This Precious Volume

I was reading in The Japan Times about the discovery of a book of tanka poems by the atomic bomb survivor, Shinoe Shoda. Having endured the horror of that clear-sky August day, she set about secretly publishing the book called Sange (Buddhist for death), which chronicled the aftermath. There was a strict censorship of this kind of writing by the Occupying Forces after the war, so she had the work published in a prison.*

Not many of these slim volumes survive, but one has now found its way into the collection of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. I can only hope for an English translation in the future, but here is one that has been:

The heavy bones / must be the teacher / and alongside / small skulls / are gathered



* "The censorship enforced by the GHQ was so strict, and I was told that any violation would almost certainly lead to the death penalty. But with a strong determination even if it meant facing the death penalty, I secretly published this book, compelled by a force inside myself, though my family tried to stop me." Shinoe Shoda

Every year around this time I hold my breath and exhale finally when my Mum's birthday arrives. The exhalation is one of relief, for mum is getting older and is afflicted by many ailments. But she keeps going and going, a testimony to good genes or good luck or maybe just good medicine.

Yesterday I drove Tom the long 90 kms through Sydney, which, while not being recommended as an activity to anyone, is necessary. It's a 2 hour drive to Collaroy, my brother Michael's place, and the roads, even on a Saturday, were thronging with cars.

Yesterday I also delivered the massive tomes that are our Cheshire family history, the work of relatives in the UK. A lot of effort has gone into this history and the assembled family showed a lot of interest, the younger people asking pertinent questions. It takes a small tsunami to prise them from their phones, so all praise to the authors, Dot and Roy.

A couple of photos from the day, with Tom ensconced in his favourite position.

On a lighter note, just back from taking Tom and his friend Eddie to Inflatable World at St Mary's. This is an attraction we have never been to before and this being the next to last day of the holidays, it was worth a shot. It is, as the name implies, a large room full of inflatable jumping castles and the like, holding the attention of two ten-year-olds for about 45 minutes. Thence we repaired to a nearby burger establishment for ice cream and sundries.

Thinking of places that that are labelled world, and there are many examples, I was transported back to Japan and my English classes at Nishiki Community Centre. I think I have mentioned before but teaching from fairly dull English readers and exercise books is not really my Tesol cup of tea, for I think learners study language better when the material is engaging and competently presented. So for these adult classes I invented a game in which I would weekly tell them about a curious place that visitors to Japan had remarked on and which found their way into the fictitious travel tome, 100 Strange Places To Visit In Japan. I would prepare the board with maps purporting to show the way to such local attractions as The Tallest Mobile Tower In Japan, Ant World and The Great Pacific War Experience, all within the realm of possibility, but unlikely. We had some lively discussions indeed!

Below, Tom leaps from an inflatable tower.

I know that there is a lot going on and there is a perception that the world is a more chaotic and dangerous place. I have been arguing for some time that this perception is skewed by the sheer quantity and accessibility of information that is available now, all the time. I think that you could nominate many years over the last hundred years (excluding the World Wars, to be fair) and find any number of them in which the totality of violent and disruptive events equal or exceed the present moment. If you add in the information revolution and the myriad social media to any one such year, you would probably get much hand-wringing and head-shaking about the volatility of the times.

That said, it does feel like something different is afoot, though that may be more to do with the violence against Western nations on the home front, a more recent phenomenon. Something atavistic does seem to confronting modern notions and paradigms, something that we thought was lost ages ago. In truth, you only have to look to the death camps of Nazi Germany to see that while technology has advanced apace, human psychology is still tied to a primal past.

A political analyst said last week that as far as the US Presidential Election was concerned, then "events were in the saddle." What he meant was that the flavour of the campaigns and the likely outcome were at least partly at the mercy of unforeseen happenings, events that could neither be reliably predicted nor necessarily managed. This was in the wake of the terrible week of police slayings and the slaying of police, which built upon a cascade of previous incidents and massacres.

I don't want to get into a discussion of race or gun violence in the US, subjects which I am only tangentially acquainted with. But events are demonstrably a driving force, seemingly irrational and nihilistic, with governments playing catch-up in a reactive way, rather than controlling the narrative. The massacre of innocent people in Nice yesterday is just another example of how this process unfolds. Truthfully, no-one has the power to stop all acts of violence if the perpetrators are well-organised and determined. Many such attempts are thwarted but it only ever takes one or two successes to create apparent chaos. And chaos is a narrative that enables other such unpredictables, such as the election of a Trump.

