Saturday 19 November 2011

Hens


Chickens, hens as a matter of fact, as cockerels are only there if you really want to breed your own replacements for a flock, so this is a true story about hens of long ago. Well, not so long ago really, just long ago to your lifetime as you were not alive then. The long ago I am telling about is the long ago that was in your grandmothers life, just about the time when I was to be added to her burdens, or perhaps a little before. She kept hens, lots of them. She kept them in a big orchard that lay in front of the house, stretching down the slope to the bottom of the valley, the other side of which was where the land rose and rose until it become that ridge of hills known as the Malvers. Once, even before my mother's time, the farm that clung to that hillside that faced the orchard had been my great-grandfather's; but that is so long ago that it hurts to think of, and is not to do with this story, but is another story entirely. I merely mention that farm and that hillside to set the scene of deep rural peace of an apple orchard stretching down to the bottom of a valley that faced those hills and that farm; an orchard that had hens pecking between those trees; hens that laid eggs; eggs that were collected each day from the movable chicken houses in which the hens roosted; eggs that were gathered in a wickerwork basket and then laid with care onto cardboard trays, twelve by twelve eggs to a tray, tray stacked on top of tray ready to be collected by the little van that would come for them a couple of times a week. Those were days of rationing when every egg laid was counted and recorded, collected and sent off to be stamped and packed so that everyone would get their share, townies and country folk alike.

'Tis a truth that every keeper of hens knows, that hens do not lay for ever, but each in their time reaches an age when, no matter how well cared for or cosseted, no matter how rich the grass is that they peck between, no matter how good their feed, no matter how blessed they are with where they live, they will no longer lay eggs, or so few as to render keeping them any longer quite without profit. At that time the only fate that is in store for them is to be killed for their meat. In those days of rationing hotels were only too pleased to have such culled hens for their chefs use their skills upon, turning them into this dish or that, and what was left, if any, into goodly stocks and soups.

My mothers hens ended their days being supplied to The West Malvern Hotel, a once grand institution that had seen its heydays when Malvern was a bustling spa town, and which, in-spite of the privations of rationing, still had pretensions to preserving the standards of its past. It was said that it still employed a French chef, a shore token that the food was, or at least tried to be, above the average - perhaps a standard not to difficult to achieve in the early years of post-war Britain.

Be their destination what-ever, those old hens chosen each week or so to end their time as layers, were usually taken by my father, flapping and squawking, held firmly by their feet, off to the old shed by the side of the house, where he did what what was need to be done by way of wringing their necks, leaving the plucking and dressing of the carcasses to be done by my mother when he had finished.

That is what usually happened, but this one time my father was away, called off on business somewhere. The hotel had rung in an order for four hens and would be expecting them on the next day, so my mother went and selected the hens to be killed, bore them off to the shed, and, summoning up all of the courage and strength that she could, set to the task of dispatching them. She was, as you may or may not remember, tiny. Barely five foot high, if she stood ramrod straight and tried to stretch up as far as she could, and no more than six stone even at her heaviest. Certainly she was wiry. Certainly she was determined. Certainly she would not flinch from whatever she felt must be done and would give every last fibre of strength to the doing of it.

Having dispatched the hens, and hung them up by their feet on the clothes line that was stretched across the shed roof for the purpose so that they would be ready for plucking, she set to and did just that, and soon four quite still and plucked hens were hanging ready for the morrow to be supplied to the hotel. Thus pleased with herself she left the shed, closed the door well against the coming of any predators who might only be too pleased to steal a fresh chicken for their supper: even if the fox may not steal in and take such a easy meal, the farm cat, or one of the dogs might think such a treat worth having.

Now, come later that day and my mother, having done what she must around the house and kitchen, came to time to feed the hens and shut them away safely in their houses for the night. The bins with the chicken feed in were in the same shed that was used for plucking the chickens, so she opened the door to collect the feed, only to be confronted by a sight she was completely unprepared for - four naked hens standing in the feed bins pecking down food as fast as they could.

My mother might well have been a country woman, and had no illusions about the niceties of such life, but she had heart, a heart that was touched by the sight before her. She knew only too well that she had failed to dispatch those four poor hens, and she knew too that she clearly had now neither the heart nor strength to make certain of their dispatch. Her best efforts at so doing had failed. What was to be done? The poor hens could not be returned naked to the flock, nor could she apparently make and end of them so that the hotel might have their order filled. My father was away for a few days, so he, with his greater strength and skill in such matters, was not there to be able to do what she so clearly could not.

Now she had a order from the hotel that she could not fill and four naked hens that could not be returned to the flock as they were.

She phoned the hotel and apologised for not being able to fill their order. That was the simple part, no matter how cross it made the manager and his chef. A few bleatings of “I am but a small and feeble woman all on her own without some strong man to do what must be done” soon sorted that out. Little did they know that she was about as feeble as a tank regiment, nor did they know that she was about as resourceful as an entire corp of intelligence officers.

Next morning an unusual sight was to beheld amongst the hens pecking away under the trees of the orchard. Four of their number happily and warmly dressed in brightly coloured, chicken shaped jumpers, each quite content with their new plumage and feeding merrily.

I never did hear tell of what was the eventual fate of those four hens, nor what my father's comments had been at the sight that has greeted him when he returned - but I can guess that it caused some hilarity in the village pub as the sight of four hens dressed in newly knitted and well fitting jumpers was not too often seen, even in those parts. 

