A moment in time (Creative Challenge on Multiply)

“Mrs. Relf we are only have our photo done, not going to see the queen.“
“What is that supposed to mean Jed Gurr. I have put my best hat on for this photo. Not everyday that Mr. Stickell calls to us in the fields to make one of those pictures. You can talk, trimming your beard would have been a good idea. I won’t be having you standing next to me in the picture.”
“Don’t worry Mrs. Relf, I will be at the back in any case. I don’t know why the likes of me have to be there. I’ve got work to do. This picture thing is not going to pick any hops for us is it?.
“Well, look at that here comes Mrs. Edwards with her best hat on as well.” And Jed Gurr gave Mrs. Edwards a glance of amusement.
“Good morning Frieda” said Mrs. Relf “
“Morning Agnes” answered Frieda Edwards “Lovely day for a photo.”. She turned to her son that was walking alongside of his mother. “Reuben stop running around in that mud, you are going to make your shoes dirty.”
“Come on mum, Mr. Stickell won’t be taking any of those pictures of my feet. It is going to be my face that he is interested in.”
“Well that’s true” said his mother “So did we wash our ears this morning and what’s that grubby mark on your face. Been eating the squire’s raspberries again.?
“Oh, leave him Frieda” said Agnes Relf “nothing that a bit of spit and a wipe of the pinafore won’t clean off.”
So Frieda Edwards decided Agnes was right and went to work on Reuben’s face. It was clean afterwards but Reuben was not very happy.
“Ow, mum that hurt, didn’t have to rub like that.”
“Well at least you are clean now. What about you Jed Gurr, you could have at least trimmed your beard.”
“Oh, leave him Frieda. He reckons he will be at the back of the photo, because he wants to get away quickly to pick some hops. Look who’s coming, more people here now than you see at the church on Sunday morning, Joan Baldock and her son Jason. Morning Joan, morning Jason. Are you joining in on the picture.”
“It was mum’s idea” said Jason “She told me to put on my best hat and jacket for the picture.”
“I would think so too, Jason. It is not every day we have our picture taken. Just imagine me and my son on a picture together, never been done before. Jed Gurr, make sure you stand behind me. I don’t want that scruffy beard of yours down at the front.
“Now what have you all got against my beard. I combed it special for the picture. I won’t be at the front. All this new fangled stuff about pictures. Who wants to see me anyhow. I’m here to earn money by picking hops.”
“We all know that Jed Gurr. You are the one that drinks most of the beer down in the inn in the evening, so you have to make sure enough hops are picked to be brewed. “ and Agnes Relf gave Jed Gurr a disapproving glance.
“Now what’s going on, having a go at you are they Jed”. The sisters Emily and Isabel Pankhurst arrived on the scene. Both spinsters, but always there when something interesting was going on in the village. “Nice day to have a picture taken” Emily said and Isabel nodded in agreement. The Pankhurst sisters always agreed on everything.
“Well I must say everyone is looking their best. I told Emily we ought to put on our best hats, you never know who might see the picture one day.” And Emily nodded in approval. She nodded in approval at everything Isabel said. They were not twins, Isabel was the oldest, but only by a year, but that year meant respect when you lived in a small country village.
“Even Reuben has nice bright and shiny face.”
“Well that’s cos me mum spit on her pinafore and rubbed it up.”
“I should think so to Reuben” his mum said “can’t have you with a dirty face on a picture now can we.”
“You are right Joan Baldock, what would Mr. Stickell say when he arrives.”
“Talking of Mr. Stickell and his picture machine, about time he was here. I have work to do.”
“You and work, Jed Gurr, now that’s new. Thinking more about the time the inn opens up.”
“Oh leave him Agnes, as long as he stands at the back who cares.” And Emily Pankhurst found her sister Isabel was right.
“Look mum” Reuben Edwards was getting excited “Mr. Stickell is coming down the road with his three legged stand and big photo machine. Mrs. Crabb is with him as well.”
“Trust Philadelphia Crabb to want to join in on the picture.” Said Reuben’s mother. “She’s not from this village, but on the other side of the river. Only moved in a couple of years back and already thinks she belongs. “

“Morning ladies and gentlemen” said Mr. Stickell. “So are we already for having our picture made. Now get yourselves nicely organised. As I can see it we are going to make a nice picture. I think we will put the gentleman with the beard at the back in the middle and the ladies forming a row in front. The lady with her son should stand together on the right. Take these flowers in you arm I brought with me as a prop, brightens up the photo a bit, especially with your son standing next to you. Now let’s have the young man at the front on the right. But somethings missing. Can’t have a young lad on his own. Whose the girl standing over there watching.“

“That’s Reuben’s sister” said Frieda Edwards “she has just finished her work in the diary.”

