Why do
different rules
apply to women?
Hamish Mackay
Those Oban fireworks
She had the eternal youth
that an inquiring
mind possesses
Judith Jaafar
Wake up, Arab world
The Cafe 2
I always enjoy the contributions of Judith Jafaar, which are usually characterised by refreshing good sense, but have to admit to finding her most recent contribution (3 November) more than a little naive.
After reading her piece, where she rightly acknowledges the achievement of the SNP in winning convincingly at Holyrood in the face of almost unanimous hostility from the mainstream media, I am more convinced than ever that John Milne’s suggested involvement in the independence debate of independent economists is right. The views of some experienced international lawyers would be useful too.
I am broadly sympathetic to the nationalist cause, but have a number of concerns about the long-term viability of a completely independent Scotland. These are mainly to do with the issue of how a small country, with a comparatively small number of high-rate taxpayers, can fund itself in the long term. The oil won’t last forever. Scotland will presumably have to set up her own NHS and benefits system – how has this been costed? I am extremely anxious to know the answers to these questions, but the last person from whom I would expect a straight answer would be a politician.
I am old and cynical enough to know that no one political party has the monopoly on creative accountancy. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be inclined to place complete trust in the SNP’s ‘economic projections’, any more than I would those of any political party. They do, after all, have a vested interest in securing my vote.
Judith Jafaar is quite right to point out the exposure of lies which have been peddled by some unionists – but experience continues to teach us that all politicians are capable of ‘economy with the truth’ when it suits their own ends. The SNP have, admittedly, acquitted themselves fairly well in this regard so far, particularly in comparison with Labour – Scotland’s very own ‘Nasty Party’ – and have earned themselves some well-deserved goodwill from across the political spectrum as a result, but it’s early days.
The issues and questions which face the Scottish electorate at this point in our history are momentous, and far too important to be left to self-interested politicians. The more expert, independent and disinterested economic advice and guidance we can get, the better. By the time of the referendum, we need to be as well informed as we can be, and to ask all the awkward and difficult questions which this situation presents – not just the ones that are most convenient for the politicians.
Bob Low
Today’s banner
Faces in the crowd, Remembrance Sunday, Glasgow 2009
Photograph by
Islay McLeod
Faces of Scotland
A month of character studies by Islay McLeod
5. Men of Sanquhar
Forgive me.
I may have told you
this before
Walter Humes
From the perspective of youth, elderly people can be a major source of irritation. They are perceived as slow, out of touch, intolerant of noise, and ever-ready to express disapproval. What attracts less comment is the fact that elderly people can also be a major source of irritation to their contemporaries. They manage to annoy each other, not just the young.
Some of the reasons are straightforward and attributable to physical decline. People who are losing their hearing and require statements to be repeated several times can provoke a degree of annoyance, particularly if they are reluctant to admit that there is a problem, and disinclined to seek medical help. Others are only too willing to share their health issues with friends and relatives, assuming that their latest symptoms are a source of fascination to all.
I once overheard two ‘mature’ ladies who had clearly not seen each other for some time. One asked the other ‘How are you keeping?’ and was immediately regaled with a rather too detailed description of the colonoscopy examination which her companion had undergone the previous week – not everyone’s idea of a tasteful conversational gambit appropriate to renewing acquaintance.
Then there is the matter of re-telling the same stories again and again. I have a good friend who is inclined to preface remarks with ‘I may have told you this before’, but is undeterred from launching into a repeat of some mildly amusing episode from his past. It is not that he leads a dull life and lacks current experience to draw on. On the contrary, he is busy and active, with a range of interests. So far I have resisted the temptation to say ‘Do you mind if I give up the will to live while you rehearse this story for the umpteenth time?’.
A variation of this tendency was highlighted in a recent article by the journalist and former Conservative MP, Matthew Parris. He asked: ‘What is it about advancing years that impels some (not all) to recount things that happened – today, yesterday, last year or when young – that are no more than that: just chronological reports of things that happened, in the order in which they happened, with no moral, no twist, no real plot, no implication, and no logical beginning, substance or conclusion?’. Presumably such people would be sympathetic to the ‘one damned thing after another’ interpretation of history.
Spatial awareness seems to decline with age. This is evident, for example, in the way in which some older drivers find it difficult to judge speed and distance. One of my relatives (now deceased) was a very good driver for most of his life but, in his 70s, began to find it difficult to negotiate junctions. Sometimes he hesitated unnecessarily and at other times he shot into a stream of traffic when it was dangerous to do so. The irritation of other motorists caused him to lose confidence and he eventually gave up driving altogether.
People filter experience to form narratives of their relations with others
but, with advancing years, the possibilities of checking memories, through corroboration, diminish as friends move on or die.
A more mundane example of the loss of spatial awareness occurs when elderly friends (generally couples) meet on the street or in shopping centres. They stop to chat, often completely oblivious of the fact that they may be causing an obstruction to others by blocking access to doorways and shops. However, they are perhaps less of a hazard than some young mothers who use child buggies as offensive weapons, carving their way through crowds, often with an aggressive scowl.
The contrasting perceptions of youth and age is one of the themes of this year’s winner of the Man Booker Prize, Julian Barnes’s novel ‘The Sense of an Ending’. It is a subtle meditation on the effects of age, time and memory. People filter experience to form narratives of their relations with others but, with advancing years, the possibilities of checking memories, through corroboration, diminish as friends move on or die. The narratives may thus become distorted or mistaken, and individuals who have lived through the same events may end up with quite different accounts of what happened. Each becomes resistant to anything that might challenge the story they have told themselves. They prefer a static reading of the past rather than come to terms with the disturbed emotions which any counter-evidence might trigger. Thus it is not surprising why many older people are reluctant to countenance change and console themselves with re-telling the same stories.
In Barnes’s novel, an unexpected intrusion from the past triggers an unsettling series of reassessments on the part of the narrator, involving several wrong interpretations on the way.
For most of us of a certain age, there is an understandable tendency to prefer the familiar to the new, the predictable to the risky. This can lead to complacency about our view of the world and a degree of intolerance towards anything that seems to disturb our sense of security. But perhaps those disturbances and irritations to which I have referred serve an important function, in the sense that they discourage solipsism and force us to acknowledge the reality of other people’s lives. Like us, they are making their way in the world, as best they can, with a mixed stock of memories and emotions, and a growing sense of loss and mortality.
Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland and is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling
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