 

Monday 17 October 2011

Language and Nation-Building

(with particular reference to the revival of Welsh, bilingualism and the establishment of parity of esteem with English)
Delivered at the Ivan Franko National University of L'viv, September 2011

Bore da / prynhawn da / noswaith dda as you might be greated in Wales (or good morning/ good afternoon/ good evening - as we would say in English) for English is not the only native language spoken in the United Kingdom. There are actually several linguistic minorities. Welsh, although having only about half a million speakers, is the largest of those.

When I was invited to give this talk the parallels between the survival of the Welsh language and the survival of Ukrainian struck me. I noticed how both languages had suffered from being dominated by the culture and language of more powerful neighbours; I noticed in particular the part that religious affiliations had played in their survival; I noticed how they both suffered from not having sufficient political power based within their linguistic communities; and I noticed the part that the language is playing in helping to build a sense of nationhood. I think these are points to keep in mind as I tell the tale of the survival and revival of the Welsh language.

As you travel west across the English Midlands you will in time come to a line of high hills, or little mountains, if you will, a place where the plough cannot so easily be sunk into the ground but where, upon those grassy hills, graze flocks of sheep, millions of sheep; and amongst whose valleys live a people whose ancient tongue, or at least something not too dissimilar to that tongue, was spoken at the time of the Roman Empire some two-thousand years ago. Perhaps – and here you may have to forgive a little bit of Celtic fantasy – something that is so rich within the traditions of that culture, a taste for extending reality somewhat, as it were – perhaps, as is a belief held by some, that even a certain Jesus of Nazareth, along with his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, visited the islands of Britain and who would therefore have heard that tongue spoken. But romantic Celtic Christian mythology apart, there is no doubt that Welsh, or at least its precursor, Brythonic, was the major language of the island of Britain from before the time of the Romans to the time of the coming of the Anglo-Saxon peoples. It was those Anglo-Saxon speakers who brought with them a language that would, in time, develop into English. A people who the Welsh speak of as the “Sais” and who they still regard as new-comers, whose speech is “plain” when compared to their own “poetic” tongue, for Welsh is seen as, above all, a poetic language.

Welsh” is not their own term for their language, but the English name for them and for their language, derived from “Walha“, Anglo-Saxon for “foreign speech". The Welsh for their own language is Cymraeg, and Cymru, “The place of the people”, is the name given to their country, which in English is know as “Wales”.

Welsh, or what is known as Old-Welsh, was in existence by the time of Taliesin the first poet of that language. He lived between 534CE and 599CE. Since his time there has been a literary tradition in the language. Modern Welsh speakers can indeed read and understand his poetry without too much difficulty. This makes Welsh one of the oldest living written languages in Europe.

So, there we have “Welsh” a language confined to the mountainous fringe of the far west side of the island of Britain. An area not unlike that of the Crimea in size, nor, given the mountains, not unlike it in terrain, but wet. If you can imagine a land where, in the hilliest parts, it can rain on 250 days of the year, where grey billowing clouds often shroud the land, where mists can envelop and wrap everything in greyness for days on end. A land where gales blow out of the Atlantic Ocean and tear and rattle at every standing thing until one wonders if anything can survive. That is the land of the Cymry – the Welsh.

It was a land in which the incoming Anglo-Saxon settlers were not interested. It did not suit their farming methods nor their ways of life. They were happy to leave those lands to the original inhabitants, save one or two well chosen areas that suited them better, which became English speaking enclaves within the lands of Wales.

Enter the French, or, as they are often referred to in English history, the Normans. In 1066 their invasion under their leader “William the Bastard”, or “William, Duke of Normandy” - “William the Conqueror” as he is more often known - first spread their rule over England and soon over the lower two-thirds of Wales. They formed a French speaking elite that ruled the lands of both England and Wales from their castles for the next 400 years. By 1282 all of Wales was under their dominion.

Thus, by the High Middle Ages, [1100CE – 1500CE approx] the Welsh were increasingly ruled by a French speaking elite, who made great use of English speakers as their agents and servants, and who often planted English speaking communities amongst the Welsh to act as trustworthy bastions in what they saw as an otherwise barbarian and potentially rebellious country: with the added benefit that these urban colonies would act as catalysts to civilise and stabilise the land. The French speaking elite also saw to it that the churches rang to the sounds of masses chanted in Latin, and that Latin, not Welsh, was the primary language used in the church. Thus French, English and Latin dominated the power structures of this imposed world.

The old language, the language of the Welsh, lived on in the valleys and in the daily lives of the Cymry (the Welsh), but, beyond the very few who were literate and who kept alive the poetic traditions, or who told and retold the heroic legends, myths and folk tales of the Mabinogion, the language had no real status. It was their tongue and it was what tied them together. Perhaps only the remoteness and difficulty of the terrain saved the language from vanishing. A fate suffered by Cymric, the related language of “Hen Ogledd” (the Old North), which may well have been the close in sound and form to Welsh, and to Cornish, both of which vanished. Cumric without much trace, except in some place names. Cornish, with the death of its last native monoglot speaker in 1676.

In 1485 the Welsh born prince, Henry Tudor, seized the throne of England, becoming thereby the first, and only, King of England to speak Welsh. This may well have been a time when Welsh might have risen in status and become accepted as one of the “de jure” languages of Britain, but it was not to be. In 1535, and further in 1542, Acts of the English Parliament, under the rule and direction of Henry VII's son, Henry VIII (perhaps best known for his having six wives, - but only one at a time, I might add, not six at once) were passed, uniting England and Wales. From then on, only English was to be the language of government, and of the law. This removed the last customary usage of Welsh as a language of governance and downgraded it by giving it no status. Only deeds and documents written in English would have any provenance. Only oaths given in English would have any value or reliance. This might well have led to Welsh suffering the same fate as that of Cumric, the language of “Hen Ogledd”, or Cornish: to its dwindling away and vanishing.