“Well, young lady you come over here, take up a branch of hops like your brother and stand right next to him. Now all we need is that basket in front and I think that will be perfect. The sunlight is just right and the hops are a nice frame to the picture. Ok, everyone don’t breath, stand still, it won’t take long.”

Mr. Stickell put his head under the black cloth on the camera and pressed the button. And this photo is a moment in time in a village somewhere in East Sussex.

*****
Well I think I owe an explanation. This photo is one of many handed down from my grandmother. With the possibilities of this day and age I could brush it up a bit. The colour is the original sepia, the original not being so sharp and intensive as the photo now on the computer. My grandmother was born in 1877 in the priest’s house belonging to Sissinghurst castle, in the village of Sissinghurst, county East Sussex in England. They were not a rich family, many children, the men being employed as farm labourers and the women either in the diary (as my grandmother) or in service in the larger more wealthy households. The plants on the photo are hops and Sissinghurst still possesses today once of the last existing oast houses in England, where the hops were processed, afterwards being mixed with yeast and producing beer. The photo seems to have been taken during a working day in the fields, although I think most of the ladies decided to dress up a bit for the occasion. I would say around 1900. I believe that the young lady on the left at the front was my grandmother, and the boy on the right perhaps one of her 11 brothers. There were in all 16 children, but 5 died in childhood.

Sissinghurst castle today is well known for its beautiful gardens designed by Vita Sackville West. I just could not make this entry without supplying the link to the castle and its gardens. At my grandmother’s time it was just farm land and a castle that no-one really took very much interest in.

I more or less used names from my own family - I have quite a full family record as was a part time genealogist. I also perhaps used some older words. I just had the feeling that the word photo was not used so much, more picture. A pinafore is the old world for an apron or overall.

Just to add the name Stickell was no invention. All the photos I have from my grandmother have the name Stickell in Cranbrook on the back. Cranbrook was the next village to Sissinghurst.

Sissinghurst Castle Gardens

Creative Challenge: A Moment in Time

Back in the Past a bit

Not that far back in the past really, just around 38 years ago. That was when I moved to a small market town called Solothurn from the big city of Zürich. I decided it was either time to go home (to England) or move on in Switzerland. By coincidence there was a job advertised for an English speaking secretary at the company Robert Bosch, I applied and got the job. I think most know Robert Bosch because of their electric drills etc. which they make (made). Actually the company was called Scintilla (Italian for spark) and was a subsidiary. Their main fame was for making the magneto in the "Spirit of St. Louis", Lindbergh's plane on the first flight over the Atlantic in 1927.

At the time I was working there they were making vacuum cleaners for a Swiss chain store and the electric homeworker appliances such as drills etc. I quite enjoyed the work, being responsible for all english correspondence. In those days you didn't have a computer, and had to rely on a typewriter and shorthand if you could do it (I could, Pitmans, and still can, but not needed any more). As said I was working for all the departments and one of the workers spent quite a long while dictating his letters and I somehow needed more time to write them. Anyhow nearly 40 years later he doesn't dictate letters anymore but helps me with the housework and shopping and looking after my 3 cats.

At the moment I am off work and my other half had some business to do in the village of Zuchwil where the company was and still is. Built a lot over the years and modernised, but it is still there. Of course most of the people I knew have either moved on or are retired. The company has a small shop where you can get electric appliances at a special price so we were there. I took a couple of photos. The one above is of the main road with the factory.

Now I know this picture does not really look very impressive. It was on the opposite side of the road where the company Sulzer was at the time I worked for Bosch. They made weaving machines for the material industry. I did not actually remember this part of the factory, but my husband told me something interesting. Him growing up in the place he knows a bit more history than I do. Apparently this unused building was originally an arms factory, one of the dark sides of Switzerland during the war. It seems it is now waiting for its removal from the landscape.

