On the blogs

I just read this post on Will Type For Food and offer it for your perusal.

The Inhabitants of this Town, or: Characters Abroad in Ultima Thule

As the more astute readers of these pages would know (if Matron still lets you browse the internet from your dark and cool room at Doctor Throckmorton's Home for Neurasthenics), the social life here in Ultima Thule is shrivelled and scrawny, to say the least. My good friend the Frau Doktor remains a shining beacon of civilisation among the teeming masses of the scabrous, shuffling, and slackjawed. To walk the streets here on a Saturday morning (the nominal "market day" in which entire families pile into their jalopies and roar into town to shop, carouse, and peruse) is to thrust yourself into the rank and file of one of the most alarming freakshows your twisted and fatigued minds could conceive of.

Needless to say that I spend a lot of time behind closed doors, with the curtains drawn, thinking, reading, and looking at maps.

Of course contact with the inhabitants is inevitable from time to time. Especially in my new pedagogical line of work. It is my sombre duty to stand before them day in and day out and instruct them in the nuances and subtleties of my beloved mother-tongue. I do this with aplomb (or an apple, if they're in season) and, if I may make so bold, a reasonable degree of success. To wit: I was sitting in the "teacher's lounge" at the Academy yesterday (wishing I could smoke my pipe), while a colleague was browsing his Farcebook page. After a few minutes of amicable silence, a student shuffled nervously in and thrust his writing task towards my colleague to be checked. A few hems and haws later, my colleague mumbled something and the student bent closer. The question was "Who taught you this word?" Ye gods! I thought, what could it be? Could I have accidentally let something slip in class that they took too seriously to heart, and, God forbid, were reproducing? The student thought for a minute and then said the offending teacher's name! It was me! I slid a little lower in my seat. My colleague laughed and said he thought it probably was. My curiosity was burning, and I forced myself to ask - most casually - what the word was. It turns out it was "tawdry". The alarming thing is that I have no recollection of ever having taught this student, nor anyone else in his class (or indeed in any other class) the meaning and usage of the word. But not to worry, the student used it appropriately, and what harm can it really do if I give my students a little filigree to their language learning?

I find that there is a very great disconnect between the people who present themselves to the Academy, bright eyed and eager to learn, and the offensive louts, dolts, poltroons and mountebanks who trawl the streets and fill the bars and cafes in the evenings. I have found nearly all my students to be Good People (with a lifetime limited warranty issued by yours truly) - indeed they are quite surprisingly good people. Some examples:

• There is a gruff old buffer in one of the classes who complained incessantly that I speak to quickly and that he doesn't understand me. I have assured him that not only do I speak incredibly slowly in his class, I also speak very clearly at all times. This was a bone of contention between us - not least because he sat there grumbling through every class I taught, but also because he seemed unwilling to accept my assurance that I speak both slowly and clearly. But he did not sour too permanently, and it's now become a joke between us, and he accepts (or seems to) my claims of clarity and tempo. And our acquaintanceship was furthered when we discovered a mutual interest in old films, and in Agatha Christie. He lent me the '74 film of Murder on the Orient Express (with Albert Finney, Lauren Bacall, Sean Connery, John Gielgud &c) which it will be my pleasure to watch on Sunday night.
• There are various other students with whom I can share a quip, havea chat, or just generally get a good vibe from. They make the days quite fun and I hope also that such a convivial atmosphere makes their learning somewhat easier too.

There was one odd fellow though. He seems (like so many of the people in this town) to have a problem with pax Judaica and by way of a peace offering after I was recently offended by several comments he made, has suggested that we take a trip to Auschwitz together next summer. There are lots of places I want to see in Europe, one of the blackest examples of the Nazi death machine is categorically not one of them. Also, and perhaps most confusingly, he left an anonymous "present" for me other day. It's a copy of the film Zug des Lebens - the Train of Life - a story of some Jewish villagers in France who try and outsmart the Huns by stealing (or at least acquiring by questionable methods) a bunch of SS uniforms and then "deporting" themselves - to safety. A cute story, and one I admit I am looking forward to seeing, but as a further peace offering from this chap, it's a decidedly strange choice. Enough with the Nazis already! Is he trying to tell me that it was a funny time in which madcap Jewish people did zany things while trying to outfox comical Germans with monocles and heavy accents?! Strange indeed.