But Welsh did survive and did so because of two remarkable scholars, William Salesbury and William Morgan. In 1567 William Salesbury published his translation of the New Testament in Welsh. Also in 1567 a translation into Welsh of the Book of Common Prayer was made by the Bishop of St David's, Richard Davies (helped by William Salesbury). In 1588 William Morgan published his translation of the whole of the Bible in Welsh, both the Old and New Testaments. That translation served as the standard text in churches in Wales until very recent times, only beginning to be replaced by a modern versions in 1966. Because of those two scholars' work, from then on throughout all of Wales, the people heard the word of God in their own language and came to associate their language very strongly with godliness. English might well be the language you needed for trade, or for dealing with matters of government and the law, but Welsh was the language of the church and thus, in many Welsh minds, of God.
In addition to having the Bible in Welsh, and a very correct and proper Welsh at that, there was an English – Welsh dictionary, also written by William Salesbury and published in 1547. This gave the language a reference point with which it could standardise, at least its literary application.

This leads to an interesting distinction made in Welsh between literary Welsh and colloquial Welsh. Spoken Welsh may be of either the North Welsh or of the South Welsh, and each is indeed different, but Literary Welsh is standard. It is a language to aspire to when writing, or when reading poetry or the bible. It is both more formal and more elegant. How something is said is most important. It must above all sound right and there are very strict rules about how that is to be achieved.

This flowering of literary Welsh was made possible by the Reformation of the Church ordered by Henry VIII. His final split with the Roman Catholic Church in 1534 set the scene for the emergence of a Protestant dominated church in both England and Wales, which, following the inspiration of Martin Luther, laid much stress on the importance of the bible being available to the people in their own language and in the services of the church being held in their own language as well. This lead to the translations of the Bible into both into English (the Great Bible of 1539) and into Welsh (1588), and to the creation of the “Book of Common Prayer” (1549 in English & 1567 in Welsh).

The re-establishment of the Church of England, with the monarch as the head of that church, lead to the passing of The Act of Uniformity in 1559, upon the succession of Elizabeth I, who reinstated the reforms made by her Father, Henry VIII and her brother, Edward VI; thus overturning her sister's Mary's returning the church to the Catholic jurisdiction of Rome. Once more the Church in both England and Wales became Protestant and the Act of Uniformity was passed to ensure that all of her subjects conformed to the protestant practices of her church as laid down in the Book of Common Prayer. Any who did not conform to these practices became know as “nonconformists” and were liable to prosecution for not attending her reformed church.

At first most “nonconformists” were Catholics who wanted to adhere to the old faith and whose loyalty to the Crown was often suspect. There were indeed Catholic plots against the emergent protestant ascendancy, culminating in the Gun Powder Plot of 1605. But in time the term “nonconformist” came to be used more to denote those protestants who refused to attend the established church because of their beliefs, such as the Baptists, Congregationalists and Presbyterians (and later, Quakers, Unitarians and, most importantly for the Welsh, Methodists). The restatement of the Act of Uniformity in 1662 and the Test Acts of 1673 and 1678, which required that any office holder must take part in the sacrament of Holy Communion according to the rites of the Church of England, re-enforced the dominance of the Church of England and the privileged position afforded to its members.

Thus for the next two hundred years, Welsh remained as the language of the valleys and of the church. This association between Welsh and the church grew much stronger when the idea of circulating schools to teach children to read the bible first spread following the work of Griffith Jones. It is estimated that perhaps 200,000 people learned to read the Bible in Welsh because of these schools. This made a very receptive audience for the Methodist revival that started in the mid eighteenth century. Government, the law and authority might well all come in English, but the teachings of the church, its services, the bible and the sermons of the preachers were all in Welsh, and when these preachers became more and more influenced by the Methodist movement, so the foundations were laid for the creation of a very Welsh institution: the Calvinistic Methodist Presbyterian Church of Wales. That was founded in 1823 and soon every town and village had its Chapels where Welsh was the medium of worship, of literature and of life.

The adoption of Methodism by a majority of Welsh people meant that they embraced a nonconformist faith, one that separated them form the established church, setting them outside the establishment and, until the repeal of the Test Acts, debarred them from holding office or attending universities. This increased the marginalisation of the Welsh speaking communities.

It also had an interesting effect on the Welsh language in three ways. Firstly, it produced a substantial body of literature in the form of sermons and books of theology; secondly, it lead to the writing of many hymns in Welsh, re-enforcing the poetic use of that language; and thirdly, by making the language so closely associated with the Chapel and the self-discipline encouraged by the Methodism they preached, that it led to a purifying of the Welsh language by the removal of all swear words from it, and by making speakers feel disinclined ever to express blasphemies or profanities in it; an effect that still holds good even today. It is not uncommon to hear a Welsh speaker come out of speaking Welsh and to start to speak in English so that they may say something unpleasant, as if as to preserve the purity of their Welsh by not defiling it with foul words, but confining such speak to a language that they feel deserves to be polluted as it is a degraded and alien language, the tongue of the often despised Sais.

The Chapel was indeed the hub of life. It was where everything that might happen, did happen. They were as much a community centre as a church. It was the chapel that provided education for the children, so that they might read the Bible. It was the chapel that provided care and help for the vulnerable and elderly. It was the chapel that ran the local events; talks by itinerant speakers, poetry readings, plays, the choir, the brass band, and with the coming of the railways, even the annual day out at the seaside.