It was one of those hot summer days and I was not feeling up to moving around so Mr. Swiss suggested having something to drink. There was a restaurant near by with a gardening place attached and the nurseries so that was where was landed. The photo is taken from the restaurant looking North. Another factory, that is our waste disposal place. All the rubbish collected from the Swiss households in the plastic bags is taken there to be burnt. Even a fairytale land like Switzerland has refuse.

We took a short walk around the park, although I remained in the shady bits and took a couple of photos. Actually we had our drink, it was towards midday so the restaurant started filling up with people having their meals. I was surprised at the amount of elderly ladies sitting together all dressed nicely and obviously meeting for a nice meal. I wonder if I will be one of those one day. I just don't think so - it all seemed so sort of senior citizen style. Anyhow here is one more picture of the flower beds at the garden center. Afterwards we went home, I cooked a meal and had my midday sleep.

The Great Escape starring Fluffy - Supporting Cast Mr. and Mrs. Human and Adviser Nera

“Now this time I am going to tell how it happened.”
“But Mrs. Human” says Fluffy “it was my escape.”
“I don’t care Fluffy, it cost me and Mr. Human half a night’s sleep.”
“Well, I told Nera it wouldn’t work.”
“Fluffy what does your feline sister Nera have to do with what happened?”
“She said take your chance when you can, if the window is open and no-one is watching, just go for it, so I did.”
“Nera, is that true. Was this one of your big ideas.”
“Of course it wasn’t just an idea, we cats are made for bigger things than staying indoors all night. There is another world out there as soon as it gets dark.”
“The problem being that Fluffy does not see anything dark or light as he is blind and I am sure he lost at least one of his lives last night out on his own.”
“In that case” said Nera “he still has at least five lives left. According to my experience he has only lost four lives up to now. He has just beat me by one, Tabby being the champion, she still has 8 lives at least. Come to think of it I think she might even have all nine.”
What a logic!

So what happened. I will now tell it from my point of view. Yesterday evening I was sitting outside on the porch with my laptop. To be able to go on line I have to pull a cable through the slot in the blind at the window. When I was finished I returned the computer to my room. I then spent the evening on my other computer doing some photographic work and Mr. Swiss was looking at the TV. Suddenly we realised that the other end of the cable was still outside. We opened the sliding window and the blinds and pulled the cable through but unfortunately it got caught up in the chair outside. Someone was not very amused as at midnight I had to open the window to go outside on the porch and release the cable. Afterwards I went to bed and Mr. Swiss was still watching the television. About an hour later he called me to say he just noticed that Fluffy was nowhere to be seen. I was not asleep so immediately got up and we realised that he had sneaked out at midnight when I was outside.

Big shock, Fluffy is blind. I dressed in something respectable and armed with a torch I made my way through the garden flashing the torch in all places. I then walked along the paths and all places where he could be but no Fluffy. I was hoping that the neighbours would not be suddenly awoken by someone flashing a torchlight in their gardens. Luckily all was quiet. Eventually I got back home and Mr. Swiss told me still no sign of Fluffy. He then made himself on the way and after a time returned with no Fluffy. It was now approaching two o’clock in the morning. I just could not give up so went again on my quest. This time I went almost as far as the local river bank and also towards the main road. Luckily there was no traffic and I even saw an owl flying in the trees of the forest on the other side of the road. If circumstances were normal, I would have had my camera with me and taken a photo, but at this time in the morning I was not in the mood for taking photos.

When I returned home, big sigh of relief, Mr. Swiss had found Fluffy. While I was on my search, he went searching as well and found him. He was in the front garden of a house bordering the main road. Mr. Swiss had to go into this neighbour’s garden at 2.30 in the morning to get Fluffy, with a flashing torch of course. Most embarrassing if the neighbours had noticed anything. Luckily the people living in this house must have a heavy sleep and we also know them very well. Mr. Swiss said although Fluffy was wandering aimlessly around absolutely not knowing where he was, he did struggle when my husband picked him up to take him home again. So eventually I tried to sleep for the little bit of the night that was still left. Mr. Swiss found he was too nervous to sleep, but eventually calmed down and also came to bed.

