Paths - One Road

Throughout our adult lives we follow paths based on our choices. We reach cross-roads and face directional dilemmas. There can be consequences for a bad decision. A learning curve. We cross paths with others and share paths with many. My late dad and I shared a saying for these experiences, “Another stitch in life’s rich tapestry”. The saying often related to a conclusion or something that we considered to be “Sod’s Law”. I still say it. We travelled many paths together. I was always Daddy’s Girl and spent my childhood living in his shadow. He showed me the way to find the right path then, with the patience of a saint, helped me to stay on it after I’d veered right off.

One Road, a song by Love Affair

I don't have your nagging doubts
I know what you're going through
So if it helps you to decide One road leads to sadness
One road leads to pain
One road shows you life is a game One road leads to darkness
One road leads to light
One road leads you life to love I don't want you to be confused
Or demoralized or abused
I just want you free to choose
Who you want to have or loose
So if it helps you to decide One road leads to darkness
One road leads to light
And one road leads you life to love You know one road leads to sadness
One road leads to pain
And one road shows you life is a game, yeah Oh, one road leads to darkness
And one road leads to light
And one road leads you life to love.

Written by Philip Goodhand-Tait

This song was a popular choice on our pub juke-box at the time, and a personal favourite.

I’ve tried to be a good guiding light to my children and grandchildren, but I lack my dad’s level of tolerance.

In a more literal sense, my husband and I are currently travelling unfamiliar paths in the Channel Islands. We’re having an adventure while we can just about do it, physically. Using a wheely walker on cobbled, hilly paths has some challenges and driving narrow roads with no clue to the destination brings surprises. Already familiar with Jersey, we’re staying in Guernsey and looking forward to visiting Sark and Herm.

This poem must be included in this week’s theme,

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost 1874 - 1963

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Tribalism - Let's Be Individual

I’ve mentioned before about my childhood fear of the Nigerian tribal mask that used to hang on my father’s office wall.  This gift from his brother who spent many years working for a petrol company in Lagos in the 1950s was ugly and scary and moved with us from one pub to another. The mask and many items my uncle brought home had been given to him as souvenirs but they were meaningful to their tribes and culture and he was honoured to receive such things as gifts.

 

 Apart from the really scary mask, we had an ornamental boat made from brass that was always on the mantelpiece and fascinated me as a child, and a few other bits of bric-a-brac that had come from Africa. I don’t know where it all ended up. I can only guess it was lost over time, or discarded when my widowed father remarried.

I don’t think tribalism begins and ends in Africa, though. We all follow a culture of sorts, or a mixture of thoughts and feelings that define who we are and give us a sense of belonging when we are with like-minded people. Politics, religion, sport, entertainment; it all falls into specific boxes and some don’t or won’t mix.

 In my youth we had Mods and Rockers. Mods rode scooters, Lambrettas adorned with many wing mirrors and sometimes a fur tail. Rockers rode motorbikes, the bigger the better. Triumph Bonneville was loved and some of the Japanese motorbikes were getting popular, Honda and Suzuki. No one could afford a Harley Davidson. And Rockers never rode scooters.

There was the ‘either or’ thing in pop music. It was Cliff Richard or Elvis Presley, The Beatles or The Rolling Stones, rock/prog rock/metal or Tamla Motown. A person was not supposed to like both and live in both camps, but I did and I wasn’t alone. I like what I like.

My step-mother’s mantra was ‘be an individual, don’t follow the crowd’ and yet she complained because I was different from her and I didn’t conform to her ways. I didn’t fit in with her. I still don’t ‘fit in’ to a lot of things, including work, but not fitting in has never held me back.

Back to Nigeria, I found this poem:

     Tribalism is an identity
     Resulting to nepotism
     And a great animosity

     Tribalism is an identity
     Of no statutory backings
     Denting my nationality
 
     From existing as an entity
     Resulting to conflicts
     And the death of humanity
 
     Tribalism is an identity
     A scar on nationalism
     Degrading our community
 

By Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

 

  

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Outsider

I've often felt like an outsider, but I know now that it all turned out for the best. I was an only child - so straightaway that made me 'different' from other children on the street and at school. We'd moved from London so I expect I spoke differently, (though truth be told I was never aware of any mickey taking, ever, over my Cockney accent in Aberdeen). My parents encouraged my hobbies, and money was found to send me ice skating and to have tuition, something that no other child in the street nor at school did. At skating of course I fitted in. We took family holidays camping and walking using a small vehicle; (nobody else in the street had a car!). Every Sunday my mother and myself went walking with a club. (My dad worked night shift for 16 years so couldn't come every Sunday). At the club I was encouraged in my interest by adult members, and again I fitted in. Neighbours thought we were bonkers!!

So it was that I was accustomed to adult company, often finding it difficult to communicate with my own age group.

Attending college I was able to live at home, but I had to conform to my parent's views: No going out weeknights, and only on a Friday and Saturday evening....returning by 11pm. Having to study in my room, or use the local library. Only occasionally socialising with college friends on a weekend and even this was usually done at my home, with an invite from my parents.

All these things kind of made me isolated. Yet I feel that because of this independence I rather revel in my own company. I am content to be alone. I can always find something to amuse myself or to do.

Yet I was popular (I think). I was head prefect and Dux...always chosen to represent the school or choir. Enjoying music, ballet, cinema. At college I was the class representative, fighting for our rights, attending meetings with staff, having charge of the library.

My first teaching appointment was in Kingussie (in the Highlands) which suited me to a T. I was actively involved in extra curricular activities of all sorts.

Moving south I didn't readily adjust to life with neighbours as I'd lived in an isolated cottage near the river Spey. Having a child changed that as I became involved in village life...then school life. Later I got a job in a school in Abingdon where I worked happily for 13 years.

So latterly I didn't feel so much an 'outsider '. Though I must admit that I'm not a kissy, huggy type of person. I feel reserved and it takes a while to get to know me.

Personally, now, though I really don't care if I am an outsider. I feel quite content to be on the outside.

Photo taken in Switzerland... I walk alone...

This week's piece was written in 1968.

                                  To You

            Shall  I  give  my  hand  to  you ?
            Perhaps  you  will  take  offence  and  shun   me.
            I  don't  know.
            I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand -
            My  intentions  are  good , I  am  sure  of  that :
            If  you  were  to  give  your  hand  to  me
            I  would  accept  it  without  a  second  thought.
            I  cannot  change ,  accept  me  for  what  I  am
            And  I  shall  give  you  my  hand.

                       

Thanks for reading, Kath

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