When I retired from teaching (one of lucky women old enough to be able to retire at 60 rather than having to continue rather longer) we went to live in Galicia, Northwest Spain, for a couple of years. And after that we divided our time between Galicia and the Northwest of England, more or less equally, until the pandemic came along.
In the early years of our Galicia time we were impressed by the mildness of the climate, not too hot in the summer time (but quite hot enough for us northerners) and not too cold in the winter. In recent years I am told it has become rainier again, afflicted with the same storms and general climate change stuff that is affecting all of us.
I was intrigued by the platforms we could see out in Vigo bay, platforms that I learnt were “bateas” from which hung strings to collect mussels. Today I read that climate change is playing havoc with the livelihood of the Galician “marisqueros”, the folk who make their living “farming” and collecting shellfish. Slightly warmer sea water and the dilution of the salty waters of the rías because of heavy rain pouring in off the land reduce the harvest quite considerably. Such a shame! We have fond memories of Galician sea food meals! Here’s a link to an article about it. Climate change is affecting us all.
On the subject of things Spanish, we have just re-watched Woody Allen’s film “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” - not a Spanish film but set in Spain and starring Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz, along with Scarlett Johansson. Ms Johansson’s character is supposed to be researching the “Catalan personality” or some such idea but turns out to be another Woody Allen character obsessed with analysing her feelings. Not as funny as some of his other films, in my opinion. Anyway, as part of her research (which disappears by the way when she becomes obsessed with photography) she looks at the work of the supposed Catalan artist played by Javier Bardem. Except that he turns out to be from Oviedo in Asturias, rather a long way from Catalonia … is he really representative of the Catalan personality!
Maybe it’s another case of Americans not understanding European geography.
Now, here’s a link to an article about George Brewster, the youngest person to have a Blue Plaque put up in his honour. Eleven year old George Brewster was a chimney sweep boy, one of those children sent up the chimney’s grand Victorian houses to seep out the collected soot. Some of them got lost, some of them, like George Brewster got stuck and died.
He was the last climbing boy to die in that way and his death contributed to a change in the law regarding child labour.
I’ve spent some time trying to recall the name of the children’s story some aunt or uncle gave me - hard-backed children’s classics were popular presents for children in the 1950s: The Water Babies by Charles Kingsely. I can’t say it was the best book I ever read as a child but I was struck by the horror of sending children up chimneys.
“A very popular stable in the Victorian schoolroom, The Water-Babies (1863) is a fairy tale with a purpose now little read today. The protagonist named Tom, a chimney sweep with no morals or education, falls into a river and transforms into a "water baby." In his underwater world filled with fairies, water nymphs, and other water babies, Tom has a series of adventures and essentially undergoes a pilgrimage. He proves his worth and ultimately returns to the human world. Author Charles Kingsley, who was also a reverend, wrote the tale both to delight and instruct young readers about Christian morality, the wrongs of child labor, redemption, and openmindedness. Kingsley was a strong supporter of Charles Darwin, and evolutionary theory underpins this fairy tale.”
“Most memorable are two fairies he meets--Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby, who imparts the Golden Rule, and Mrs. Bedonnebyasyoudid, who teaches that if one transgresses, one's punishment fits the crime.”
All this rambling is the result of Phil sending me this:
Dancing Bear I wouldn't want to be a chimney sweep All black from head to foot From climbing in them chimneys And cleaning out that soot. With a broom and ladder and pail, The darkened walls I scale--- And far.. And high... I see a patch of sky. I'd rather be the gypsy Who's camped at the edge of town, The one who has the dancing bear That follows him around. And he lifts his big foot up; He puts his big foot down, And bows... And twirls... And dances 'round and 'round. I found I was a cabin boy last night as I did dream, Bound upon a magic ship for a land I'd never seen. And the moon she filled our sails, And the stars they steered our course; And on our bow there was a golden horse. The queen eats fruit and candy; the bishop nuts and cheese And when I am a grown man, I'll taste just what I please--- The honey from the bee, the shellfish from the sea, The earth, the wind - a girl, someone to share these things with me. |
Written by John Phillips and featured on the album: The Mamas & The Papas (1966).
There you go.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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