And what did our little Fluffy do. He was wide awake and ready to go. We heard him trying to open the cat flap, which is sealed from inside, and wanting to go out again.

“Mrs. Human I was not wandering aimlessly around, I was in our garden when one of those field mice ran past my nose. Now what does every self respecting cat do. He tries to catch the mouse. Mice caught at night taste much better than those during the day. They are just fresher. So I chased after the mouse, but unfortunately he left my territory. Well I had to carry on the chase, but the mouse was quicker than me and I lost him. It was then I found I was also lost, but it was fun being on my own in the great outdoors.”
“You see, Fluffy, I told you it was fun – worth losing a life for.”
“Nera I think your comments are not necessary. And now cats go and have one of those long sleeps, during the days cats should be seen, but not heard. Fluffy this evening you have complete detention. My nerves and Mr. Human’s nerves can do without escaping cats in the middle of the night.”

At the moment it is 08.30 in the evening and I am outside on the porch. Fluffly is also here on a line fixed to a pole in the garden and meowing with discontent. I think he wants to go for a walk.

Picture to words 1: Faces (disapproval)

I would just like to mention something before I submit my entry. When I arrived in Switzerland some forty years ago I had a job waiting for me. The family was a mixed family. The husband a Bihari from North East India, the wife Swiss. In 1947 India became an independent nation. This had its good side and bad. Indian had two basic religions at the time, Hindu and Muslim, which it resulted in a backwards and forwards in the Northern part of India. The Muslims "fled" to the new States of East and West Pakistan and the Hindus "fled" to the new State of India. This is the story in a nutshell, tragic for many family fates and I am sure others can tell this tale of refugees better than I. My family head of had his own business and I was working there as a secretary. He also owned an Indian Restaurant where I also helped out now and again. He was the son of one of the Muslim refugees that had to leave North India and go to Pakistan.

The face in the picture did remind me of his mother who was often on a visit from London where his family then lived. She must have been about 60 years old at the time, known as Amma. She married his father (called Abba) at the age of eight years, the father being about 20 years older than the mother. This was custom in his country, and it was nothing out of normal - perhaps for us in our western world it is, but who are we to judge. Our customs also seem strange and wrong to other races. Anyhow through these two years I learnt a lot, in connection with the way of life and the food, which I found very good and to a certain extent learnt to cook myself, although nothing in comparison to an Indian lady running her own household. So based a little bit on my experiences I wrote the following. It is not intended to be Indian or Pakistani and I hope I am not hurting anyone's feelings by perhaps a few twists that I built in myself.

*****

„Do I have to have that photo on my bedroom wall. I always feel like I am being disapproved by that face.”
“Yasmin, please remember that is your grandmother and not just a face.”
“I have never met my grandmother, and I don’t think I would like her.”
“She was my mother and I was taught to have respect towards my parents. I expect the same from you. My mother was a wonderful woman. She was always there for the family. Life was not easy in the old country, but she made sure that we was never in need for anything and she cooked the best chicken curry I had ever eaten.” Shabnam, her mother, was adamant.
Yasmin decided to give up. Since she was a child this picture had been on the wall overlooking her bed. Although her roots were in another country, she had never been there and felt just at home in the country where she had grown up. She was uncomfortable being observed by this portrait, but decided that there was no point in continuing this argument.

She remembered her first boyfriend, Raj, who she met at the local club. Raj was very handsome, but her mother decided that his life was too much in the Western style. He often ate in the Macdonalds restaurant, which meant he was eating things that were just not in keeping with the customs of the old country. Yasmin also noticed with time, that Raj would begin meeting friends in the local bar and drink alcohol. Yasmin herself looked upon this with disapproval as found that Raj was changing. He would become loud, and when she found out that he was meeting her best schoolfriend on the evenings when he told her he had to study, she decided her destiny was not with Raj.

“I told you so” her mother said. “My mother would never allowed you to go out with such a person as Raj. You only have to look at his background and his family. They are from another part of the old country, from the towns where such sins are looked upon as being normal.”