I am really at a loss to work out ways to meet people here. My colleagues are a decent bunch, and acquaintanceships are already blooming, but friends? Here in Ultima Thule? I have found the edelweiss of this rarefied climate in the person of the aforementioned Frau Doktor - who will be defending her thesis on December 2 (presumably after first nailing it to the door, as is the custom in this land). It will be my honour and privilege to be in the audience to witness this august event. I have promised to let fly the occasional "Genau! Genau!" ("Exactly! Exactly!") as the situation warrants. Now I just have to find myself a monocle...

Things I Have (Finally) Learned #57

The German equivalent of "chocks away!" (a phrase sadly lacking from my vocabulary) is: Leinen los!

This new treasure will be well used, I can assure you.

Teaching

My (in)glorious new career is bounding ahead apace. I am the scourge of errors and the student's friend (in the broadest sense - more on this in a related post). One of the merrie band of job-seekers told me yesterday that I am quite strong. I looked at her agog. I am many things, but not even the most enthusiastic sycophant would describe me as "strong". I raised an eyebrow. The student looked me fair in the eye and said: "Oh no, not strong. That's not what I meant." She consulted with her cronies, dictionary pages were leafed through at top speed and then a burst of nervous giggles from the coterie of Mädels. Then the proper verdict was handed down: "You're very strict!" she said, and her sidekicks all laughed again. There were nods of solidarity from around the room. The students were all grinning. "Well," I replied, affecting gruffness, but secretly very pleased, "it is surely better than I am strict now and train you well, then when you all get jobs your new bosses will be very happy with how well you can speak English." This was met by a room full of bobbing heads. Ah, complete accord, how seldom you appear in my life, but how welcome you are when you do drop by.

I have it on good authority...

... that the reason the trees were cut back is because they are preparing them to be strung with Christmas lights (which might make the town square somewhat presentable again, like a gangrenous slattern who slathers eyeshadow over sagging lids before going out to work the cheap end of the waterfront).

Herewith, some pictures:

Some favourite words of mine lately

(In no particular order)

• desuetude;
• mores;
• rue;
• bibulousness;
• panegyric;
• apoplexy (a perennial favourite, I must admit); and
• ... many others.

The trees

I haven't had my camera with me these last two mornings, but something appalling has happened to the main square of this hideous town which needs to be documented. A civic uglification program is well underway. The blighters are cutting the trees right back to sticks - in preparation for winter, I suppose. I will take my camera with me to the school tomorrow to photograph the bleak horror of the town square. I only wish that I'd thought to photograph it when it was at the height of its summery splendour. People will find it hard to believe that the town was, however fleetingly, somewhat beautiful (like a mustachioed and scrofulous peasant-girl wearing a discarded dress, passed down to her, fourteenth-hand from the lady of the manor).

But yes, all that's left now are grey sticks poking out of the slimy macadamized square. The odd leaf clings tenaciously to a withered and scabbed bough, and the people walk past a little faster. Their eyes are downcast. Their lips are drawn tight.

The Wit and Wisdom of the Classroom #1

It is my duty, nay honour, nay curse, nay privilege to spend the vast majority of my working hours in the company of unemployed Germans. Let me hasten to add that they are Germans first, and are only unemployed (to a man!) through cruel twists of fate.

Last week I taught a lesson about borrowing and lending. Let me assure you that this was not the sole content of the lesson (after all, how could any but the most creative of creative geniuses stretch such thin material over six hours?). Some notable dialogues emerged from the last exercise I gave them. My instruction was this:

Me: You are to ask your partner to lend you something that they don't want to part with. This is something that is very dear to them, and they may have some trouble coming up with a reason. You will be polite - at all times! - but persistent. You really want to borrow this thing. Whatever it is.

