learn about all of them, good and bad. Colston’s statue was removed from the harbour and will take a place in a Bristol museum with his full details. Perhaps that would be the way forward with other controversial figures.  Every city and town in the United Kingdom has area names and street names that can be traced back to a potential slave trade origin. It would be wrong to rename them. Morally, history cannot be changed, rewritten or hidden, as in Orwell’s ‘1984’. We learn from history and move on.

Across Morecambe Bay, on Sunderland Point, lies Sambo’s Grave, a place I have visited many times.
Sunderland Point was an 18^th century port serving Lancaster and surrounding areas with cotton, sugar and slave ships from the Caribbean. Sambo is thought to be a young slave belonging to a ship’s captain.  He took ill and died at Sunderland Point, and as a non-Christian, was buried in unconsecrated ground.
 

From Wikipedia – ‘Some sixty years after the death, a retired head master from Lancaster Boys’ Grammar School, Mr James Watson, heard the story and raised money from summer visitors to the area for a memorial to be placed on the unmarked grave. Watson, who was the brother of prominent Lancaster slave trader, William Watson, also wrote the epitaph that now marks the grave,

 Slavery is still out there, hard to spot, but it exists in different forms, some of it close to home. County line drug runners, under-age prostitution, sweat shop factory workers. Vulnerable people from here and abroad promised a better life. Modern slavery.

Sonnet to William Wilberforce

 Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,

     Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd

     Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd

     From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.

     Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,

     Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!

     Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the ear

     Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause;

     Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause

     And weave delay, the better hour is near,

     That shall remunerate thy toils severe

     By peace for Afric, fenc'd with British laws.

     Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love

     From all the just on earth, and all the blest above!

                                                  By William Cowper

   Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Something helpless

Guest post by David Riley.

I know some who write humorous poetry. Good humorous poetry but only humorous poetry. 

Why? 

Some of these people also don’t read other poets. They give their reasons but what do we think? Are they frightened of what might happen if they try other sorts of poetry? Is it fear - that they won’t be able to do it? Find they have nothing to say? It can’t be because other poets have said more profound things than them - how would they know? They don’t read other poets. Is it that humour is enough, in their eyes, a security blanket that keeps them away from the challenge, keeps them safe?

Does thinking frighten them? A fear that they won’t be up to the task? I’d advise everyone to follow Rilke. Confront those fears.  Try out different styles of poetry and see what your fears are guarding. If that old so and so is right, it’s your most treasured possessions. 

Go on, dig them out. Be a poet.  Don’t just say you are.

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” 

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet 

Portrait of Rilke by Leonid Pasternak

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A pedant may look at a poet

Guest post by David Riley.

The pedant sat beside me. I didn’t know he was a pedant at the time but forgive me for jumping ahead. I drank my beer, tried to watch the sports channel.

“Tell me what you know on poetry about comic strips.” I knew it was him wheezing the question; I tried to stay calm, didn’t blurt out denials about being involved in that dirty poetry habit. All in all I thought I’d taken it kinda well.

“Who wants to know?” I didn’t take my eyes off the screen.

“Let’s start with me.” Then I noticed he was wearing winklepickers. Anyone who’d get his own toes to cosy up to each other was no man to trifle with. “Poems and comic strips have a lot in common,” I began to waffle. “Comic strips are sorta like Haiku, compressed poems. Also, you got maybe four panes to tell your story. Pictures and words.” Out of the corner of his eye I could see him using a toothpick. I drank some beer, played for time.

“Or no words at all. People have to interpret the pictures. Like poetry, see?” I was pleased with that one. He began playing with the toothpick, running it finger to finger like a silver dollar.

“Or if they use words in strips, the drawer – writer – has to decide where to put them on the page. Like poets have to decide how to put their words in lines.” That should hold the old guy. I felt smug, took my beer. He snapped the toothpick.

“You’re making me tense, kid.”

“Surely that’s right,” I said in a rush, “there’s a lot of overlap between poems and comic strips…” His right winklepicker began to tap. In overdrive. “What did I ask you?”

I whimpered.

“I asked what you know on poetry about comic strips. You got an F kid.”

“But…but…”

“You’ve told me how they might be alike. Poems and comic strips. I know one about them. Liz Lockhead, Scotch guy. Look it up why dontcha?”

