Santa's Dark Past

Sweden has traditions, ancient folktales, it has Giants, and goblins, trolls, pixies, strange festivities that date back to a pagan past.
As does Ireland, the culture I hold as my main heritage. Beneath the more modern veneer of Irish Catholicism, lie legends of Cuchulain and Queen Maeve, in which the elvish barrows of the faerie fold rise through the mists, legends in which the dim outline of Gods who once demanded bloody sacrifices can still be made out, though cleverly hidden.

English tradition has little of this. It's cleaning has been complete. Apparently.

I point out to my mother, the reasons are simple. The Anglo-Saxons were here a mere hundred and fifty years before they embraced Christianity. Elements of paganism did continue in their folklore, as it did in most places, but it had little time to impact on the landscape. Sure, it survived in local customs, cleverly hidden, for hundreds of years afterwards, but the reformation came and it was harder than most. Anything remotely superstitious was put paid to, in a way it wasn't elsewhere. Burned as a Catholic, or hanged as a witch, either way, people learned to stop doing anything that seemed it might not accord with scripture.

And only Morris Dancers and Hobby Horses survived. And Maypoles. People forgot that these originally belonged to sinister festivities of human sacrifices where girls danced round giant obelisks.

But Woden come. Woden came to England with the English and they kept him hidden away in their hearts where priests couldn't find him.

In the heart of the Black Country is a town called Wednesbury. Not far away is another called Wednesfield. Woden's Borough and Woden's field. The fortress where his temple once stood, and the field where his devotees sacrificed to him.

It is difficult to really understand what Woden was to the English. The Eddas of the Norse can't really tell us. They tell us what the Scandinavian versions were, centuries afterwards. Not what the Anglo Saxons believed. The Eddas are written by a people concerned about frost giants, where the thunder God Thor dominates. The Anglo-Saxons would not have been so concerned by either.
And it seems they weren't. Woden was their chief God, but he was subtly different to the Odin of the Eddas. The chief God of nature. A Green God. A God of forests. A horned God, seemingly.



And the continual survival of this archetype in the bones of English culture reveals the enduring power of Woden. The Green Man, King of the Forests. This is why one finds so many pubs of that name.
And he finds his way into legend in so many ways. He is the Green Knight of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, he is Herne the Hunter. But also, he appeared at one time of year, the one day the peasants got their way.

It was a Christmas tradition, perhaps inspired by the Roman tradition of allowing the slaves to choose a king for the day. At Christmas, the peasants dined as nobles, eating meat and bread, whilst the lord of the manor and the clergy served them. The normal rules of the parish were reversed. Chaos ruled, every normal taboo could be broken. And all this was presided over by a figure decked in green robes. Traditionally fat and bearded.
The Lord of Misrule.

A concession to the peasants. They could have their suspect Green hero run their show.

As one might expect, this tradition got axed during the reformation, like so much. No more Lord of Misrule.
Only- he survived.
Although we do not hear of him for a while, presumably he lived on quietly, because in the eighteenth century when England can breathe a sigh of relief that the Puritans are FINALLY silent, we find that Father Christmas, a large fat, green robed figure is a major part of the ceremony.
Quite clearly, he is a continuation of the Lord of Misrule, merely less chaotic. And he doesn't pour beer down the throats of peasants, he's more restrained.

It was in America that he merged with St Nicholas- or Santa Claus. Because the Dutch believed it was St Nick who gave presents to their children. So the Dutch had a name for the present giver, the English Americans had an image of what the present giver looked like.
So the fat, bearded, green robed present giver became Santa Claus.



So- when did he stop being green?

When did he finally decide to stop being green and dress in a bright dashing red?

In the twentieth century.

Coca Cola did that. Coca Cola decided to dress him in THEIR colours when they decided to market Coca Cola as the Christmas drink.

So yes, Santa has a long chain of ancestors. Father Christmas, the Lord of Misrule, The Green Man- The Germanic God Woden.

So maybe we should be grateful that Santa isn't a traditionalist himself. We don't want him going back to HIS roots this Christmas.

It might scare the children.

Thanks People

I'm tired and still worn out.

