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| Why don't I throw them away? You're joking! |
What part does symbolism play in your life? Whereby some artefact or acted-out ritual is treated as if it can re-evoke – even re-create – an emotional event or someone we were close to. Graves are symbols.
I thought I was done with the Queen’s death, but now there’s its symbolism. People are joining a queue (US: a “line”) stretching some five miles down the Thames. They are warned their wait may take twenty hours, that it may be dark and cold before they are able – for a few seconds – to view a coffin that contains the Queen’s body. From all parts of Britain, some from abroad
Brits have a comical relationship with queues; we are said to be the best (ie, most placid, the most organised) queuers in the world, though the French would say there isn’t much competition for this trophy. But this queue is serious. Those interviewed afterwards speak in both hushed and ecstatic voices. Even wiping away tears. Quite young people say it was enormously important.
There are many justifications, with “paying respect” leading the way. Understand, I’m not putting down this phenomenon. I’m in distant awe at it. I myself am not a queuer. In my youth I waited for a Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition and was outraged by a salon so crowded I could hardly see the paintings.
This London queue is drawn by a symbol: the coffin, made symbolic by its association with a famous death. There’s nothing else to see. What then follows are, I imagine, attempts to ascribe hidden meanings to what was seen. A difficult process which, alas, may end disastrously in cliché. Worn phrases which have lost all impact. In my attic are two of my symbols: my climbing boots bought in 1952. Undiscardable. Fraught with cast-iron meaning. But no queueing.
NOTE: I wrote this post without a great deal of conviction. I am surprised and pleased by the worthwhile responses it has attracted.
I love all the ritual and regalia. I am also in awe of the people lining up for so long to pay their respects. Death is an emotional time for the survivors, and for this woman her survivors are all over the world. Why? I don't know. Symbolism defies logic. It's an emotional experience. Perhaps even devotional.
ReplyDeleteI was brought up in a country where uniforms, flag waving and any sort of pageantry was (and to a large extent still is) avoided or if necessary, limited to the absolute minimum, so much so that any emotional attachment is automatically considered suspicious. I did not understand the reasons as a child but I am sure you can see why. We like to queue but rarely for coffins or flags etc.
ReplyDeleteWith that background, I am struggling to see the purpose of any of it. Who decided on what, from outfits to timing to movements to how to breathe etc., and why for goodness sake. There are two comments I picked up in recent days, one from a former editor of The Times (I think Simon Jenkins but could be wrong) who said, while trying and failing to explain the marching uniformed guys after or maybe before or possible during the proclamation of the new king to a north American audience, that it was like something from Monty Python. The other was from Anna Wintour who pointed out the loss the world is experiencing now without the queen's regular comments.
Sabine: Ever since an exchange visit with the Pollmeier family (13 Drosselweg, Hattingen-Ruhr) in 1953 I have had a growing enthusiasm for Germany and the way Germans do things. Notably the manner in which Germany and France created the rapprochment which lies at the heart of the EU. And my feelings have latterly been reinforced by the fact that the number of German lieder I've studied during six years of singing lessons have greatly outnumbered those in any other language. "Gullible" though you have described me, I have also enjoyed my visits to German Christmas markets where I have gained solace from Germans who have sympathised with my mourning over the horrors of Brexit.
DeleteI've only made two significant visits to Ireland, one for business, the other for a holiday. Both were pleasant if not exactly definitive experiences and to some extent were coloured by my sharing attitudes towards Ireland advanced by James Joyce, a writer I greatly admire.
I take it that both these countries influenced your upbringing. Lucky you.
In recent times I've been ashamed of Britain and the way its politics have slanted towards the right and the interests of business over public welfare. And, of course, Brexit, has been a woeful cross to bear. But I am nevertheless a Brit and there have been better times. Like it or not, my culture is deeply rooted in the English language which has provided the basis for my working life and my leisure interests. I enjoyed six soft years in the USA but when push came to shove I opted to return to Heimat.
Germany, Ireland and Britain are three different and long-established countries, each with its own identity. You say you struggle with the purpose of British pageantry, etc, and I'm not a bit surprised. Nor should you be. There's nothing about your upbringing that says you should understand these matters. If I poked around in Germany I dare say I would find something I disapproved of or failed to understand (just thought of one: the behaviour of German drivers in Mercedes on Bavarian Autobahns). That said I can't pretend I understand the full raison d'etre of British pageantry but I could probably explain it if I thought hard enough. But then I'm a Brit.
Colette: Some symbols are hard to decode (Why do crowds at soccer games sing wholly inappropriate songs in unison?) Others are easier, notably the coffin - bringing decorum to a dead body. Words may act as symbols, standing in for more complicated ideas, principles or exhortations which would otherwise require a whole sentence for identification.
ReplyDeleteAnd word symbols may subtly change meaning. In a necessary abbreviation the National Health Service became the NHS, white capitals on a blue background. But recently, in newspaper headlines, the initials may now represent an embattled and underfunded entity which urgently needs government attention.
More piquantly the UK's new prime minister, said by the polls to be already wildly unpopular, has a surname cognate with a medical appliance which provides comfort for hernia sufferers. I hasn't happened yet (her elevation has been overshadowed by the Queen's death) but it may. A hernia is also known as a rupture and the symbolic opportunities for, say, the banners of striking trades unionists, seem extensive.
Winston Churchill's Lying in State: When Churchill died in the early '60s he was granted (exceptionall for a commoner) a state funeral and laid in state at Westminster Hall. My young wife and I, both children during WW2, decided we wanted to pay our respects, walk in the miles long queue and briefly pass by his coffin. it involved borrowing a friend's car (an early Mini), drive to London from Maidstone, Kent, park on the outskirts and take a tube train in. The queue was not so long as this current one, but still some miles. It took us some hours to pass the coffin. It felt, somehow, appropriate for us to do this. I still cannot explain completely why we did it. But it has abided in memory with satisfaction and still has a feeling of "It must be Done".
ReplyDeleteI couldn't do it now and admire those images I see of old folk, some in wheelchairs, making that pilgrimage. I Suppose "pilgrimage" is the key. People have always made them, from the days of Thomas Beckett to the present St. James of Compostela. A compulsion.
Avus: And you're fully entitled to that decision. And to those who would say Nay, evoking memories of the Dardanelles and Churchill's outdated adherence to the Empire, you might well assert that all politicians are flawed in some way and that on balance his leadership in WW2 cancelled out those earlier misjudgements. You will no doubt be amused (perhaps horrified) when I tell you I find myself in a rather similar position regarding Tony Blair, but that's a spat for another occasion.
DeleteI am trying to remember an event or activity in my own life when I willingly exposed myself to discomfort (or worse) in pursuit of some goal which others would see as foolish and/or inexplicable. The only one that immediately springs to mind is rock climbing. I wasn't very good at it, was frequently terrified, and often turned away from certain rock faces. Also I was involved in one serious fall and another near miss. But I still persisted for a time, drawn on by urges - no doubt misguided - that the sport was somehow "noble". A hardly defensible justification.
I realise that rock climbing is a long way from the supposed altruism associated with pilgrimages. Or the inconclusive rewards of attending a celebrity funeral. But we are all different, thank God, and these are inner expressions of ourselves which - if we are honest - we would not necessarily recommend to others. They are "us" and "we" are a mass of virtues and vices whether we like it or not.