So that was her first experience with a boyfriend. Of course, there was the eternal arguments with her mother in the kitchen. If guests were invited Yasmin had to help with the cooking.
“But mum, you can cook much better than I can, my brother’s can just sit with the guests before lunch and talk, but I have to be in the kitchen amongst the smells of cooking learning how to make a perfect tandoori, cook a perfect dahl soup and prepare the pastry for the Chapati and Parantha bread. My brothers just have to eat it.”
“Don’t be stupid girl, you will never get a nice young man as a husband if you do not learn the secrets of our national dishes. My mother taught me all I had to know about cooking and I have never heard you complain that my food is not good.”
“Mum you are the best cook in the world, but I am sure I will never be as good as you, or our grandmother” thinking she is always watching what I am doing. Her portrait follows me everywhere in this home. Why mother even has a smaller photo on the cupboard in a plastic frame that she bought at the local store.”

So Yasmin learnt to cook in the style of the old country according to her mother and grandmother’s way of doing things.
“You know, Yasmin” Ahmad her father often said to her, “one day a young man will be proud to have such a good wife as yourself.”
Yasmin had a good relationship with her father, but decided he also belong to the club of “do it the way your grandmother did, otherwise you mother will be annoyed”.

So life went on for Yasmin, she still lived at home, waiting for Mr. Right to come along as she knew when she found him she could at least lead her own life without grandmother’s face looking down upon her in disapproval. Now and again she did have a boyfriend, but either her parents did not agree with her choice, or she herself found it was not the answer to her prayers. Yasmin’s parents were not old fashioned and knew that their only daughter had to be able to lead her own life one day independently. For this reason she was allowed to learn how to drive a car. Yasmin was surprised. Of course, this was a secret wish but she was sure that grandmother would have disapproved. Yasmin’s father told her that there were no cars when her grandmother was her age, but grandmother had perfect control of her wagon drawn by oxen, so it was only natural for Yasmin to learn how to drive a car.

Then came a day when her car needed an overhaul at the garage. Her father, Ahmad, accompanied her to the garage and they were greeted by a friendly young man in the same language she was speaking with her father. He told them they would have to leave the car at the garage, but it would be finished by the evening.
“I have a meeting this evening Yasmin” said Ahmad. “Do you think you can pick up the car on your own?”
“Of course she can” said the young man.”I will be here myself and can help if there are any problems.”
“Well that is wonderful, then I know my daughter is in good hands.”
“But who shall I ask for when I pick the car up?” asked Yasmin.
“Oh, I am sorry for not giving my name, just ask for Sikander and I will be at your service.”

In the evening Yasmin picked up her car, and Sikander was waiting for her. This was not the only time that Yasmin met Sikander. As time went on they got to know each other and Yasmin’s parents were happy that she had such a nice boyfriend. One day Sikander visited Yasmin’s parents asking for her hand in marriage. Sikander was a good mechanic and his aim in life was to have his own garage. He was a hard worker and also the answer to Yasmin’s prayers for a good man.

The wedding was organised, and they were married and Yasmin moved into her own home. On the evening after the marriage Yasmin’s mother was alone with her father.
“So, Shabnam, are you now happy that our daughter has married a good man.”
“I am more than happy, Ahmad, although there were moments that I doubted if it would work. But thanks to the picture that accompanied my daughter all her life, she has lived up to my mother’s expectations.”
“One thing would interest me, Shabnam. Did you ever tell Yasmin that you were an orphan, your mother dying at your birth, and your uncle’s family took you in and brought you up as their own child.”
“Nonsense, Ahmad, if had told her that, she would never have learnt to make such a good chicken curry. So now we can sleep in peace, knowing that our daughter is in good hands.”
“I will never understand the workings of a female mind” thought Ahmad as he drifted into a contented sleep.

Yasmin and Sikander were very happy with each other. Five years later Sikander had his own garage, through hard work and Yasmin had been a good support to her husband. Their son was already four years old and their daughter, Shabnam, now at the age of two. They had just moved into their own house and were very happy together.

“Yasmin, what is the noise you are making.”
“I am hanging a photo of my mother on the wall in Shabnam’s room.”
“Yasmin are you going to use the same trick as your mother did with you.”
“Not exactly Sikander, I was observed with disapproval by the picture of a lady that my mother bought from a shop. My photo is a genuine grandmother, my mother. It cannot do any harm for my daughter to grow up under the eyes of a disapproving grandmother. I am sure my daughter’s chicken curry will be even better than mine.”