I realise I'm the emptiest I've ever felt.
Total hopelessness.

I really don't know what else to say.

In some ways the last two years have been the most beautiful of my life. In some ways, they have been two of the hardest.

I believe what I have done with my life over the last two years to have been the best use I could have made of it.
And I learned to feel something I didn't even understand. I really didn't know love felt like that.

Thankyou all for your comments on the last post, they meant a lot. They always do.

I am hoping this passes, well obviously I am. I want to believe,I do.

I've left you a post above which I wrote a few days back. It's a bit cheerier than I am right now.



I've got the hot water bottle and Cedric.

Purposelessness

I've been sitting at this screen all night.
I keep starting the post, writing it, then deleting it.

I don't really know how to say what I want to say.

I suppose I've been running through the same thoughts since I read a post yesterday by a blogger who'd just celebrated their thirtieth birthday. And it brought it home to me.

The awful truth.
I turned thirty this year. And I've struggled with it. Struggled against it. Struggled against the fact that I feel in my bones it's over.

That all my hopes are dead. There is nothing to look forward to. It's never going to happen.

All my life I have lived one thing in mind. How I'm remembered when I'm gone. I guess nothing else has ever mattered to me. Life is a game and the prize is how you're remembered. And I've been fighting over the last couple of years to give myself some focus, some sense that my existence matters.

I realise how much I despise myself for not having done anything. For not being in a position now where I'd be remembered if I died tomorrow. And you can say you'd be remembered by those close to you. Not good enough. You can say 'You may not be somebody to the world, but you can be the world to somebody'.

I think over the last couple of years I realised something very powerful. How much I'd lost interest in my own existence. Not much in it to hope for any more. As me, life was pretty much over. Oh, you might say I'm still young. Maybe. But I'm not as pretty as I was. Not really got much to hope for. Stuck with that suspicion that the best bit of my life is over, really.

And I guess when Crushed was born, he was hope. I guess I started to believe in a new life. Crushed could still do it. I actually felt happy being Crushed. And I guess that made me feel Ok about life. I did have a purpose. Crushed. And yes, that became more important than anything.
I started to visualise the possibility of winding the rest of my life down. Really just devote it to work. Cut out anything that ultimately damaged Crushed.

You need to understand this. Ultimately, it meant a decision to write off any personal relationships. Why?
Because the whole point was, I had conceded that I wasn't going to achieve anything now under my real name, so why waste time on personal relationships? Live as Crushed.

Put Crushed first and Real Me second.

I think I believed it could happen. That gradually I'd be able to close down my real life. That through Crushed I'd find the happiness I now knew I could never have in Real Life.

I'd started to plan for his future. Even to the degree of ensuring that when I died, it would be announced on my blog. I'd started to see that as the judgement moment of my life. The comments section on my death.

It gave me hope, it really did.

I am proud of Crushed, I don't deny that. I would rather be remembered as Crushed than as me.

But you see- I'm going to get into bed now and try and get some sleep. And you know something? I kind of wish that I wasn't going to wake up again at some point. I'm tired. I've lived too long and I'm pretty much dry on the hope front.

I was asked recently in an interview what my proudest achievement in life was. And I smiled. Because I couldn't say. But it's this.

I realise that I'm going to have a last cup of coffee and a cigarette and ponder. I'm trying to get my life in perspective here.

I realise I'm totally lost now really. I've been on this post now over twelve hours, on and off.

I can sit and make wishes all I want, but I must go to bed and try sleep.
Thing is, I will wake some time.

I'm really tired. This is probably getting incoherant.

I think what I'm trying to say is right now, I really feel like I've lost the will to live. And I don't know if I'll feel differently when I wake up.
And I've been running through that all night.

Why Drugs Are Illegal

It is well to state some things up front, for the record, just so no one says I haven't.

I have a criminal record for drugs related offences, specifically, possession of Ecstasy with intent to supply.
This happened sufficiently long enough ago for it not to actually affect my day to day life.
For the record, I have no criminal record for any other offences of any type, indeed the only other laws I ever broken, relate to purchasing of alcohol when I was underage, breaking speed limits and recently- smoking cigarettes in a pub.

