written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label wealth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wealth. Show all posts

Tuesday, 24 June 2025

Palm - A Shiny Shilling


 “Cross my palm with silver and I’ll tell your fortune. Cross my palm with gold and it will certainly come to be. Cross my palm with iron and you won’t live to see daybreak.”

Mara Amberly – Her Gypsy Promise

Blackpool is well-known for fortune tellers. For as many years as the Golden Mile has stretched between the piers, clairvoyants have worked from inside curtained cabins advertising their gift of seeing into the future. A visit to the promenade or piers would include a palm reading or a studied gaze into a crystal ball for anyone eager to find out if something important is about to happen to them. It’s part of traditional Blackpool fun.

Crossing the palm of a new baby with silver was seen as a way of wishing them wealth, good health and the best possible start it life. I watched as my baby sister had a shiny shilling put into her tiny hand by a well-meaning person, a stranger to me. I was seven and a half. Anne could keep the shilling, but I really coveted the lovely plush bunny she was given by the same person. Nothing for me. I expect she received gifts from lots of people who didn’t acknowledge me, but that’s the one I remember. I could probably go to the exact spot where it happened, in the lounge bar of the Boar’s Head on Preston Old Road, Blackpool. I was a proud big sister. I still am. This was one of those moments that stays in the memory forever, so I’ve always given something to an older sibling, not just the baby.

The Psychic’s Dilemma

I’m a psychic, true, with visions grand,
But rent’s due, and I need a hand.
Cross my palm with silver, yes, it’s true,
I’ll conjure love for you, and a new shoe!

No gold for romance, no, that’s not the deal,
Just enough for groceries, a more practical appeal.
So if your heart yearns for a love connection,
Bring silver, and I’ll give you a pre-packaged affection!

Anon.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Tuesday, 5 March 2024

Magazines - A Learning Curve


My first magazine was Look and Learn when I was still at infant school. My father bought it for me because I was captivated by a story my school teacher read to the class. I pestered him to ask her about it, which he eventually did, and I was delighted to have the story for myself. I think it was The Borrowers, or something similar.  As I got older, I read comics and books more than magazines. It was the usual ones, Beano and Dandy. We moved into a pub where a box of children’s books had been left ‘For the little girl’, me. Included was ‘Oor Wullie’ and ‘The Broons’ annuals. I loved them. They became my favourites characters and they still are. I’ve got many more of their annuals. I still have the collection of books that was left for me. It was my introduction to Enid Blyton and a lifetime of reading and writing.

September 1967.  I started high school and made a conscious decision to hate it because it wasn’t the school I wanted to go and I had to take two buses to get there and back.  I had a couple of friends with me from primary school, which was good, but I got picked on a lot and I was constantly bullied on one of the bus rides by girls from another secondary school.  It was a miserable time but I discovered something that opened my eyes and took my mind off my worries.  It was my mother’s weekly magazine, Woman’s Own.  It offered a wealth of important information to me, a curious eleven year old.  I read all the adverts for Tampax, Lil-lets, Kotex, et al and decided that I would have Nikini when this ‘period’ thing happened to me.  I learnt a lot about life from the Problem Page. I think Claire Rayner was the agony aunt at the time. The most fascinating read was her serialised articles which I remember clearly as being titled ‘What to Tell Your Children About Sex’.  This is where I discovered what was called The Facts of Life.  It might have taken my mind off school worries but such knowledge gave me other things to fret about.  I wasn’t ever going to do ‘that’, certainly not.  I don’t know if my mum noticed what I was reading.  She might have left the magazines out on purpose, hoping I would read those articles.  At the time, it felt like I was reading something forbidden and scary. Nothing was ever said. Years later, I had the book of ‘What to Tell Your Children About Sex’ and ‘The Body Book’, another of Claire Rayner’s.  She was a prolific writer of fiction and non-fiction, a former nurse and midwife and I think she was a TV agony aunt at some point.  She passed away more than ten years ago.  I hope it is true that she actually said, “Tell David Cameron that if he screws up my beloved NHS I’ll come back and bloody haunt him.”

Into my teens and off to the newsagents every Saturday morning to pick up my ordered Jackie and Fabulous 208 magazines.  Jackie was great.  I covered my bedroom walls with pictures of my favourite pop stars.  Those treasured pictures and posters were saved for decades until they got binned in a clear-out, probably when we emptied the attic for the loft conversion and I had to be brutal. Oh, how I wish I’d kept them.  I would have found somewhere safe to stash them.  Fabulous 208 magazine was connected to Radio Luxembourg. I liked to listen to DJ Tony Prince in the evening.

