Essays

                                                        Essays

I will praise the LORD, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me.                       (Psalm 16, v 7)

 Meet Michel de Montaigne!  Born in 1533, he was the inventor of the Essay as a literary form.  The word ‘essay’, from the French ‘essayer’, meaning ‘to try’, indicates that the writer is trying to formulate and then express his/her thoughts on a particular subject. 

In 16^th century France a civil war was raging between conventional Catholics and the Protestant Huguenots. There were frequent outbreaks of the deadly plague.  At the age of 38, Montaigne, a qualified lawyer, gave up legal practice and withdrew to his country estate, where he began to write his essays.  As the ‘religious’ war raged on, he found solace and inspiration in his library with his collection of works by famous classical Latin and Greek scholars.  He often wove quotations from Plato, Cicero, etc into his own writing. 

I once visited his chateau, and was thrilled to stand in his splendid library, where the rafters still bore several of his favourite quotations. Before leaving, I took a little memento of my visit by plucking a small sprig of the ivy which was growing wild on the estate.   

That evening there was a little coincidence!  I had carefully wrapped the ivy in wet tissues and placed it in a plastic bag in my suitcase.  Just as I was about to put the book of Essays beside it, I opened the book at random – and was immediately astonished to read a footnote with the English translation of a Latin quotation: ‘The ivy grows best when it grows wild’!

Back at home I planted the ivy beside the low wall in our front garden.  It was not long before the wall was covered in what our family referred to as ”Montaigne’s ivy”. When, twenty years later, I moved to my present home, I took a cutting of it with me. I planted it in a large flowerpot, having wound it round a wire fish which a friend had given me (symbol of the early Christians).  By then I had filled over fifty notebooks with ‘mini essays’, many of them about startling coincidences which I had come to think of as blessings, as ‘spiritual food’.  In writing about them I was trying to assimilate them into my own personal idea of normal everyday life.

Six years after my visit to the chateau, I found myself in a terrible dilemma.  The Scottish teachers’ biggest union, the E.I.S., had declared strike action, trying to force the Government to award us a long-overdue increase in salary.  This was desperately needed if well-qualified graduates were to be attracted to the teaching profession – to the benefit of all pupils.  I remembered only too well how tight our budget had been when Bob and I plus our three children had relied on his salary alone, forcing me back to the classroom two years before we had planned. As a member of the E.I.S. I was obliged to come out on strike - although I hated the idea.

My predicament was made worse by the constant memory of a pair of merry brown eyes!  They had belonged to a little girl who had played the recorder in a children’s music club at the local church. I remembered how they twinkled at me as she happily played a simple tune.  Since then her life had been difficult.  Her father had died very suddenly of a heart attack and her mother had become mentally unstable, with frequent visits to hospital. Now the girl was a teenager, and in one of my French classes, preparing for her Ordinary-Level exam.  She needed a pass in a language as part of her college application form, but I knew that her chance of success was very slim without constant attendance at school.  I could not bear the thought of those brown eyes clouding over with disappointment if she should fail, due to my absence.

What was I to do?  Bob was devoted to his pupils, but was adamant that a strike was now essential.  He was now in his third year of cancer treatment, and I did not want to upset him further by refusing to come out on strike with him.  Day after day I wrestled with my dilemma, praying, “Please God, show me what I should do.”

Then one morning, in the very early hours, I suddenly sat up in bed, knowing that I had been given the answer.  Words from Shakespeare’s Hamlet were ringing in my ears: ‘This above all, to thine own self be true.  It then must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’

Despite everything, I felt a sense of inner peace as I arranged to leave the E.I.S., join another, ‘no-strike’ union, and return to the school…  When, months later, the exam results came out, my brown-eyed pupil had failed by 1% - but on appeal, based on her written classwork, her mark was raised to 50% and I was given the lovely task of telling her the good news!   

Teachers did get a rise in salary, but much damage had been done to personal relationships within the schools.  The whole episode had been extremely traumatic. Never before having been someone to ‘step out of line’, I struggled to justify my decision - to myself.  Once again, I felt the urge to express my thoughts in writing, hoping that by so doing I could then reach a better idea of my own identity. The result was the following – not so much an Essay as a Fable!

“We are agreed, then”, declared the Lynx majestically.  “Meat is what we must have, and Meat we shall get.  No longer will they fob us off with Scraps fit only for their pitiful tame Cats and Dogs.   No! – Creatures such as Ourselves must have Meat”.

He glared at the company of Wolves, Foxes, Bears and Wild Cats assembled in the bleak Winter Landscape beside the old River Bridge. “I take it there are no Questions before we Act.”

“Ahem… if I may speak”, ventured a thin, mangy Urban Fox.  “From my recent forages around the City, there does indeed seem to be a shortage of Meat.”

“Enough!” roared the Lynx.  “You have been deceived!  Of course they have plenty of Meat both for Themselves and for the fat Creatures they keep in their Zoos.  Where is their Respect for Us?”  He growled.  “For far too long they have chosen to ignore Us Powerful Creatures in our own Land.  Alone, one pathetic weak Creature like you, Urban Fox, cannot succeed in finding Meat.  But UNITED, we have Limitless Power.  Look around and consider our cunning Brains, our far-seeing Eyes, our mighty Sinews, our sharp Teeth and Claws.  We will besiege their City and if they do not agree to give us Meat, we will threaten to eat their Children.  Then they will be Forced in their Terror to give us Meat.”

All the Carnivores roared their Approval and began to move towards the Bridge.  There was a sudden flash of Blue.  A small Kingfisher alighted on the Keystone of the Bridge.

“STOP! STAY THERE!” commanded the mighty Lynx.  “Are you Friend or Foe?”  He growled menacingly.  “Are you a SPY?”

“I was perched in yonder Thorn-Tree while you were making your Speech”, replied the Kingfisher calmly. “But I was not Spying.  I was Hunting.  You are all quite right.  Creatures such as you should have proper Respect and proper Meat.  But as for myself, I require a different sort of Food, and I hunt for it in a different way.  I …”

A flash of Blue – a sudden Splash – a flash of Blue and Silver.

“An odd Creature!” growled the Lynx.  “Not one of us.

 Now, Brothers, - Forward as One!”