It was the chapels that even inspired and organised the collections of money for the founding of the University of Wales. Its first colleges, at Aberystwyth [1872] and then Bangor [1884], were largely paid for by collections made from the miners, quarrymen and working people of Wales. Much of the collecting was done by itinerant preachers who saw the importance of having higher education open to ordinary people. The university was also seen as a vehicle for preserving, advancing and sustaining the Welsh language: both colleges having departments for the study of the Welsh language and for the study of Welsh History.

Along with the establishment of Universities in Wales came the opportunity to further the cause of the Welsh language even more by establishing a National Library of Wales, which would contain as much Welsh language material as possible alongside materials in English that related to Wales. In 1873, just one year after the opening of the University College of Wales at Aberystwyth, came the founding of the collection at that University which grew to become the National Library of Wales. The library itself finally receiving its charter in 1907.

The nineteenth century also saw the publication of the first concise and complete dictionaries of Welsh, most often compiled by members of the clergy such as Daniel Silvan Evans, whose massive work became the foundation for the University of Wales Dictionary of the Welsh Language [GEIRIADUR PRIFYSGOL CYMRU].

But it was not just the clergy with their academic interests in preserving, recording and promoting the language who had an impact in the nineteenth century, a far more popular and inclusive force was the re-establishment of the ancient tradition of the eisteddfod. The word eisteddfod is derived from the Welsh word “eistedd”, meaning "to sit", and “bod meaning "to be" and therefore means "to be sitting" or "to be sitting together" ("bod" is softly mutated1 into "fod"). It was a coming together of people to celebrate the Welsh language by competing in literature, music and performance, all carried out through the medium of the Welsh language.

Part of the inspiration behind the establishment of the first national eisteddfod at Llangollen in 1858, had been a desire to show that Welsh was a cultured and worthy medium as a reaction to the anger aroused by the report on education in Wales published in 1847 that depicted the Welsh speakers as:

..ignorant, lazy and immoral, and that among the causes of this were the use of the Welsh language and nonconformity”.

These books called Reports of the commissioners of enquiry into the state of education in Wales” published in 1847 are know in Wales as The Treachery of the Blue Books”. The equating of the Welsh speakers' overwhelming preference for the Welsh-speaking Methodist Chapels and their nonconformist belief and practices, with both laziness and immorality, wounded the pride those people felt in their language, their beliefs, their communities and their chapels. This was the fuel needed for a demonstration of the worthiness of the language and of the people who used that language.

The highest accolade given at that eisteddfod was then, as it still is, The Chair, awarded for the best poetry written in traditional form of very strict metre, and The Crown, awarded for the best free verse. Just two people have achieved the double award of both a chair and a crown, and both of them have achieved it twice.

Also as part of the eisteddfod movement came the creation of the Gorsedd, the community of Ovates, Bards and Druids, membership of which can only be achieved by passing an examination in the Welsh language. To be admitted to the Gorsedd is the highest honour that a member of the Welsh speaking community can aspire to. It places accomplishment in the Welsh language above all other possible achievements and reflects the pride felt in the language by the people and confirms the very special status given to the language as defining Welshness.

But just as there were advances in the status and position of Welsh in the second half of the nineteen century so there were setbacks, especially in education. In common with most of the emerging nation-states of the post Napoleonic period governments wished to weld their subject peoples into nations and the one instrument above all used to attempt to achieve this was language. As elementary education spread during the second half of the nineteenth century, fast becoming universal in most European counties, it brought with it teaching in the preferred language of the state, that language chosen to unite the peoples, French in France, German in Germany, Italian in Italy, Spanish in Spain and, of course, Russian throughout the Russian Empire. In the case of Britain it was English that was chosen as the medium for all elementary education, and a standardised form of English at that.

To see that pupils conformed to this new, more standardised, English, strict discipline was applied. Pupils who used either a dialect of English or used one of the minority languages2 of Britain were routinely punished. In the case of the Welsh speaking communities the “Welsh Not” was sometimes used. Any pupil heard speaking Welsh would be made to wear a piece of wood with the letters WN for “Welsh Not” inscribed upon it. They were allowed to pass it on to any other pupil they heard using the language, which they had good reason to do, for the unfortunate who happened to be wearing it at the end of the day might be lashed as a punishment.

Interestingly, the report into education in Wales published in 1847, which gave so much impetuous to the founding of the National Eisteddfod, roundly condemned the practice as being “arbitrary and cruel”. When universal education finally came after 1888, when the School Boards were absorbed by the County Councils, most primary education in Welsh speaking districts was carried out in Welsh. This may be one of those cases where hurt nationalist pride about such things having happened to a few has become a belief that the practice was common.

But what was a massive limitation on the use of Welsh was the fact that no secondary education (11-18) was carried out via the medium of Welsh. All teaching using the language ceased at the end of the primary or elementary stage at 12 years old, or (after 1918) 14 years old. Access to secondary, further or higher education was only through the medium of English.

It is not to surprising to find that the estimated numbers of Welsh speakers declined through the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as advantage was only given to those who were fluent in English. This marginalisation of the language was compounded by the fact that all law and governance were exercised in English, as had been the case since the acts of union with England in 1535 and 1542; and that increasingly business and commerce were also conducted in English as more goods and services were provided from England or by English businesses.

Thus, at the turn of the twentieth century, we find Welsh to be a declining and marginalised language. In the industrial districts the numbers of Welsh speakers had been diluted by the influx of English speakers as well as having been abandoned by the native population. The 1931 census records that in some areas of Wales less than 6% of the population were Welsh Speakers. It was only in the more rural and remote areas that Welsh was still widely spoken, by as much as 80% of the population or more.