Like many people who would otherwise be law abiding citizens, I have fallen foul on this particular law. Taking 'drugs' is illegal. Possessing a sufficient quantity for it be reasonably assumed you are buying bulk to sell on to your mates, very much so. Which was what I was doing. I don't deny that. Nor, actually do I apologise for it.

I think the law on the subject is an ASS. I think drug laws bring the whole legal system into disrepute. Because no matter what argument you come up with about the perceived damage drugs may or may not do, you still have to justify why adults can't make that decision for themselves. And there is no justification for denying adults that decision.
I would even take that as far as heroin. I wouldn't touch the stuff myself, but if people want to, let them. They've been warned. They know damn well the likely consequences. If their addiction then leads them to commit crime, then punish them for those crimes. But; no victim no crime.

It's a bit like witchcraft. Time was when the main argument against witches was they used their witchly powers to commit crimes. And the thing is, most of these witches DID believe they were witches. In the sense that they were practising witchcraft, that bit was usually true. Thing is, in reality it wasn't harming anyone. Because in fact, witchcraft doesn't actually work. It wasn't until 1737 that someone had the bright idea; let them do they want. If they want to dance naked round fires worshipping Satan, let them. If they kill people, try them for murder. But if their 'witchcraft' doesn't actually lead to them committing other crimes, let them be.

Heroin aside, the vast majority of people who use recreational drugs, commit no other crimes aside from breaking drug laws.

Again, for the record, I personally believe that in the cases of Cocaine, Ecstasy and Cannabis, certainly, like with Alcohol, there are pros and cons. Alcohol can be very damaging. But on the whole, it seems to give more to society, than it costs society. My personal experience is that Cocaine, Ecstasy and Cannabis actually offer far more rewarding experiences, and have far less disruptive consequences. In the case of these three drugs, I don't merely support their legalisation, but were they to be legalised, I'd recommend their use.

The question I think, we really have to ask ourselves, is WHY the law is the way it is?
Because it's a very odd position for a free society to take.
And the answer is, history.

None of these things were illegal in the nineteenth century. It is in the temperance and prohibitionist movements of the end of that century that we must look.
Even Opium wasn't illegal in Victorian London, don't forget.

It was in the '20s that the prohibitionist mindset achieved it's victories. Some historians suggest that it was a curious consequence of women getting the vote. Prohibitionist movements were often supported strongly by women, in those days far more often the victims of drunken violence than they are today.





And the twenties saw their new found political power give a boost to the prohibition lobby.
In the US, an amendment was passed prohibiting the sale of Alcohol.
But even in the UK, the movement reached it's peak. The Prohibitionist movement actually won a seat in parliament- defeating Churchill.
And the laws on Alcohol sale had been getting gradually tougher.

It's not generally realised, but most of the stringent anti-drugs laws start at this time. It was merely that the main stimulant used in the west then, was alcohol. So at the time, it was the one received most attention. But both Britain and America outlaws Cocaine, Opium and Cannabis at this time. And the reality was, nothing much was known about Cannabis- or Hatchis as they called it then- except it was kind of Eastern, made people chilled out, so was thought be much the same as Opium. Pure ignorance really. But with American campaigners making films called 'Reefer Madness' involving youngsters getting stoned and going on murder sprees, the unknown toke had little chance.

The Mexicans, incidently, knew better. Did you know 'La Cucuracha' is about a cockroach who has run out of pot to smoke?

Anyway, several international conferences in the twenties had created an international framework against the drug trade.
Which continued long after America had given up on prohibition of Alcohol. And the rest of the world learned from that.

So, one can see the mindset that brought drug prohibition IN.
But why does it continue?

The real answer, has nothing at all to do with anyone giving a damn about your health.
The real point is about protecting something. And that's not your streets. Your streets certainly WOULD be safer with no drug dealers, part of the crime drug laws create. And those dealers wouldn't be on the streets if the drugs were sold in a licensed shop.

The point is, if they legalise Cannabis, then we'll ask why Ecstasy is illegal, seeing as the evidence against it is somewhat shaky. And then, if logic gets its why and Ecstasy is legalised then Cocaine and Heroin being illegal is harder to justify.