“I will. I’ll do that.”

“One poem. One measly poem. What does that tell ya son?”

I bibbled.

“Think there’s any more? Maybe your friends know? Answers on a post card. Or in a comments box near you.” I don’t think I’ve seen the last of the pedant.

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Josh Knows Best.

This week’s theme ‘Comedy in Poetry and Writing’ has proved challenging. It has been difficult for one reason: I’m not funny. This isn’t a hyperbole to orchestrate a stream of ‘yes you are’ comments, it’s the truth, I’m really not funny (to adults at least). However, there is one person that I can always make laugh, but he’s two years old.

The inspiration for this post comes from my two-year-old nephew Josh. I considered filming my operatic version of The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson, before realising that my out of tune notes and gangly skips are probably only appreciated by Josh. I wondered if sharing Poetsaurus – a scary dinosaur that stomps around the lounge reciting rhyming couplets – was a better idea, but realised it wasn’t. Therefore, I decided not to share my silliness with you. Instead, I thought I’d share a collection of haiku – inspired by a two-year-old who is far funnier than me.

From the perspective of a two-year-old

I
When feeding the ducks
Don’t bother throwing the bread –
Just eat it instead

II
If you want to see
Things from a new perspective
Then stand on your head.

III
Unscrew the rose head
Because it means that you can
Water more quickly.

IV
Fake, painted, plastic
Food looks good enough to eat...
Take a massive bite!

V
What is pretentious?
I just really, really like
Hummus and breadsticks.

VI
Jigsaw puzzles aren’t
Difficult if you forget
About the picture.

VII
Everything is red.
The grass is red, trees are red.
Everything is red!

VIII
Hide and Seek is great
when you hide in the same place –
You always get found.

IX
How old are you Josh?
Can you say that you are two?
Three, four, five, six, eight.

X
Teaching a toddler
To say fork will result in
A four letter word.

XI
It’s important to
remember to be polite
and always say ‘peas’.

XII
A black dog lying
In the sun on a hot day
Is called a hot dog.

Thank you for reading,
Lar

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Funny guy.

I’m that man you know that always pushes it too far. It isn’t my fault, I was born that way and really, are you gonna mark a guy down for giving that extra little bit...So yes, I am that man you know that always pushes it too far.

I really had no idea how to open a blog on humour. According to the source of all useless information, Wikipedia, humour “derives from the humoral medicine of the Ancient Greeks, which taught that the balance of fluids in the human body, known as humors (Latin: humor, "body fluid"), control human health and emotion.” Now, whilst this is not the snappy quote I was after, it did inspire me to write something of a risque poem for you all.

Perverted

There was a young boy from Berlin,

Who developed a fondness for quim.

He stuck out his tongue, during birth (so, so wrong)

And his Mum tried to force him back in!

As you might have guessed, humour isn’t something I try my hand at too often, and when I do, it tends to be aimed on the shock value aspect of things. Essentially, I go for a reaction- anything that might make a scoffing, snorting, howling or tutting sound come from the audience. I find this is my best way to build something of an impression and if I bomb, I bomb.

If I was going to work on funny poetry, there are several cracking poets I’d love to try and learn from. For Christmas ’93 my parents bought me A Children's Book Of Verse which contained some glorious nonsense poetry. Spike Milligan, Edward Lear, Alfred Noyes and co soon became favourite reads and I think, to this day, On The Ning Nang Nong is the only poem by someone other than myself that I could recite.

By the time the internet was available (Yes, there really was a time before Google... Remember Asking Jeeves???) I had pretty much outgrown these poems (in public, anyway). After a pretty long hiatus, it was only really a few years ago that I started to appreciate them once again. The coming of YouTube has made funny poetry much more accessible and often proves a great way to dispel the idea that ‘poetry is boring’. That is where the poets I’d love to learn from come in. There are so many styles, I’ll no doubt cherry pick influences as we all do. I figure this is a good place to end and so, as a special treat, here are a few of my current favourites (in no particular order).

John Cooper Clarke

Wendy Cope

Mr B The Gentleman Rhymer

Elvis McGonagall

Until next time, thanks for reading. S.

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