The decline was compounded by the advent of radio broadcasting and the cinema in the 1920s and 1930s, and further compounded by the arrival of television in the 1950 and 1960s as these media were dominated by the English language output. Thus the major sources of information, and of entertainment in people's homes, came via the medium of English. The 1961 census recorded a decline in Welsh speaking from 36% of the total population in 1931 to 26% thirty years later. Some authorities even suggested that Welsh might become extinct in just one or two generations.

But the nineteenth century had laid some foundations for the survival of the language. There was the National Library of Wales, The University of Wales with its departments of Welsh and of Welsh History, there were the elementary schools in the Welsh speaking districts that taught through the medium of Welsh, and there were the eisteddfods, especially the National Eisteddfod.

But the problem for the survival of the language was the situation of Wales, with its tiny population of only about 2.5 millions, set against the much bigger population of England, some 14 times bigger, and a Wales where only about one third of the population still spoke Welsh; where government services and the law were carried on exclusively in English; where the majority of goods and services were supplied from England and with packaging and instructions only in English; where the major sources of information and entertainment were predominantly available only in English; where education above the age of 14 came only via the medium of English; where all that seemed to be fashionable, new, inventive, exciting or relevant to modern life came via the medium of English. It seemed that Welsh was disappearing under a tide of English with which it just could not compete. For it to survive it had to find a niche, or value, or relevance in people's lives where it contributed something that English did not; and it needed people who were prepared to campaign for its survival, to make its survival important.

In 1925 Plaid Cymru, the Welsh Nationalist party was founded and it made its first objective, not home rule for Wales or Welsh independence, but the survival of the language as a way of giving dignity and status to the people of Wales.

In the 1930s there was a campaign to get the British Broadcasting Corporation, the only radio broadcaster allowed by law in Britain, to increase the number of programmes it put out in Welsh. Many Welsh speakers refused to pay the annual licence fee required by any household that had a radio. Eventually the BBC did start transmitting some regular programmes in Welsh.

The Welsh programmes had to be broadcast through a transmitter located on the English coast in Somerset, which also transmitted programmes in English intended to be heard in the South-west of England. This led to competition for air-time between programmes made for English language listeners in both the South-west and Wales, and for those Welsh-language listeners who lived in those parts of Wales where the signal could be received. As most of the Welsh speaking districts were beyond the range of the transmitters there was only a very small potential audience for the programmes in Welsh. The result was that the program director for the West argued that when:

His Majesty’s Government decided to form a corporation for the important function of broadcasting, it was natural that the official language (i.e. English) should be used throughout”

This was the context for the struggle waged from the late 1920s to the mid-1930s by the University of Wales, The National Union of Welsh Societies, the Welsh Parliamentary Party and Plaid Cymru (the Welsh Nationalist Party). The upshot was the establishment of a studio at Bangor in November 1935, the appointment of a Welsh Regional Director in September 1936, the erection of a transmitter at Penmon (Llangoed) to serve North Wales in February 1937 and the allocation of a separate wavelength to the Welsh Service in July 1937. The programmes of the Welsh Service were mainly in English, with only a few hours per week being in the Welsh language.

It was not until 1977, after many years of campaigning, and after a period of civil disobedience involving the climbing of radio masts and attacks on the premises of the broadcasting authorities, that Radio Cymru, a dedicated Welsh-language radio station, was created and began to broadcast.

Similarly, a campaign to have a Welsh-language television channel, again involving civil protests, such as a licence fee boycott, including direct action such as attacks on transmitters and even a threatened hunger strike, resulted in the creation of S4C, the Welsh language television channel, in 1982. The British government of the day was originally against the setting up of the station but changed its mind as a result of the protests, especially that of the threatened hunger strike of the then leader of Plaid Cymru, Gwynfor Evans.

In 1955 Wales was given a capital city when Cardiff, the biggest city was chosen. This was perhaps a significant step in recognising Wales as a separate entity.

However, there was still no education above the elementary level dispensed in the Welsh-language until the opening of Ysgol Glan Clwyd in 1956. This was the first secondary school (11-18 year olds) to teach pupils through the medium of Welsh. The school set an example of how Welsh could be successfully used in education, and demonstrated that pupils whose first language was Welsh were more likely to be successful if they were taught mainly through the medium of that language.

In 1962, Saunders Lewis, one of the founders of Plaid Cymru, gave a talk on the English language Radio Wales, entitled “The Fate of the language” in which he expressed his fears about its possible demise. His pessimism was in response to the fall in the number of Welsh speakers in the population from about one in three to about one in four. In reaction to it Cymdeithas yr Iaith Gymraeg (The Welsh Language Society), or Cymdeithas as it is usually known, was founded,

During World War II – what I believe is referred to as “the great patriotic war” here in the Ukraine – because of the threat of invasion by Germany, road signs and place name signs were removed throughout Britain. When they were replaced after the war many of the place names were anglicised, mainly by giving the places English spellings, for instance, Caernarfon was turned into Carnarvon. Additionally, all road signs were in English only.

This provided the first target for members of the society. They started a campaign to have Welsh names correctly written on signs. By combining civil disobedience, direct action and protest they drew attention very effectively to the grievance that Welsh speakers felt about the misuses and exclusion of their language. Now all road signs in Wales are bilingual and most place names have reverted to their Welsh spellings.

In 1964 the British government created the post of “Secretary of State for Wales” and transferred to his office in Cardiff some of the functions of government that until then had been carried out in London.

