The Reith Lectures 2016: wise words for wild times
In a week spanning both the American elections and Armistice Day, there could not have been a more appropriate choice for Radio 4’s Book at
Bedtime than Sebastian Barry’s new novel, Days Without End, which unearths the bloodied 19th-century roots of the United States. Thomas McNulty, the narrator, orphaned in the Irish famine, creeps illegally into America, treks across pioneer territory, joins the army for a steady living, kills Indians, fights in the civil war. Barry’s First World War novel,
A Long Long Way, is graphic about the physical and mental realities of war. This one vividly depicts a nation’s birth pangs. Stanley Townsend’s reading caught its heart and soul.
This year’s Reith Lectures, Mistaken Identities (Radio 4, Tuesdays; repeated Saturdays), inevitably homed in on America. Delivering them serially in London, Glasgow, Accra and finally New York, philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah argued that we cannot define ourselves solely by creed, country, colour or culture. Instead, we should consider what makes us who we are, what forms our assumptions about superiority or inferiority. Think wider, he urged. Don’t rely on philosophers to tell us what to do, he concluded. Instead, use their tools – reason, logic and observation – to unlock what it takes to be civilised. Wise words for wild times.
Appiah came to mind while listening to No Platform (Radio 4, Saturday), an Archive on 4 by academic Andrew Hussey exploring why some universities now allow speakers to be barred by student unions, refused a platform lest they give offence or make dangerous converts. He tried hard to find the rationality in banning free speech, however objectionable. He couldn’t. Neither can I.
Alan Hall’s Between the Ears (Radio 3, Saturday) stepped into social history via pop for the 50th anniversary of my favourite Beatles album, Revolver. In one of Liverpool’s posher suburbs, Woolton, he caught memories of the group when they first performed there, on the back of a lorry at a church fete. His beautiful programme floated between different voices, contrasting stories of youth, age, memory, never labouring the connections, weaving words and music together into a picture of now and then, one that glowed and echoed.
In New Generation Thinkers (Radio 3, Sunday), Dr Peter Mackay presented the blue side of traditional Gaelic ballads. That’s blue as in Chaucer, not blue as in jazz. After Radio 3’s announcer had warned of sexually explicit language, Mackay invited us to forget castles, tartan, deer and all that “incredibly twee” stuff. He was going to introduce us to ripe language and rife innuendo. I could hardly wait.
However, Dr Mackay seemed hesitant. Professing surprise, nay shock, that women would enliven the toil of weaving tweed by singing about fleshly delights, he asked us to spot the euphemisms whenever their songs mentioned guns or risings (phallic references, since you ask). These songs, he warned, sound so pretty in the Gaelic and their tunes so sweet that they’ve become safe favourites at school concerts and choir recitals. But, he insisted with only a slight giggle, they are really, really rude.
As Dr Mackay’s aunt is a folk song expert and was on hand modestly to translate its rudery, it was hard to escape the suspicion that her naughty nephew was only pretending to be shocked. For instance, Sandy and Jamie are nicknames for “the male member”, not to be confused with the male members of a notorious 18thcentury Edinburgh club where, he goggled, men would sing rude songs about female pubic hair. Good grief, who’d have thought it? As he finished, I tuned away to The
Archers and found Lynda Snell in mid-utterance, declaring “There’s no old crone in my goose.” The language! I swooned in shock. Lynda, however, was talking about the script of Mother
Goose, her panto, now in the careless hands of stand-in producer Kate Madikane (née Aldridge). Try as she might (which isn’t very hard), Kate can’t find anyone willing to utter Lynda’s lines. Kate really wants to do a talent show. Lynda is outraged.
I’m with Lynda. Ambridge talent shows are traditionally dominated by “silent” characters, Millie Button, Nathan Booth and the like, those who exist only as references, never speaking a line. They add a touch of Zen to The Archers but not enough to sell me a ticket. Perhaps Radio 3 could send Dr Mackay and his nice Aunt to put on a Hogmanay recital of traditional weaving songs. Jazzer, The
Archers’ own rough-tongued Scot, might do the translations. I can already imagine Lilian’s lusty giggle.