And to this day Yasmin’s mother did not know that her daughter knew the truth about the photo on her bedroom wall.

Anna Göldi - The last witch of Switzerland

It is not very nice to be accused of being a witch, at least in the 18th century it was a risky business, especially in Switzerland. Oh yes, this is a true story, and I must admit not in my words, but those of a BBC report I found on the Internet. The story of Anna Göldi is not unknown in Switzerland and she was the last witch to be executed. Whether she really looked like this I don't know, but the photo seems to be the only one I found. I pepped it up a bit to make it look a bit more witchy.

"Fear and superstition fuelled witch-hunts all over Europe in the Middle Ages and caused the deaths of many innocent women. The last execution for witchcraft took place little more than 200 years ago but campaigners in Switzerland claim it may be time to clear Anna Goeldi's name.

To understand Anna Goeldi's story you need to go to where it unfolded, in the tiny Swiss canton of Glarus. It is a long narrow valley, the mountains loom above, the villages are squeezed below into the spaces where the grey rock unwillingly makes way for earth and grass.

You get the sense, even today, that many of the world's events have passed Glarus by. This was where Anna Goeldi arrived in 1765, looking for work as a maid. One of the houses she worked in still exists. It is imposing, smug almost, four storeys high, with a grand doorway, and the crests of the noble Glarus families who lived there painted on its walls.

She found work with Jakob Tschudi, the magistrate and a rising political figure. We know from records of the time that Anna Goeldi was tall, generously proportioned, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a rosy complexion. These attributes were not lost on her employer. All went well to begin with, until one morning one of the Tschudi children found a needle in her milk. Two days later needles appeared in the bread as well and suspicion fell upon Anna. It is the first clue to Anna Goeldi's fate.

On the left the house where Anna Goeldi was a maid. Despite her protestations of innocence, she was sacked by the Tschudis, accused of witchcraft, tortured, and finally executed. Not in the Middle Ages, but in 1782, at the height of Europe's so-called Age of Enlightenment.

But today Walter Hauser, a local journalist, does not believe Anna died because isolated Glarus remained mired in medieval superstition. Researching the original records of the case, he found something far more banal. "Jakob Tschudi had an affair with Anna Goeldi," he explains. "When she was sacked, she threatened to reveal that. Adultery was a crime then. He stood to lose everything if he was found out." But at that time in Glarus, witchcraft was a crime.

Mr Hauser calls Anna's trial and execution "judicial murder". "Educated people here did not believe in witchcraft in 1782," he insists. "Anna Goeldi was a threat to powerful people. They wanted her out of the way, accusing her of being a witch. It was a legal way to kill her." Anna Goeldi's ordeal remains, in meticulous detail, in the Glarus archives.

This woman, who could neither read nor write, was questioned day and night by the religious and political leaders of Glarus. She insisted on her innocence, so they tortured her, hanging her up by her thumbs and tying stones to her feet.

When she finally confessed, it was to all sorts of bizarre cliches. The devil had appeared to her in the form of a black dog. The needles had been given to her by Satan. But once free of the torture, she withdrew her confession. They tortured her again so brutally that she confessed again, and stuck with her confession. Two weeks later, she was led out to the public square, where her head was cut off with a sword.

Fritz Schiesser, who today represents Glarus in the Swiss parliament, believes it is time to officially acknowledge this as a miscarriage of justice. "Everyone agrees that what happened was completely wrong," he tells me. "We need to take this last step, and admit it.

But in Glarus opinions are mixed. At the local high school, many students are uncomfortable about reviving this old story. "I agree it was shocking, but that was Glarus then," says one girl. "It happened a long time ago," says another. "I don't think people today should be held responsible for the past."

They could exonerate Anna Goeldi today, but refuse to do so, calling it a cheap solution which would not help anyone. Journalist Walter Hauser is disappointed. "We were the last in Europe to execute a woman for witchcraft," he says "It is a stain on our history. Now we could do something to erase that stain." Fritz Schiesser has tabled a motion in parliament calling for Anna Goeldi's exoneration. This weekend a museum will open in Glarus dedicated to her.

It is ironic really. When Anna Goeldi was executed, the people of Glarus tried to hush it up, afraid of what the rest of the world would think. Two hundred and twenty five years later, her story has come back to haunt them."