And they CAN'T be legalised.

Especially not Cocaine.

In fact, the one they DON'T want to legalise, is Cocaine. Which is why they portray it as so much more damaging than it is. It's the one they don't want to legalise.

No country will dare legalise Cocaine, for fear of upsetting the US.
It is vested US interests retain things as they are.
The Monroe doctrine.

The way the US maintains its economic power over much of the Americas, is very simple. It has come to find the 'war on drugs' suits it fine.

Colombia's biggest legal export, is coffee. It's biggest ACTUAL export, is Cocaine. The US retains effective control of countries like this by maintaining a perpetual civil war. It arms an urban creole elite and supports their creole Apartheid, against a First Nations MAJORITY, because First Nations peoples ARE a majority in most of these countries, by continuing to prevent the majority of the people from actually engaging in the form of agricultural production that would bring most wealth to the country. Of course, they continue to do so.

Marxist Organisations like FARC are blamed for encouraging the Cocaine trade, indeed, using it to fund themselves.
But FARC get the real point. There at the 'coal face of the drugs trade', if you like, it's not a war against drugs. It's war by an American supported creole elite to keep control of the country as a US puppet state, rather than becoming a true democracy, governed by the majority of the people.
Of course FARC support the Cocaine trade. The Cocaine trade would be a vital part of a free, Democratic Colombia, free from us control.

A Colombia run by First Nations Majority rule, where peasant farmers grow prosperous by freely providing for the west one of its most coveted luxury items- Cocaine.



The US decided to fight the mother country by throwing her imports into the sea. Now it maintains supremacy over the other countries by doing the same to their exports.

The War on Drugs isn't about anything other than the US being able to keep the world economy the way it likes it. And to make sure that as much of the Americas is run the way it wants it, as it possibly can. By US supported creole elites.

Drug laws are about control- about telling you how you can and cannot spend your time and money.
But they're also about making sure that American vested interests keep 'Latin' America as 'Latin' America and that brown-skinned peasant farmers don't mean that actually, First Nations people get back one of the continents that got stolen from them.

So Wrong They were Lucky

One of the things that makes the study of history more complex than people realise, is that often we need to take into account how people with totally different perspectives saw things.
Some people find it hard enough to see the world through another set of eyes, let alone the eyes of the long dead.
And as a result, we often judge historical events solely through our eyes. We judge events on whether people turned out to be right. On the consequences.

But as a result, we sometimes fail to truly understand them.

Because what we 'know', was different to what the people at the time 'knew'.

A fairly recent case in point. Marconi started the world of radio broadcasting by successfully broadcasting across the Atlantic. It started the modern world of telecommunications. An amazing pioneer, history judges him.
Whereas the reality was, he was a lucky amateur who turned out to be SO wrong, that he ended up being right.
Because at the time everyone else was saying 'Someone tell the poor idiot, radiowaves travel in STRAIGHT lines. The earth curves. You can't broadcast radiowaves around the world. It's round'.

He SHOULD have been wrong. Only he was lucky. That earth's atmosphere deflects radiowaves. So his broadcasting worked.

The biggest lucky fool of all was Columbus. It's often believed that he lived in ignorant times. That everyone thought the world was flat, except wise old Columbus. That no one would back his venture because they thought he'd sail off the edge of the world.
The truth is different.
The truth is, Columbus was actually totally wrong, in what he argued. Everyone else was actually right. It's just that something unexpected showed up. The Americas.

The reason why Columbus was wrong, is that nobody thought the world was flat. In fact, they'd known for a good two thousand years it wasn't. Even better, they'd worked out how big it must be. How did they do that? Easy. If you are able to work out the distance between two points and able to work out the time difference between noon at those two points, you know how many miles the sun covers in an hour. Therefore you know how many miles must be in the earth's circumference.

And medieval geographers were able to draw some reasonably accurate maps, based on Marco Polo and other travellers. The size of what would later be called the old world, could be roughly estimated.
Now look at a globe.
Look at the size of the Atlantic.
Look at the size of the Pacific.
Now imagine the Americas aren't there.

Just ocean.
Just ocean from Spain to China.