As a result of an enquiry into the state of the Welsh language instigated by the new Secretary of State for Wales, the Welsh Language Act of 1967 was passed by the British parliament and for the first time gave people the right to use Welsh in legal proceedings and gave permission for Welsh to be used on official forms and documents.

Following the success of Ysgol Glan Clwyd, the first secondary school in Wales to teach through the medium of Welsh, and in response to the language campaigns, more Welsh medium schools were opened in the Welsh speaking districts. Today about 20% of secondary education in Wales is carried out in the Welsh-language. Additionally, all children in Wales are now required to study the Welsh language up till the age of 16.

The Welsh Language Act of 1993 put Welsh and English on an equal footing in law, government and in the provision of public services. It also set up the Welsh Language Board to promote the language and to ensure compliance with the regulations concerning the providing of services in Welsh.

As a result to the 1997 referendum the much of the functions of government were devolved to an elected Welsh Assembly that meets in Cardiff. That assembly has accepted a policy of parity between the two languages used in Wales and has pursued a policy of bilingualism.

The census of 1991 indicated that the use of Welsh had stabilised at about 18.5% of the population. The 2001 census showed that the decline had be reversed with about 20.5% of the population being Welsh speaking. Recent surveys suggest that the recovery has continued, with perhaps about 22% of the population now using Welsh in their daily lives.

Bilingualism does have its funny side, especially in those areas that are predominately English-speaking. Recently much fun was had about a road sign put up in Swansea, one of the larger towns in South Wales. The sign read in English No entry for heavy goods vehicles. Residential site only” and, underneath, where it should have said the same in Welsh it read "I am not in the office at the moment. Send any work to be translated"

Cyclists between Cardiff and Penarth in 2006 were left confused by a bilingual road sign telling them they had problems with an "inflamed bladder" instead of informing them that it was a “Cycle Path”.
In the same year, a sign for pedestrians in Cardiff reading 'Look Right' in English read 'Look Left' in Welsh.

Conclusions

  • That minority languages can be sustained if there is the will to do so on part of their users.
  • That parity of esteem is essential for the survival of a minority language.
  • That educational provision plays a crucial role in the process of survival, especially in providing education in people's first language, but also by providing an opportunity for non-speakers to learn the language, particularly when they are young.
  • That the creation of institutions such as libraries and university language departments for the study and preservation of a the language are essential.
  • That legislation requiring bilingualism in the provision of services, in legal proceedings, and in government forms, documents and processes is essential.
  • That the use of a language in creative activities such as drama, poetry and music strengthens respect for the language and encourages its continued use.
  • That the media, especially radio and television, and the associated resources, such as recording studios and transmission time, are important in encouraging the survival of a minority languages, because to survive the language must be spoken not just written.
  • That there is a respect for, and a pride in, the language and for the feelings of Welshness that it confers, even among the Anglophonic majority.
  • That pride in the sound and colour of the language, in its words and forms, in its very artistry in the mouth, in its nuances and niceness of expression, are what will carry it into the hearts of its users and sustain its survival.
  • That a language, even a minority language, can help build a sense of shared value across a country, a sense of place, a sense of identity, even amongst the non-speakers of that language, because it conveys something unique, something special about that land and about being in that land.
  • That minority languages can be the victim of the nation-building desires and the political ambitions of the states within which they exist, sometimes as a consequence of policy, sometimes as a consequence of disregard, sometimes as a consequence of neglect.
  • That there is a danger of creating ethnic divides unless bilingualism is encouraged.
  • That, sometimes, by educating the young exclusively in a minority language, especially if that language does not have sufficient breadth of resources, particularly in sciences and technology, they can be disadvantaged in the wider society of which they are part. There may even, at worst, be a danger of ghettoisation.


David Lockyer,
Harwich
2011
1For those interested in mutation in the Welsh-language please see the text of my talk on Anglo-Welsh Literature.
2Welsh, Gaelic, Manx, Cornish, French Patois, Scots, Norn, Romany, Cant (Shelta), Cumbric

Friday 8 July 2011

Are there times when pacifism is not useful?

All values are negotiable in the face of reality, they need to be to function, and this includes pacifism. It is a principle. It is a guide. It sets a priority - the priority of the avoidance of the use of force. But we also have the duty of the protection of others, especially the weak and vulnerable. For instance, to stand by and watch a child being tortured and not to intervene because intervening would entail the use of force, would clearly be wrong.

Consider the Iranian Embassy siege in London in 1980. Once the hostage takers had started carrying out their threat to kill a hostage every few hours if their demands were not met by killing one of the hostages and throwing his body out of the building, then it became clear that the only way to save the remaining hostages would be by the use of force. To have continued the pacifist approach of negotiation after that point would have been a moral failure in the light of the duty to protect.

Values are not inflexible guides to action like iron rails laid across reality that require you to travel along them regardless of what is encountered. They are more like compass bearings that guide you in the right direction around the obstacles that are encountered.

For a pacifist force is the last resort, and the minimisation of its use is the aim. The inverse is the militarist, for whom the use of force, or the threat of force, is a sign of strength and for whom the maximisation of threat the aim. The pacifist negotiates, the militarist coerces or overawes. A pacifist is saddened by the use of force and feels that its use is the result of the failure of other paths. A militarist extols the use of threats and of force and feels justified, or even glorified, by their use.

The American Supreme Court has enshrined the militarist view by confirming the right of citizens to possess guns. The British have enshrined pacifism by outlawing their possession. Americans take it as their right to commit an act, that of possessing a hand gun, which would render their British counterpart liable to five years imprisonment should they even attempt to do so. A militarist version of liberty as opposed to pacifist version of liberty.

