Winds of Change

Today is Whitsun or Pentecost. From the Ancient Greek meaning fiftieth day, Pentecost is not the noise made by Ivor the Engine (as I used to imagine when a child), but is rather the fiftieth day after Easter.

According to the New Testament, it was the day when the Holy Spirit came upon the apostles ‘as of a rushing mighty wind’ with ‘cloven tongues as of fire’ and they all began speaking in tongues, going out and about preaching to crowds and gathering new followers to the church.

This all sounds highly dramatic and is the basis of many works of art depicting a strangely violent purification process. I particularly like this from Linda Schmidt who is a textile artist and quilter. I can imagine ribbons of flame make a great subject for patchwork.

One of my favourite parts of the story is that when the disciples all started babbling away in foreign languages, sceptics claimed it was because they were drunk or ‘full of new wine’. Our vicar pointed out that ‘alcohol rarely helps me speak English any better, let alone a foreign language!’ Peter is said to have leapt up indignantly and announced that they couldn’t possibly be drunk because it was ‘but the third hour of the day.’ Like that’s any excuse!

Alexander Sadoyan also warms to the theme with this remarkable portrayal in oil on canvas.

In legend, King Arthur always gathered his knights to the round table on Pentecost and had a big feast and declared a quest. In reality, medieval English folk had a ‘benefit feast’ to which everyone was invited and made a small contribution to the church which was used for repairs or distributed as alms to the poor. Special ales were brewed and Morris dances were performed. Any excuse for a festival. As with most traditions, it was partly parish and partly heathen but it sounds like a lot of fun and a time to celebrate community.

It is a day I have always associated with wind, in which case, what better place to celebrate it than Wellington? Or perhaps Christchurch where the famed nor’westers drive everyone mad, although they do get the sheets dry. I found a poem that I wrote two years ago about the wind in Wellington, which I feel fits perfectly here.

Morning regime

It’s windy in Wellington,
No surprises there.
No wonder the women all have short hair
I think as I walk past covens in cafes
And down to the sea.

Waves whisk foam like frothy cappuccinos
And the wind whips my breath
And the salt and seaweed away.
I lurch sailor drunk in erratic zig-zags
Sea-legs on shore.

The in and out pebbles
Clatter like castanets;
Driftwood dances tangos.
Is this what they mean by multicultural?
Kirikiritatangi.

I am blasted by sand and water
Rough edges smoothed out
Dead cells sloughed off
No need for further beauty or exercise regimes

I am ready to face the city.

Picture by Tiffany Chantel.

Oliver Postgate

My mum phoned me last night to tell me that Oliver Postgate has died - yep, that's the kind of mum I've got. She is a big fan of Ivor the Engine (she's always had a thing about steam trains) but she knows that Bagpuss has always been my favourite. I have a little cuddly Bagpuss who sits on top of my television.

I am not alone in my love of this 'Old saggy cloth cat': a recent survey found that he was Britain's best-loved children's TV character. Good old Britain for loving a useless old cat. Good old Britain for conducting a survey about it.

Anyway, Oliver Postgate created this phenomenon and now he has died, so I expect the television to be innundated with classic re-runs. Over here, none of my work colleagues have heard of him, so I have made it my job to educate them all by forwarding this link. His death was headline news in the Guardian - good old Guardian.

I love the whole cast of characters; the singing frog and the ragdoll and the slightly scary (to a five-year-old) Professor Yaffle who had a sharp mind and sharper beak and seemed to know everything, or at least be very good at pretending to.

I loved the efficient mice (the only rodents I’ve ever felt affection for) with their high squeaky voices and the way they were always breaking into song and stitching things back together. They have a mouse organ – which I didn’t find funny at the time, but now consider side-splittingly hysterical. They raced around doing everything while Bagpuss just lay sleepily on his rug watching events and being entertained by the stories and songs.

And this reminds me of Him Outdoors. Bagpuss’ world is in sepia and only comes into colour when he wakes up. This brings all of his friends to life with the line, ‘When Bagpuss wakes up, all of his friends wake up.’ This also reminds me of Him Outdoors who wakes up brightly in the morning and then expects everyone else to be equally alert. He denies this, of course.

His favourite children’s show was The Clangers and yes, Oliver Postgate was responsible for this too. The word surreal is highly overused these days, but this show genuinely was. There were iron chickens, froglets, music trees and a soup dragon who ate blue string pudding and was the inspiration for the name of an indie pop band who had a worldwide hit (well, number 5 in the British charts and 79 in America) with a cover version of I’m Free.

The Clangers themselves are adorable little pink things with big noses and odd Roman-looking garments who live on a small blue planet far, far away and communicate in whistles. Again, this series has legions of fans and there is even a website which offers instructions on how to knit your own Clanger.

I must confess that with his red hair and big nose, I always thought that when Him Outdoors got sunburned, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Tiny Clanger. When I told him this, he was quite offended, not at being compared with a knitted puppet, but because, ‘She’s a girl!’

These were two great shows, which along with Paddington, The Magic Roundabout, and The Herbs have helped to make me the person I am today. Thank you Oliver Postgate; you have so much to answer for.