Magazines aren’t something I read regularly, but Woman’s Own is still as good as it ever was and I buy it occasionally.  Apart from that, if I notice an interesting article, an unusual knitting pattern or someone I know has contributed, I will buy it.

My Haikus,

I loved story time,
My teacher made it such fun.
Thanks for Look and Learn.

Woman’s Own page five
Now I know what they are for.
Is it a secret?

Is that really true?
I wish I dare ask my mum.
No, I’d better not.

Hooray! Saturday!
I will go out in the rain
To get my Jackie!

PMW 2024

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Thursday, 15 September 2011

Neonsense

07:39:00 Posted by Damp incendiary device , , , , , , 5 comments
There's a piece of music which, when it comes on the radio, often makes me pause in what I am doing and listen. It's Karl Jenkins' Adiemus which is the first track on the album Songs of Sanctuary. This album is part of a series of albums which go under the collective title of Adiemus. It's a vocal piece but doesn't contain words which you can find in a dictionary. The words were created by Jenkins to frame the voice. The words tend to end in vowels, much like the Japanese or Italian language, to allow the sound to carry rather than being cut off by the hard stop of a consonant. As there is no written conceptual framework for his language, it cannot be tied down to specific definitions. It does, however, evoke a response in the listener. Before I was aware that the language was created I believed it was in an African dialect and I imagined that the words had a joyful meaning to them. This perception is in part down to the music which accompanies the words but also in the sounds of the words themselves. The phonic qualities come with pre-loaded associations, specific to each individual hearing them and based on their cultural knowledge and understanding.

There's a poem by Charles Bernstein, A Defense of Poetry which is composed almost entirely of words which are spelt, and pronounced, incorrectly. In the poem, if I interpret it correctly, Bernstein is drawing attention to the shades of grey which exist in our interpretation of language and meaning. He says:

We have preshpas a blurrig of sense, whih
means not relying on convnetionally
methods of conveying sense but whih may
aloow for dar greater sense-smakihn

There is a differentiation, a dualistic perception of language, which creates a hierarchy of understanding. Any poet knows the power that words contain within their culture. This is why we edit. We remove words which lack sufficient value, replace them with alternatives which have greater impact or a more precise definition. The more complex and 'expensive' our language, however, the smaller the audience which will comprehend its meaning. Simplification creates a clearer picture, but might lack clarity or spectacle.

The metaphor is deemed one of the most precious commodities which a poet possesses. They are jealously guarded and, as Steve Stroud pointed out last week, collected. Metaphors are what made Shakespeare one of the most sublime writers the English language has known. In terms of lucrative words, he was a trillionaire. Metaphors are also one of the reasons many newcomers to his work find it inaccessible.

Asperger Syndrome is a condition on the Autism spectrum. One of the symptoms of Aspergers is the inability to understand metaphor which stems from the tendency to take comments literally, being unable to derive a second layer of meaning. A lack of ability with language leads to the diagnosis of a behavioural disorder. For this group, language is costly indeed. It is estimated that between 1 and 4% of people have Asperger Syndrome.

Language, like our culture, is split into the 'have's and the 'have not's. Much like the material commodities which line the pockets of the wealthy, language can be said to enrich the lives of those who enjoy it in abundance. Owning the right words, the proper accent can open doors, can raise prospects. However, that is not to say that a lack of wealth, a lack of linguistic understanding, is a signifier of poverty per se. Just as the majority of us, in this culture, get by from day to day with enough to get by and perhaps a little besides, so those with a narrow vocabulary are perfectly able to express themselves and glean value from their language. Where there is a danger is when the financial situation becomes depressed, when those who are getting by find that suddently they are failing to pay the rent. When public services which are utilised by the poorest are removed, then the hierarchy becomes a trap. When education becomes unaffordable and schools become academies which are run as businesses, able to sift out the brightest students for profit, then language and understanding become the reserve of a few rather than the pleasure of the majority.

On behalf of our children who are threatened with linguistic poverty I want to make it clear. This shall not be.

Nonsense and neologisms, slang and dialect form the base of some of the best writing. These features come from the roots. They are born from adversity and resistance.

Language is a commodity and like any commodity, its value is affected by demand. Shakespeare is valuable but it is specialised language. Some knowledge is required to open it up, to make it enjoyable. Metaphor is exquisite but it is not accessible to everyone. Nonsense is designed to be misunderstood, and so allows a variety of interpretations. New language, created for the purpose of expressing the voice is accessible by everyone.

Let's not partition our language, knowing its value and selfishly guarding it. Let's make it available to any who would own it. Leave it hanging from the lowest branches, painted on a wall, posted on a blog. Passing on the wealth of words is easy because it never diminishes the store, it only increases it. And remember, there are hidden troves of riches to be found in nonsense for those who care to dig.