The real issue maybe where the default is set. For instance, the American police routinely carry guns, only setting them aside in special circumstances. The British police routinely do not have guns, only carrying them in special circumstances.

Likewise, many forms of self-defence rely on deflecting an aggressor’s force against them rather than on initiating the force. This is much of the basis of Judo and of Tai Chi amongst others. Aikido, especially, teaches special concern for the wellbeing of an attacker; their attack should be effectively repulsed and their efforts should be neutralised without any harm being done to them.

Likewise, I think there is a question of priorities of investment. Do we invest more time, effort and money in militarism or in pacifism? To which do we give the greater esteem? Which do we celebrate more in our arts and entertainment? Which path do we bring our young up to admire?

It is not that force is never necessary or that there is not some need for martial preparedness or training, or even occasionally intervention (Kosovo – where it was used effectively to stop ethnic cleansing: Rwanda – where, perhaps, it should have been used to stop ethnic cleansing but was not). It is rather a question of priority. The militarist makes much play by use of some cleaver double think that suggests that excessive military investment and preparedness is warranted by the very occasional necessity of resorting to the use of force. A case of massive over-preparation? That overspend necessitates a reciprocal massive underspend on what may be a far more effective and constructive use of resources.

Here is a site that may provide some food for thought.


A slight aside, but reflecting on the “Are there times when pacifism is not useful?” I wonder about the somewhat utilitarian perspective implied. The questions arise, useful to whom and useful to what end? Although, it does function to remind of the relativity of all values.

Thursday 23 June 2011

The Best of British Education

What characterises the best of the British boarding school tradition? I would say it was the remorseless brutality that ground the soul out of you - that's about the finest measure. Very character building! Took me a couple of breakdowns to wash the place out of me. Now, exactly what was it? The random violence of the staff or the persistent violence of the boys ? Which did the most damage? Boarders cooped up 24/7 turning on each other; prefects that ran the place through terror; staff that were on the edge of perversion - take your pick.

Some scenes for you to conjure with. I witnessed all of these during the five years I spent boarding between the age of thirteen and eighteen. Formative years indeed.

1
The Senior prefects' room. Two prefects have thrown a 15 year old into the corner behind one of their armchairs and are kicking him. He crawls out of the corner and leaves the room with blood around his mouth.

2
Two sub-prefect/dormitory leaders taking a fourteen year old boy out onto the top of main block fire escape. One hold him over the rails by his heels. The other lies down on the fire escape floor with his arms out through the bars waiting to catch the unfortunate. They torment the boy with false releases before they try-out their "drop and catch" for real.

3
One of the above sub-prefects, who later left to join the South African Police, where he no doubt put to good use the skills he had learned, hanging a 13 year old boy from the ceiling by his wrists with a rope until he "confessed". He also tried suspending boys by their thumbs. A question of tying a good slip knot in a fine enough cord, I think. Bit of a perfectionist really. Kept trying differing methods to see which worked best.

4
A classroom full of boarders, each filing past a seated boy and each and every one hitting him around the head with their books as they left the room. I am as guilty as the rest in this. The sport of "get S____" continued for weeks until he ran away from school, a completely broken person. The "getting" included his bed, locker, possessions, everything that was to do with him in any way.

5
A sub-prefect carving his initials into a 14 year old boy's arm each meal time. The carving was done with a blunt dinner knife. Salt was rubbed into the wound each time. It took six weeks of doing this every day until he was satisfied with the permanently raised initials. The child concerned will carry those carved initials for the rest of his life.

6
The punishment of "blading". Younger boys being hit on the back of the hand with dinner knife blades. Sixth-formers competing to see who could "score" the most "bleeds".

7
Buggery was rampant amongst most of the younger boarders. It seemed to die away by about 15 to 16. I didn't join the school until the 3rd year [13-14 year olds]. One boy was surprised that I missed out. He confessed to me that he had done it with many of the boarders in the year. I think most boys had experimented between the ages of 12 and 14.

8
When I was 16, having my head slammed repeatedly against the hall wall by a prefect for singing out of tune. He held me by the hair and slammed my head into the wall between bouts of shouting at me. I was dazed after. In retrospect I think I may have had some degree of concussion.

9
Being caned so hard by the headmaster that the skin on my buttocks burst. I had to peel my pants out of the wounds that night. They were stuck to me by the congealed blood.

10
Being knifed in the shoulder by another pupil. The knife hit the bone and stuck in. I still carry the small, but non-the-less real, scar.

11
Being caned by the then Rural Science/ Biology teacher - we called him “Digger” . He overheard me using a swear word in conversation with another boy. I was 17 at the time. He organised for me to go to the lab at the top of one of the old block at the end of school. There he caned me. At that time the legal maximum was six strokes. I counted to six - he carried on to twelve. When he had finished and told me to stand up and face him. I turned with my head down. I was determined that not only would I not cry out, that I had achieved, but I was also determined that not so much as one sign of pain or one trace of a tear would be found. To do this the form was to slowly raise your eyes to theirs and show them that you don't care - that was the best way to show contempt. Whilst raising my eyes from ground level I noticed that he had a large erection. I suppose the extra half dozen were for him, not for me.

12
A teacher, who we called “Tojo”, dragging a boy out of his seat and throwing him down on the floor before flailing about the boy with a cane. I have no idea how long the attack lasted. It happened every lesson for some weeks. “Tojo” gave up teaching soon after to play piano on a cruise ship, so I guess boys were not the only victims.

13
At one of the termly dances when girls were allowed to come into the school, one unfortunate girl refused to dance with one of the boys. Two other boys took her outside, held her against a wall and repeatedly kneed her in the crutch.