That's some ocean.

Do you REALLY think sailing ships can cross that? And not die of starvation or thirst along the way?
Remember, when Magellan ACTUALLY crossed the Pacific, he himself died. Only six of his crew made it back. But to medieval geographers, the ocean between Spain and China was TWICE that big.



Somewhere in that vast ocean were islands, yes, but not a vast land mass. The chances of hitting these islands- legendary names like Antillia, St Brendan's Island, Brasil- was slim. Like finding a needle in a haystack.

The reality is Columbus, for some reason, didn't think the Earth was as big as everyone else was telling him it was.

He was wrong- badly wrong. And he didn't reach China. Fortunately, he bumped into something else. America.
Well, the Bahamas, anyway.

One of the best examples of how we cannot understand how beliefs that are completely wrong can affect history, is Prester John.

Who was Prester John, I hear you say?

Well, Prester John was at one time a major force in world politics. A major influence in dictating the course of events. And this was even more spectacular, because he didn't exist. But his phantom presence made a difference.

It's difficult to say quite how he started. One thing that was always known, was that communities of Christians existed out east, the far east, the strange east the other side of the Muslim world. Nestorian Christians, Christians who didn't accept the two natures of Christ, to them Christ was only divine. Some even said he never actually ate food, only pretended to do so. That was (and is) the Nestorian faith.
There were tales that St Thomas had evangelised India, that one of the three Kings (Caspar, usually) had reigned in India, indeed, many Western Catholics saw India as perhaps being a kind of mirror image of Catholicism. Different, like the Orthodox world was different, but the people beyond the Muslim world weren't Muslim, so perhaps they were ALL Nestorian Christians? Or at least there could be a powerful Nestorian state out there?

And so when Christians in the West heard tales of the Muslims being pressed hard on their eastern flank by strong enemies, they assumed that mine enemy's enemy is my friend.

The tale of Prester John seems to have really come to attention during the second crusade. Almost at the right time, for the Christian armies. A rumour spread that Prester John was marching on the infidel. His armies had had to wait to cross the frozen Tigris (they seemingly had no idea where the Tigris rose), but were on their way. And this bit of news seems to have spurred the Christians on to victory. The belief that their enemy was now to be overwhelmed.

Of course, Prester John never got there, but it didn't matter. Jerusalem had been saved- this time.



In the 1180s a letter reached the court of the Emperor Manuel in Constantinople. It purported to be from Prester John. It spoke of his capital in Samarkand, of his 42 vassal Kings, of the wonders of his kingdom, including a mirror in which he could see all his kingdom, and various other marvels most of them fitting in with medieval ideas of things to be found in India; fountains of youth, men with heads in their chests, Pygmies fighting storks, unicorns, the earthly paradise, etc.

All this probably encouraged the leaders of Christendom. In their minds, Christendom was now twice as big as it ACTUALLY was, and surrounded the infidel on both sides. They couldn't lose.
And it probably inspired Christian leaders to take risks during the Third Crusade they might not otherwise have taken. Because they believed, ultimately, that they COULD win. That one day, both Western and Eastern Christendom would squeeze together and one day the Holy Roman Emperor, the Byzantine Emperor and Prester John would all shake hands on the banks of the Euphrates.

In 1220, news reached Europe that the grandson of Prester John, King David, had achieved great victories and was mercilessly conquering the Muslim lands of central Asia.
And thus the West embarked on the third crusade.

But mine enemy's enemy was NOT my friend. Someone was indeed decimating the Muslim lands of central Asia. But he was not a Christian.
King David was none other than Genghis Khan.

By the end of the thirteenth century, Marco Polo and others had explored the East and failed to find the vast realm they were looking for, and came to the conclusion the Mongols must have conquered it. That it HAD been there, but was no more.

Armies in the Middle East, mythical character...

That reminds me of something.
I can't think what...

WWJD

WWJD

Some years ago, the acronym ‘WWJD’ (What Would Jesus Do?) used to be pretty popular. We’d wear wrist bands, caps, shirts; all with WWJD emblazoned, to remind us to give a moment’s thought to that question before we did anything. In some ways, it worked – while wearing the bands, I’d remember to ‘be good’ – perhaps in the same way the people of long ago wore crosses around their necks, so that every time they looked at them, they’d remember how their friend Jesus died, and themselves be influenced to live the way he did.

