Author: karamat

As a society and culture we are big on anniversaries. In case you didn’t realise, next month is the 30^th anniversary of the Falkland’s war. I was about to call it conflict but I think ‘war’ sums it better. After all, there was killing and dying. Sadly, some of it could have been avoided. Even during the war, more could have been done to reduce the numbers who died.

I was told over the weekend that after one particular battle the whole war could have been brought to an end. But apparently the Brits didn’t just want surrender but they wanted a big victory with all its glory- and, of course, more deaths.

At the time I was a full-time student doing my teacher training course at the Selly Oak colleges in Birmingham. I remember going to an anti-war meeting at the George Cadbury Hall. We had the great EP Thompson speaking. During the questions and answers I made a little speech. I tried to remind everyone present that, of course, life in far away islands was precious but it helped if you had a white skin. This meant that the Falklanders were seen as worth rescuing with the use of the full British might. However the residents of Diego Garcia were not. This was an island ruled by the same Brits which had been ‘depopulated’, a euphemism for colonising and clearing out a people so their land could be put to other use, deemed to be more beneficial to the national interest. Although the crime had been committed from as far back as 1968, I learnt about it in 1983 when a compensation claim had been made by a group of the islanders who obviously were still waiting 15 years on.

Anyway, my claim to fame is that when I made my little speech, with some anger, I recall, there was uproar as everyone clapped very loudly. I sat down feeling a little embarrassed.

Recently, someone said that we probably wouldn’t have gone to war if we had had a different prime minister instead of Mrs Thatcher. But I thought we were a democratic government with a cabinet and accountability to a parliament and nation. If this is what can happen here, it is not worth contemplating the damage that can be done by real dictators.

As Bruce Springsteen once said, “trusting your leaders will get you killed”.

“Is that second breakfast or first?”, I say to the man. “First. I didn’t have any when I left home”. He told me he had been at work since 6. “I finish at 2; something to look forward to”.

We then had a conversation about this being his regular shift. He didn’t mind it really; much better than when he worked the three shifts.

It took me back to another time. Those early days of the shift system starting with the help of people like my dad. They were willing to do any job, at anytime, anywhere. The money was good. Much better than they had ever known. Some were willing to work a shift and half; a few even double shifts. “Can you just imagine working for that long!”

We met. We connected (as parents). She was looking forward to Christmas, with her one year old daughter. It made me think about 1990; my first with mine. “Two whole weeks with your baby”, I thought to myself. Mine is coming back home tomorrow. What fun have we had! What fun are we still to have!

We then connected as teachers, as educators, with a love for learning. And literature. Will I have time to actually read for pleasure, over Christmas, I wondered.

My family know that I am always talking to strangers. This is because I have a theory that everyone has an interesting story they can tell about their life’s
journey.  There have been times when I have gone out to do something such as pop down to the shops and taken ages. I will have struck a conversation with someone I met for the first time and will be there listening and talking. Such encounters provide plenty of ‘me too’
opportunities. Today was no different.

Out walking my dog, I saw a lady coming towards me. I had not seen her before in the quarter of a century I have lived in our community. We both caught each other’s eye as we passed.

A ‘hello, how are you doing’ resulted in me learning that she lived at the other end of our road, “not the posh end” she said. She had lived in the area for over 50 years; I have barely lived that long. She worked in psychology at Birmingham University. Apparently, for her PhD, she had compared the parent-child
relationship of Asian and white young people. This was cue for me to tell about my own PhD which I have just started, with a focus on educational achievement of Pakistani boys in Birmingham.

We must have talked for about a quarter of an hour. During this time, we shared stories about our families as well as my dog; how intelligent he was, how often we walk etc. I told her about my children. I learnt her husband was a moral philosopher.

Sensing that our conversation was coming to and end, I asked her name. “Mary Stopes- Roe” was her response. I told her mine. We also exchanged our addresses especially as I wanted to get hold of a copy of her PhD.

Mary had said she was too old to be bothered with email and the internet, I realised when I got home that the World Wide Web had some interesting information about her. I learnt that she is “the daughter of Barnes Wallis and Molly Bloxam. Trained as a historian and psychologist, Mary worked for many years at the University of Birmingham where she had done her PhD. Since retirement she has been archiving her family’s papers, among which she discovered her parents’ courtship letters. Mary and her husband Harry have two sons and two daughters and ten grandchildren”.

I also discovered that I already knew Harry. He was the ‘stranger’ I had already encountered on a number of occasions. Recently, I had
learnt his name. He has his own interesting story, including being the son of Marie Stopes, the campaigner for women’s rights and a Vice President of the
British Humanist Association

I now look forward to learning more about Mary and Harry. It would be great if she finds her PhD dissertation. She said she would drop it
in.

I am also wondering which stranger I am going to meet next with his or her own interesting story.

PS
At the time I did not know that three years later I would fall seriously ill which would lead me to become a hospital chaplain. I recently estimated that over 2.5 years in that role I have listened to more than 1000 strangers