Some noteworthy examples of the students' creative efforts were:

The two chaps, one of whom wanted to borrow the other's washing machine. But this was not possible because the second fellow was about to leave for two months' holiday in Australia (they picked this themselves! Honestly!) and he needed to wash a lot of clothes before he left. "Alright," said the first student, "then perhaps I can borrow your wife for a little while?"

Indeed.

The second example which, I admit, had me flabbergasted went like this:

Male Student: Hello, --- how are you?

Female Student: I am well thank you, how are you?

MS: Oh, fine thanks.

FS: --- I would like you to meet my children. -- is six, and her brother, --, is 10.

MS: Oh, hello there, how do you do?

FS: [imitating the voices of children] Oh, fine thank you, Uncle --, how are you?

MS: Very well thank you. [to FS]. So -- I was wondering if I could borrow your son please.

FS, Me, Class: !!!

MS: Ja, you see I like playing football on the weekend and I want to win for once.

FS: ?!

MS: Ja, haha, I need to play with a little boy.

{Me: [to self] !!!!}

FS: No, -- I'm afraid that would not be possible. You can not borrow him.

MS: Oh... please?

FS: [aside to "son"] So, --, tell me, would you like to play football with Uncle --? [falsetto] Noooooo. [To MS] See, so ja, there is I'm afraid your answer.

MS: Oh. Ok then. Thanks. Bye!

{Thin, nervous, slightly shocked applause}

I love my job!

Sunday night

It's been a busy few days. And they have flown by, leaving me feeling both depleted and adrift. I just got back from a weekend visiting the Gräfin in Germania, and although I dozed fitfully on the train (after finishing my lesson planning for tomorrow - of course) I spent far too long brooding (a habit which I will readily admit to, and which I know serves me no benefit). I feel as though my life is without a centre of gravity, without anything to anchor it or give it meaning. I realised afresh the need to find something which will fill my life with meaning, and will provide me with an unassailable stronghold from which I can better survey the landscape of my inner life, and plot a brave and optimistic course.

My railway brooding tonight did turn up at least one worthwhile insight, to wit: I must not expect other people to be the foundation of the above-mentioned emotional and intellectual stronghold. This is both unfair and unrealistic.

I don't really know how to proceed, though. I still think that there's a purpose to my being here in Germany, and I am still generally enjoying being here (although the absolute lack of manners I see every day in public life has gone beyond being amusingly astonishing and is becoming irritating and a little depressing). I am going to put myself on a rigorous diet - both culinary and intellectual - to see if I can draw myself out of this funk (by eating and thinking things of only the highest quality) and I will, of course, report the outcome on these pages.

Join the Army, my ... girl?

I recently read of Elberry's experiences teaching English to the lads of the Bundeswehr and a shudder shook my frame. My merrie band of jobless whiners don't seem anywhere near as bad - nor, I'll admit, as misanthropic - as his erstwhile squad of trained killers. (Indeed I find myself warming to my new lot: they show early signs of wit and even seem to be inclined towards co-operation.)

While strolling the bleak and windy streets of Berlin with with Gräfin a fortnight ago, I happened upon this billboard, tucked away in a large alcove, and thought once more of Elberry and his soldiers. It seemed to me as though the Bundies are proud, but not too proud to be the first line of defence for the glorious Reich. And what's this I see? They've let women in? By God! What would Bismarck say?

Note the huge world map behind this woman's steely eyes. I find this to be in especially bad taste because we all remember what happened the last time Jerry took out his world map. Should all we be alarmed that the Bosch have mobilised and are currently storming language schools? Your correspondent will keep a keen eye on the situation!

Careers with [a] future the caption promises. Just what kind of future that is, though, remains unspecified.