Anyway, I haven’t thought ‘WWJD’ for ages – it’s just that yesterday, I did something which is still bothering me now. Not ‘cos it’s a bad thing (in fact, if it was, I think I’d be bothered much less, which is ironic!) but more because it was probably too good that it was ‘silly of me’, as everyone has told me (three people, up to now).

I’m graduating next year, and we all have to write resumes to apply for the places where we want to work. 2 classmates of mine from the same town asked if they could borrow my resume. They’re a couple, boy and girl – I like the girl ‘cos she’s sweet, but the boy is arrogant and bossy (she said she loves him though, so I tolerate him for that reason). Anyway, we were all in the car, and the boy asked the question. I didn’t want to give my resume because it has my private details, so I said I’d send them the one my mom sent me (and even then, I was apologetic, afraid that they’d think I was snubbing them). So as soon as I got home, I emailed him the one my mom sent, which someone else had sent to her when applying for a job at her firm. It was a good resume, and she’d sent it to me as an example, and I had now sent it to them cos they said they needed an example too.

Then that night, I suddenly realized what I’d done. Although I’d sent them the sample and not mine, I’d copied from the sample, so now theirs would be exactly the same! It was such a good resume – I’d spent days on it, and now I’d given it away. And not even to ‘friends’, ‘cos they only take care of each other (which is normal, since they’re a couple), while I’m always all alone (good thing my parents have money, so I hardly need any favours from anyone – got a car, got stuff etc – but always wished I had someone here to watch out for me, ‘cos I still get pushed around, or served last when I order food). Now they’d all have good resumes and mine wouldn’t be special at all.

Called a close friend to moan, and he said not to do it (but I’d already done it, unthinking, and done it speedily too, ‘cos of that thing in Proverbs that says that if someone asks you for help and you can help them today, you should, and not say ‘come back tomorrow’!). Called my mom and she immediately said she had tons of other less perfect examples I could have sent them. It’s true. Told her it was already done, and she tried to make me feel better by saying that if you looked at it from my friend’s point of view, the world one – then you were cheating yourself and everyone would step all over you and then kick you off the ladder – but that if we looked at it from God’s point of view, it’d be very unchristian to give them a bad resume while I had a good one.

And then today I told my best friend about it, and she said the same (as in, that it was silly and that I shouldn’t go giving my resume out to people, especially since they lived in the same area and would want to work in the same place I do). And then right now, I was just wondering – ok then, what would Jesus do?

Well, from what I’ve read of him, I guess he’d give his all. Share all he had (which is how he died anyway; giving all he had of himself) – show his resume, and let them copy it if they liked. OR…. He’d do the cryptic thing he does with the parables, and write a set of guidelines for them on how to write a resume (since he doesn’t always spoonfeed people with knowledge). ;-)

And at the end of all this, I’m still not sure if I did right or wrong. It feels wrong, but maybe it’ll work out right if I still get the place I’m applying for. And anyway, if we talk about sharing the gospel about Jesus ‘cos it’s something good, I guess we shouldn’t be stingy about the other good things too, ‘cos God can make enough for all. And if God’s on my side, everything will work out for good, one way or another.

(Actually, I haven’t been reading my bible for days; maybe if I had, I'd have been wiser – there’s a story in 2 Kings 20 about that, where the King shows some guests all his treasures, and they attack him later on to get all these treasures. I think it’s about discretion – be kind, but you don’t have to give away everything! Oh no… I’m confused… no wonder the ‘middle way’ that others advocate is so popular – being good, but not too good. It makes for better survival ;-))

Ah well. Will end here for now. Not sure what the lesson is that is learnt, unless perhaps it’s prudence. Another unflattering proverb comes to mind, regarding me :- ( ‘A woman without discretion is like a gold ring in a pig’s snout’. I do hope I haven’t got myself into trouble very badly by sharing all I had……….. (and in fact, if we want to talk about sharing what we have, I'd be eating less, and some people wouldn't have to die of starvation. But we're greedy, and hoard stuff, even what we don't need.........)