Since leaving Japan 9 years ago one of the (many) things I have missed is the Grand Sumo Tournaments. Nightly on NHK, we would tune in for the bouts for the Makuuchi Division, these being the wrestlers in the top flight. I would usually be preparing dinner or awaiting the next class as the matches rolled along. For those not familiar with sumo, a bout can be over in a few seconds, so it pays to be attentive. Each match is complimented with ritual and the entire basho is steeped in Japanese tradition.

So you can imagine my delight when I found out that NHK on my cable provider was broadcasting the highlights of each day, in English and with slow motion replays. Woohoo! I have already watched the opening days of the Nagoya meet and have not been disappointed, though many of the wrestlers I knew at the time have retired. Not so Hakuho, who is dominating the proceedings like the champion he is!

The man himself-

On Saturday last I journeyed to Dee Why to visit my mum, who has been laid low with a nasty cough. She was well enough to walk the 300 metres or so to the promenade fronting Dee Why Beach, a strip which is now bursting with trendy brasseries and cafes. Across the road on the grassy reserve, people picnicked and strolled and played in the winter sunshine. The swell was large and grey and seemingly angry but surfers were chancing it and near the rock pools, tourists stood rather perilously close to the dashing sea-sprayed edges. It amazes me how often humans become complacent near cliff and sea edges, as if our general taming of the natural world were a fait accompli.

After lunch we repaired to the nearby Bacino Bar, a genuine Italian espresso hole in the wall establishment, which boasts excellent coffee and delightful petit fours. We have often ended up here for the aforementioned reasons but also because the feature wall is covered by a huge photograph of the Piazza San Marco in Venice, somewhere in the late fifties or early sixties. It is one of those shots that it is hard to take your eyes off, for even though it is likely a promotion for Fiat cars, the reactions of people, their poses and faces and momentary actions, is fascinating. At least, that is what mum and I thought, for no-one else seemed much bothered by it, their hands holding too much interest.

Later I found a copy of the photo, though I am none the wiser about the date it was taken. I reproduce it below, together with a shot of mum on a seat near the rock pools at the southern end.

Swearing
ˈswɛːrɪŋ/
noun: swearing
the use of offensive language.
"there's a lot of swearing in the show"

It happens on my favourite podcasts. It happens when I am at the shopping centre, passing strangers on the street, or listening to the radio. Truly, it happens a lot and way more than it used to. Or probably should.

My mother would say that there is a better way of saying it. English teachers like myself might argue that it shows a lack of curiosity with language.

But in an era when freedom and license have been confused, swearing is ubiquitous. It is almost passe, so often punctuating a sentence as to make no impression at all, except the impression that one is cool or tough or part of the group. I swear now and then, usually when no other word will do at that moment, or I have suddenly become angry. Within a second I realize that I could have said it better, using language that conveyed a more exact meaning. Perhaps I just mean I could have said something pithier or more erudite or something infused with sarcastic resonances.

Now having said this I do derive great joy from hearing the odd explosion in the right circumstances. The other day I heard an interview with a Scottish comedian who was laying into Donald Trump and his vast mendacity. "Donald Trump is a cunt" she said, which sounded very funny in a Glaswegian brogue and which was, after all, dead-on true. It was also a nice piece of assonance, fitting, if you think about it, for such an arse of a man.

Not exactly needing to eat my words yet, but in truth the Federal Election result yesterday was a melange. The Government experienced a bigger swing than expected and the outcome remains uncertain, as I write.

My own dear seat of Macquarie has gloriously changed hands, the Liberal incumbent being displaced by the hardworking Susan Templeman from the ALP. This is, after all, only restoring a balance to what is essentially a centre-left voting community.

A serious downside to this vote was the election of one or even two members of the racist illiterates, One Nation. That Pauline Hanson will once again be giving of her incompetent self to the Australian Senate is remarkable. She has had many years to get around any issue you might name but has failed to do so and is undeserving of a place on even a school fete committee, let alone the national parliament.

Interesting times, they say.

Election Day 2016. I have been saying for a while that the Government will be returned and that is what I expect will happen. Happy to eat my words though.

Democracy has its problems and it may well be that democratic systems are not sustainable over great lengths of time. Greek democracy disappeared and the ideals embodied in Ancient Athens remained dormant for over 1500 years. But looking at the long line of people today standing peaceably, even cheerfully, as they shuffled slowly into the polling station, was encouraging.

Democracy is, to cite an oft quoted comment, the least bad system there is. And that's just fine, in such an imperfect world.

You already knew, nothing lasts forever...