Pitfalls of Memory
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It was as if in my beginning, in my moment of birth, God said, “Let there be light!” And to my astonishment, there was light. It was the light of the world, the light of my discovery of the Old World. And then, no doubt, like all other babies newly born to the world, I cried. For this fact I have the authority of Lear, who says, “When we are born, we cry that we are come/ To this great stage of fools.” When I was born, I was no doubt aware of people moving around me. At least, I became aware of them once I could open my eyes. At first, it was so dazzling. I could hardly see anything. Then, once I found I could see, I saw not just “a white celestial thought”, but various beings of various colours, moving around me in various ways. Everything was various, and strange. Even through my tears I found I could laugh. Everything was so funny. Everything was happening on a kind of stage. And the actors on the stage were all fools. At least, for that, too, I have the authority of the Bible. What does the Bible say? It is the wise man who says, “Of fools the multitude is infinite.” Yes, already in those early thoughts of mine, I was thinking in terms of both Shakespeare and the Bible. Or rather, I found that both Shakespeare and the Bible had anticipated me.
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Peter Milward. Pitfalls of Memory
Pitfalls of Memory. Peter Milward S.J
I Remember, I Remember
The House Where I Grew Up
Stages in Schooling
From School to Church
Holidays from School
Wartime in England
Wannabe Jesuits
Between Two Houses
The Philosophy of Life
From the College to the Hall
From England to Japan
This Impossible Language
A Theology of Love
Two Schools of Wisdom
TB or Not TB?
Unrest and Rest Among Students
Literary Pilgrimages
Books Galore!
A Second Sabbatical
Academic Groups
Here, There and Everywhere in Japan
Beyond England
Beyond Sophia
More Pilgrimages
Papal Pilgrimages
The Renaissance Centre
A Third Sabbatical
In Memoriam, Hopkins and Newman
In Search of Spain
From Jochi to Junshin
Shakespeare the Papist
England, America, Australia
An Explosion of Books
From Nothing to Everything
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It fell on a twelfth of October, long, long ago – as all fairy tales begin. That was the very day Christopher Columbus discovered the New World. And that was the day I discovered the Old World. Only, on his discovery Columbus found his world already peopled with natives. And on my discovery I also found my world already peopled with natives – including my parents. It has even inspired a poem. Not that I composed it then. Then I was too bewildered for poetic composition. Then it might have been said of me, as if in my own words, “All day I lie ruminating,/ Supine, in no Buddha pose,/ Nonchalantly contemplating,/ Not my navel but my toes.” And again, it might have continued in the same vein, “If within the even flowing/ Of my mind there enters ought,/ Tis no dark cloud of unknowing/ But a white celestial thought.”
Is that a poem? Yes, it is. But no, it isn’t the poem I intended to compose. That was composed many years ago. It was composed when I really was lying on my bed. But now I have another poem to add. It has been inspired by two other poems. One is that of Thomas Hood, “I remember, I remember”, which continues – if you remember – “The house where I was born.” Only, I often remember it as “The day when I was born” – presumably as an infant prodigy. The other isn’t really a poem, but just a piece of advice in a rough rhyme, “Remember, remember,/ The fifth of November.” It is the old exhortation to the English people never to forget the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, which didn’t happen. Anyhow, my new-old poem goes, “Drunken or sober,/ The twelfth of October/ Was the day of my birth/ On mother Earth.” Yes, it is so simple, and so appropriate, conceived as coming from the mouth of a new-born infant. Can infants be drunk, let alone drunken? No, they can’t! Yes, they can! At least, in the moment of birth they are bewildered, stupefied, amazed on emerging from the darkness of the womb into the light of the world. Theirs is a paradoxical combination of drunkenness and sobriety.
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Now is the time for me to leave my father outside and to step into the hall, with all its doors giving onto different rooms. And each of those rooms is charged with several memories of childhood. The first door was on the right, giving onto the dining room, which we hardly ever used, except for special guests. For us it was chiefly the room for the telephone. And near the telephone was the desk my father used for all the papers connected with his job. But on one special occasion we received a visit from Grandma, Mama’s mother, who had come all the way from Cork. And what I will never forget about that occasion was when she took out her teeth after dinner and put them in her glass of water. I was so astonished. I had never thought that one’s teeth could be removed in such a manner. So I tried to take out my teeth, but they wouldn’t move. It was a real mystery. I couldn’t help envying Grandma, and regarding her as a kind of magician. After all, as I later came to realize, no one in all Shakespeare’s plays, not even the magician Prospero, had the ability to take out his or her teeth.
Then there was the door facing us from the hall. It led to another room which was usually off limits to us children. This was the drawing (or withdrawing) room, which we also kept for special visitors. Such was my uncle Bun and my two aunts Cissie and Nancy, all Dada’s siblings. We always looked forward to their coming, not only because we were able to sit with them in the drawing room, but also because they always left us with a half-crown coin. And that was much more than the weekly allowance of “pocket money” we received from Mama. So the welcome we gave them wasn’t unmixed with “cupboard love”. We were, I am ashamed to say, thinking as much of our pockets as of their persons. This was also the room with our piano, and Mama would sometimes treat us to her party pieces. Again, I have to admit our enjoyment was as much for the opportunity of sitting in the room as of listening to her music. Little children are so selfish!
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