(And in the midst of all the philosophical or political posts on this blog, this one is just everyday life, where one is often faced with the question, 'should we be charitable or practical' ........)

Still regretting, still unsure... ironic ;-)

Bernadette O'Toole

I'm wondering if a Bernadette O'Toole will somehow come across this post and realise it's about her...
If you do Bernadette, please mail me, you never quite left my mind...

Bernadette O'Toole always seems to be to me a kind of unexplained mystery. What was it about her?
Because it was definitely something, and something that looking back on it was quite- weird. The reaction she inspired.

It was in primary school days, and Bernadette O'Toole would have been at least three years older. She must have been, because we were in Class Four when we all started to notice her and she was in Class Seven.

I don't know why all we noticed her, as such, except she had her hair cut, going from long to short. I think she was quite pretty, certainly, from what I can remember. We would have been eight or so, she would have been- eleven.

All I know is that about that time, someone came up with a new idea for a game. And it sounded fun.
The first version had been very simple. We'd roam the back field as a gang and then jump one of the older boys from class seven and pull down his trousers. Or pin him down and rob his shoes. And one of would run as fast we could to the fence and see if we could get the shoes over the fence and into the canal.

I never managed to get ANY shoes over that fence.

Anyway, we found a version of the game that was slightly more fun...

What's odd about this, is that we never really took to kiss chase, when the girls in our own class made us play. If it was the girl's turn to pick a game, kiss chase it invariably was. When it was the girl's turn to do the chasing, even hiding in the boy's toilets didn't save you. (Yes, Helen Rawcliffe, you DID chase me in there, and me hiding under the coats didn't save me, did it? DIDN'T YOU, HELEN RAWCLIFFE?).
When it was our turn to do the chasing, we didn't tend to move with much alacrity. Those girls could wait. The fact was, chasing someone to pelt them with something was cool, chasing girls to kiss them was not.

But our name game was- well, looking back I can see something different to what I saw then. Back then we kidded ourselves it was one up from the pin down the class seven boys and rob their shoes. This version was, pin down the class seven girls and pull their knickers down.

Hmmm.

Funny thing was, we were much more targeted about this.
And for some reason, Bernadette O'Toole, was one we loved to go for.
I don't deny, just seeing Bernadette O'Toole gave me a funny feeling. I might well have been only eight, but looking back, it was a crush.
And I think that had a lot to do with it. Did we understand the significance of pulling down her underwear? At eight? Well, of course not, we'd never even seen a picture of female genitalia, let alone real female genitalia, and if we had, we'd have probably gone 'Urrrrghh!!!'
But nevertheless, we all found something powerfully compelling about the idea of pulling down poor Bernadette's knickers.

One wonders if perhaps this wasn't an early sign of a faint glimmering of male lust. I mean, clearly it wasn't a sex drive, we had no real concept of sex. But what seemingly, six eight year olds boys had, was a desire to tumble in the long grass with a knickerless Bernadette, which none of them could explain, but it had become the most fun game they could think of.

I'm not sure she ever offered much resistance to it either. I think she quite liked the attention in some ways. Her little fan club come to pull down her knickers again. She used to laugh embarrassedly and wriggle, but I don't think she found it distressing. I don't think actually, we'd have kept doing it if she did. We were naughty Catholic primary school boys, but not Borstal boys.



I find the whole thing a little bizarre, looking back. Because although it would be ridiculous to suggest it was sexualised, certainly it had overtones which suggest the onset of a desire for actual intimacy with attractive members of the opposite sex.

I mean, it would only be another two years or so before one went from HATING going swimming to LOVING it- though not because one had actually started to swim, but because you got to see girls wearing less than they normally did- and it was quite interesting.
I think I was probably about eleven or so when I stopped pretending to find girls 'Urggghh'.

Though it is funny looking back how large part of our pre-pubescent childhood we pretend to hate girls and find them yucky. Maybe it's because we haven't quite worked out why we secretly like them, even though they're...girly.

Anyway, I do wonder whatever happened to Bernadette O'Toole.