An alien species has landed on Earth but communication has come to a standstill. The aliens have not indicated any aggressive tendencies and the world leaders hope to keep it that way.
Who can save the Earth and talk to these aliens?
Professor Henry Higgins (Jnr.) was the son of Henry Higgins, the teacher of elocution made famous by George Bernard Shaw in his play Pygmalion. He was just ending his lecture on communications to the third year students of Stanford University, California, when an assistant walked onto the stage.
‘Call for you, Professor’, said the assistant. ‘Sounds important, the White House.’
The professor gathered up his papers and went to the telephone…. Continue reading “We Come in Peace…Maybe”
I went out blackberrying today.
A westerly wind hummed and hawed
Amid the blackthorn and the nettles
Where brambles grew aplenty.
My September delight on southern hedges
Ripe with sloes and long-eared grasses
To pick most carefully brambles black and round.
The wind, my companion ushered the sounds
Of rolling waves from the shore below
While gulls and crows called and cawed
To partners and their pals.
O! to be out under the troubled sky
Of blues and blacks, of whites and greys
Amid the swords of sunshine and my punnet full.
Thanks to a fellow Participant (Alathea Anderssohn) I noticed a poem by Wilfred Owen:
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,—still warm,—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
And her comparison to Wordworth’s opening lines of The Prelude: Book 1: Childhood and School-time.
—Was it for this
That one, the fairest of all Rivers, lov’d
To blend his murmurs with my Nurse’s song,
And from his alder shades and rocky falls,
And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice
That flow’d along my dreams?
We are used to beaches being happy places, sandy havens of fun amid gentle waves on hot sunny days, places where children play with sand and spades and splash in the sea.
Not so on a Turkish beach last week as a dead Syrian boy, Aylan Kurdi, aged just three, lay face down on the wet sand at the water’s edge. In another picture a grim faced policeman in a green beret and short sleeved khaki shirt carried the little bundle gently, carefully, as if it were alive to his final sanctuary.
So sad, so moving.
We are all humans, even David Cameron changed his policy on refugees as a result, a small gesture to the tragic image.
It got me to thinking about The Power of Pictures and Words
Yet even better is Brian Smith’s (SEH 1965) contribution in the form of a Christmas carol, sung to the Kirkpatrick’s 1895 tune for “Away in a manger”.
Away from his mother , just stones for his bed
The three -year-old Aylan lies on a beach, dead.
The stars in the bright sky look down where he lies
A drowned refugee boy attracting the flies.
A camera is waiting , the media awake:
This poor little Syrian no percentage will take.
A scoop for the papers, more drama for Sky —
They’ll stay by his side till the deadline is nigh.
Remember his family. I ask you to keep
Their pain in your memory whenever you weep.
Bless all these dear children in our tender care
And bring them to Europe to live with us here.
A rare sight on Durham’s Palace Green.
In the mid 80’s with his friend Dangermouse, Penfold was one of the most famous characters beloved by children around the world, but especially in Britain. Taking his name from a Victorian inventor born in 1828, and code named ‘The Jigsaw’, – because when faced with a problem he went to pieces – Penfold helped the famous mouse characterised by a black eye patch over his left eye. Excited children cross-legged on the floor sat and watched enthralled as the duo tackled the world’s greatest villains.
But yesterday on Palace Green, Durham, I saw a different Penfold…. Continue reading “A Penfold Box”
An old tradition preserved.
Wonderful sunny evening down by the Bristol Trader in Quay Street with the Cleddau at its highest. A dozen boats arrive to help the Mayor beat the bounds….
Ilya Repin caught it just right.
It looked like the crowd at Kursk, at once both well-dressed and tattered, haughty and humble, ugly and handsome, limp and athletic, heads held high and others downward looking in slight embarrassment. A young man on stilts with a long bamboo pole, which he tapped repeatedly on the ground both for stability and attention, wore a brown frock coat and a three-corned hat…. Continue reading “Beating the Bounds at Haverfordwest”
Back in the old INSEAD classroom with my friend Guy Desseaux
A 40-year reunion and a few days in Paris were good fun. Walking around Paris with my notebook like a child on a school trip, I saw the city through new eyes…
25 June 2015
It is hot but there is a gentle breeze on which floats the idle evening conversation of three old Parisians. In their T-shirts and grey cotton trousers, they look cool. Beside, there is the noise of the street. Motor bikes idle, their throaty engines roar as the traffic lights change. Moto-bicyclettes whine like sopranos in the choir of traffic, while cars rumble sotto voce in the internal combustion engine chorus.
Aux Jardins du Père Lachaise has a green and orange sunshade, its broad stripes protect the fruit and vegetables from the noonday sun,…. Continue reading “INSEAD Reunion”