**********

This report was written in 2007. Since then Anna Göldi (or Goeldi) has been rehabilitated. Perhaps 225 years too late.

An

A Creative Challenge - Meaningless Words

When I think of it, about 90% of what we say today is actually meaningless. According to various surveys on the english language there are 500 commonly used words, so what about the rest. Only said and understood by the privileged few that may have undergone a special training in the english language, or those of us whose work and pastimes are connected in some way with the spoken word.

I took the above photo in our town's underground car park. Are those words meaningless? Well in a way I would say Yes, unless you are a native of the area where I live. Imagine an English, French, Italian or spanish tourist parking his car and seeing the shield on the wall. They mean nothing to him unless he speaks the German language. He would be in innocence of the fact that the car park is watched day and night by a video camera. I am sure those words are meaningless to those people, and I would say even to the natives. If I happen to drive into another car in the car park, my first thought is not "I am being watched" but "what damage have I done to my car".

Another example: you are on holiday in Wales on the Island of Anglesey and see this name on the entrance to the villageLlanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
Does this mean anything to you except for the fact that you have arrived somewhere with a stupid name. Well to the inhabitants of the village and those that have a command of the Welsh language, they do not find this at all stupid, but can tell you that they are living in a village called "The church of St. Mary in the hollow of white hazel trees near the rapid whirlpool by St. Tysilio's of the red cave" in the english language, although I read that the name was created by a local shoemender as a publicity stunt. Whether these words are meaningless or not, is a matter of opinion. To the inhabitants of the village they have a meaning as they understand Welsh.



Above is a selection of books showing some of the languages I have learned or tried to learn over the past years and this now brings me to the subject of the understanding of our fellow homo sapiens on this earth. Some of us are of the opinion that english opens the key to all foreign doors. To a certain extent yes, but imagine taking a walk along the bank of a river in Italy and you hear the cry of "aiuto" in the air. You have arrived in Italy two days earlier and it is your first visit. Probably one of the natives having a loud conversation with his neighbour, nothing important, so you walk on. On the way an ambulance sounding the alarm comes towards you. Perhaps the words were not meaningless. Actually not, someone was drowning and was calling for help. OK, a bit of a crass explanation, but we should not push all words into the "meaningless" section. There are people that talk a lot, and others not so much, but if we really kept all the meaningless things out of our conversation I think

No. 1 Life would be boring
No. 2 Our world would become very silent
No. 3 We would stop listening to what the others say completely.

The first words you say if you meet someone on the street you know, or have been introduced to is Hello, How are you. Hello is ok - an ice breaker - but the answer to How are you is never really acknowledged. Who cares, and who is going to answer with the truth. The person in question might have a headache, might have been robbed or his wife(husband) left them for another on the day before. Is this person going to tell you this. Not really - the answer will be ok, but ..... What comes after the but interests no-one really.

Then we have the man arrested for the murder of his wife. His wife was rich, her fortune is left to her husband and no-one believes that with such head injuries she just fell down the stairs, although the accused is adamant in saying it was an accident. Not guilty are meaningless words in this case. He pushed her and was committed to life imprisonment. Guilty or non guilty mean nothing in the eyes of the law, those words have to be proved.

I particularly liked the courses we had to take at work in dealing with customers by telephone in the proper way. This was very psychological. The customer has a problem. The contract was not maintained, he received the wrong goods, or whatever. He calls your company and makes a very loud verbal complaint in words that mean a lot to him. What are you taught by the lecturer of the course. Just let him talk into emptiness, do not acknowledge his remarks. He will soon quieten down and then in a cool, quiet voice you may talk to him about his problems. He will calm down and your problem of an irate customer disappears. This meaning that the customer's words are meaningless and are to be treated as such. However, the customer felt they were meaningful, but after the clever psychological trick played on him, he himself finds them meaningless eventually.

So what do I say with all these meaningless/meaningful words I have just written. Nothing really, but it is just not as easy to define as we think. I rest my case.

Before I go, just one more thing. You are a tourist visiting the Swiss capital town of Bern and visit their bear pit, one of the tourist attractions. You have to go to the toilet and see this poster confronting you on the way out. What do you do. Is it meaningless - does it seem meaningless - the interpretation of the meaning lies in the eyes of the beholder.