From the Archives: On whatever
As we celebrate both the launch of our new website and the treasure trove of Voice archives, we have republished one our founder’s articles from 2011, when the Voice for Arran first went online. Here Alison Prince muses over times gone by, with her characteristic humour, insight and realism.
Birthdays and nostalgia
By Alison Prince
In my early years, birthdays were a thrill. The cards, the parcels, the party, a new frock, blowing out candles … it was all marvellously special. The whole thing seemed a kind of miracle, utterly different from normal. But of course, ‘normal’ was so lacking in thrill that a cake with thin little candles on it was truly exciting. It takes more than that now to make a big impression. From what I gather, the birthday child and all its mates has to be taken on some expensive outing, or at the very least stuffed to capacity in Mac Do’s or whatever food outlet is the pet choice. The days of Musical Chairs and Blind Man’s Buff are over.
But miracles are insubstantial things. They melt like frost if you try to do them too often. Like rainbows, they work best against a dark sky. You need a background of mild deprivation to make them truly glow, and in many ways, we’re deprived of deprivation now. Before carers and paramedics start e-mailing to say I should see what they cope with every day, yes, you’re right. There are vast numbers of social casualties and it will get worse in the coming years, but what we don’t have is a background of workable bareness. We live among glitzy objects and an assumption that the norm is a high level of possession and amusement. And that was not true in the early years of people who, like me, are getting on a bit. From a plain background that made a picnic outing memorable, we have moved into an assumption that you can have anything you like – provided that you can pay for it. Perhaps that’s the big difference. Years back, there were dreams that some could afford, right enough, but that was in the world of film stars and the stinking rich, and had nothing to do with us.
The big change happened so fast. Even the basic advances like tractors on farms (if those were an advance – there’s serious doubt now) didn’t really get going until after the war. Looking back, it’s obvious that the idea of ‘having it all’ was a direct result of finding the planet’s apparently boundless oil reserves. It was liquid money, liquid power. It made cheap transport easy, provided plastics and fertilisers and pharmaceuticals, brought us food from all over the world, gave us cars and flights and computers. We relaxed into its comfort and gave up bothering to make things or mend things. And it is all so recent. It started hardly more than half a century ago, which is the blink of an eye in human history, let alone when set against the unimaginable age of the planet. Like almost everyone, I didn’t see that it was going to be a bonanza that would come to an end, but just thought we were in an onward march of progress, ever upward. Clean water, antibiotics, the Internet – are these not blessings? Yes, they are. But the system underlying them is starting to fall apart. Oil is running out. I’m not scare-mongering here, it’s a fact. Best estimates by the economists and scientists give it about another 30 years before it has become too rare to afford.
It’s quite exciting, in a way. We are going to have to find new – or very probably, old – ways of doing things. The vast commercial chains that flog us imported goods will shrivel. Aeroplanes won’t have the kerosene to bring tools and clothes from China. We’ll have to think afresh and rediscover practical skills that we once had. Arran will be better placed to cope than the cities and suburbs, because we have never gone quite so far into the unthinking network of the external, paid-for support system. The challenges are going to be huge,. And so interesting. For the first time in several years, I find myself hoping for a good few more birthdays, to watch what’s going on. At least on Arran we can make our own cake, and our own candles.