I was quite good at keeping my head down and fared a lot better than many.

As for the staff – where to begin? The P.E. teacher - no, he wasn't the worst. He certainly had his moments and never missed an opportunity for a good caning and did indulge in setting very early morning runs around the school field as a punishment so that the unfortunate boy would start the day exhausted. Then there was the R.E teacher who was a little bit too caring and affectionate towards the boys. But the worst? That honour probably does to the perverted duo of Bruiser (can't remember his proper name) and 'slop. They were both boarding masters in charge of the same block, one floor each. They took a deep pleasure in inflicting pain. Bruiser would go out drinking, return drunk, and then drag boys out of bed in order to cane them. 'sop preferred that the caning was done with an eye to his later sexual pleasure. Wonderful duo.

However, I have a suspicion that it had been even worse before my time.
It was only in 1948 that the last boy was birched in front of the whole school.

Thursday 14 April 2011

The Sport of Priest Frightening

Let me introduce you to the new sport of "priest frightening" at which I am now the world's leading exponent.

First, find a church that is open. A much harder task than you might think in the UK, where closed, abandoned, lock, disused, converted and walled up churches are much more the norm. Having found one that is open you need to sneak in whilst it is in use. The sneaking in is quite important, because you must give no warning of your presence at the back of the church. Sneaking is best done whilst the priest is engaged in reciting prayers to a tinny congregation in a side chapel. His droning - of course these days it may be her droning - and the mumbled responses of the congregation should mask any noise that you might make. Sit yourself at the edge of one of the aisle so that you can see into the side chapel and so both watch and hear what is going on. Sit very quietly. Perhaps meditate a little or muse on the words being used in the service. It is a very good idea to be seated in this contemplative manner directly in the line of sight of the priest when he, or she, processes out of the side chapel at the ending of the service. It works wonders, or at least it worked wonders this morning.

A green priest, no, he was not literally green but was robbed in almost emerald green vestments - I do worry about the transvestite tendencies of the priesthood - was officiating at the office of holy communion to a small and mainly elderly congregation. After a long session of prayers and responses - actually I do not think it was that long, it just seemed it - he started the stuff with the bread and wine. After the appropriate blessing of these - much holding up, folding of cloths, and intoning - he began to administer the rite by calling up the congregation and letting each in turn kneel at the altar and receive their sliver of communion bread and their sip of wine. "The body of Christ". "The blood of Christ" - Christianity is a very macabre religion I think - very macabre.

Having administered the rite, the priest then brought the service to a close, wiping the plate and chalice clean, folding the cloths and draping them, blessing the congregation and, finally, solemnly processing out of the side chapel so that, now unseen to the congregation, his last words were addressed to the high alter in the main part of the church.

Thus, having closed the service he began his stately and holy walk towards the back of the church. By now he is directly facing me, but has not yet realised that I am there, sat as I am quietly and contemplatively in the side pews. As he processes he suddenly sees me. A look of total shock and surprises crosses his face and he gasps out a load scream of horror. It echoes through the vaults. It echoes down the aisles. It echoes in the transepts. It echoes in the side chapels. He is for the moment dumbstruck with terror and, transfixed, can not move or say a word, his face frozen, his eyes wide with fear.

The horror on the priest face does not abate and, for a moment, I think he might rise a burning crucifix and threaten me with instant exorcism, or grab holy water to throw in my direction. There is little doubt of my satanic presence. I did wonder whether he might pass out with shock and fall to the ground. His face was quite ashen. 

There are sounds of members of the congregation suddenly standing, some rushing out of their places so that they may see, others craning their necks. I fear that some might have started looking for wooden stakes or bunches of garlic. Others extending their hands for more physical means of attack, - chairs, crosses, whatever they can lay their hands on. They clearly mean to defend their priest.

Eventually the priest gathered himself, and making some sort of effort to compose his face, not too successfully, he lurched forward and came up to where I sat. There, as if in doubt that I could be anything other than an unholy apparition, he proceeded to keep patting me on the head, the shoulders, the arms, everywhere he could reach. It was as if he desperately needed to convince himself that I was ordinary flesh and blood. He persisted with this so much, whilst mouthing apologies - but not in a voice that would have convinced anyone - that it was quite clear that he did not trust that I was actually harmless. He voice still trembled. I was as if he would not have been totally surprised had I suddenly belched fire and taken wing.

By now members of the congregation, at least those who could manage to walk unaided, had rushed out of the chapel and were staring at me, not quite certain that I was safe, not quite certain that I would not strike their priest down dead with some hurled brimstone, or cause his body to spiral through the air to come to rest suspended above the alter, or be smashed through the stained glass windows.

I smiled at the priest, wishing that he would stop pawing me, and said " I always suspected that I had horns" raising my hands and making their shape over my head. The priest looked genuinely uncertain at this. I do not think he was in the mood for humour!

Eventually he wobbled his way shakily off to his vestry, not yet looking totally convinced that I was not in reality a satanic presence.

Slowly, one or two of the braver members of the congregation approached me and tentatively said good morning to me. I do not think they would have been completely surprised if I had breathed fire at them.

I rose, I am not sure they did not back away just a little, and quietly made my way into the main aisle, where I took some time examining the interior of the church. Some other of the braver members of the congregation came over and also said hello. But I did note that quite a few others made their way, with what best speed they could, considering their age and infirmity, out of the church, with sidelong glances at me, just in case. I do not think they felt totally safe.

On leaving the I thought it best to speak to the priest to reassure him that I was mostly harmless, but I got the impression he was not absolutely sure.