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All earthly things above – 2

October 18, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThat great national favourite amongst English hymns – Sir Cecil Spring Rice and Gustav Holst’s “I Vow to Thee my Country” – is apparently no less popular at funerals than it is at weddings, having been intoned during the solemnities for no lesser luminaries than Winston Churchill, Princess Diana and – no surprise – Margaret Thatcher.

The hymn itself is – however – the subject of considerable controversy.

These attacks emanate from more than one quarter. There are those to the left of the political spectrum who are perturbed by the jingoistic overtones of the piece – the thinking being perhaps that such patriotic sentiments are but a short step from something considerably more akin to imperialism.

This nationalistic tenor also seems particularly offensive to some members of the Anglican congregation who perhaps deem it impious to make such vows to earthly powers rather than to god. Some amongst this ecumenical number further point to the fact that the ‘hymn’ actually makes no reference to god at all. In 2004 the Anglican Bishop of Hulme called for the canticle to be banned as being heretical – a view that I find – frankly – itself more hysterical!

In an article in the Church Times in 2013 the Reverend Gordon Giles – Anglican vicar of St Mary Magdalene’s Church in Enfield in the UK – suggested that Spring Rice’s poem should be re-written to make it more acceptable. His doctrinally ‘correct’ version replaces – for example – the original’s opening couplet:

I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love

…with this – er – improved variant:

I vow to thee, my country, the service of my love,
 in full and free devotion, all lesser claims above

Oh dear!

What these strangely earth-bound zealots seem to have missed is that what Spring Rice originally wrote was a poem! To insist upon a literal interpretation is to completely misunderstand the purpose and meaning of art. Ambiguity is essential – the pursuant intention being that each of us should discover our own meaning in the work.

This truism is made manifest by the variety of views that are to be found on the InterWebNet. The first stanza of the hymn may be read as a peon to militaristic imperialism, but just as readily as a lament for the fallen of the Great War. Those with an axe to grind might detect in the second verse either proof positive that ‘another country‘ – ‘most great to them that know‘ refers to the kingdom of god, or conversely evidence that the poem is nothing more than a puff of secular doggerel – in decidedly dubious taste.

I would like to proffer another interpretation…

Unlike that other great patriotic chorale – “Jerusalem” – “I Vow to Thee my Country” actually makes no explicit reference to England or to Britain at all. If the ‘other country’ of the second stanza can be taken as a metaphor for heaven, then why should the ‘country’ of the first verse be interpreted literally? It could – of course – refer to any country, but taking it further – it might not refer to a country at all. The metaphor could stand for a race – a community – a faith – an ideology…

What this first verse surely alludes to is the notion of tying one’s colours to the mast – to making the ultimate sacrifice for something – anything – that one believes in.

The second verse then adds to this – with a glance back over its shoulder to regard again the lessons of history – a terrible warning of the costs of misguided beliefs – be they patriotic, spiritual or ideological. Spring Rice must have been acutely aware when he re-wrote his original verse in 1918 of the paradoxical nature of the war that was shortly to end – caught between the fervour of patriotic support for his country and the knowledge that the powers of Europe had sleep-walked senselessly into an unforgivable and avoidable calamity that had resulted in the tragic and pointless loss of a generation of young men.

In this centennial year of the start of the Great War it is perhaps no surprise that I was overcome by emotion the other day in St Paul’s Cathedral, when attempting to sing this most moving of compositions. This is – after all – what good art does.

And if you should doubt that Spring Rice’s verse and Holst’s powerful melody – accidental partners though they may be – do in fact represent the highest forms of their respective crafts, then you need only look at the suggestions that others have made to ‘correct’ what they see as the hymn’s shortcomings.

If you have no understanding of the power of poetry this might not be a bad place to start.

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All earthly things above – 1

October 13, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe School’s annual outing to St Paul’s Cathedral to celebrate its foundation took place late last week. I was – as ever – an eager participant in this expedition.

My pleasure at being able to re-visit what has become such a significant symbol in my own personal mythology (a grateful prayer of thanks was once again offered on the spot directly under the centre of the dome) is always augmented by the slightly perverse delight that I take from the absurdity of transporting the entire population of two schools (our sister school joins us for the day) across the breadth of London in a fleet of coaches for a fifty minute ceremony. The logistics are a nightmare and the journey takes at least three times as long as the service itself.

Apparently in days of yore the pupils were simply instructed to make their own way to the cathedral – being given no more than a time to be outside the west door and a strict admonition not to be late. I find it rather sad that such a practical course is – in these health and safety obsessed times – no longer viable.

The form that the service itself takes barely varies from year to year. Having in my pre-pubescent existence played the part of the boy chorister, I do still enjoy the chance to belt out some of the hymns with which I fell in love and which were largely responsible for my later and lasting involvement with music.

One such much-loved chorale is the setting of Sir Cecil Spring Rice’s 1908 poem – “I Vow to Thee my Country” – to the music of Gustav Holst – specifically to an extract from his “Jupiter” movement from “The Planets” suite. This stirring hymn makes frequent appearance at our Founder’s Day ceremonies largely because Holst was for an extended period employed as the Musical Director at our sister school.

Spring Rice’s poem – written whilst he was serving at the British embassy in Stockholm and originally entitled “Urbs Dei” (“City of God”) – was at first quite unlike the version that we know today. In 1912 Spring Rice was appointed Ambassador to the United States of America and in that role played an instrumental part in persuading the US to abandon its neutrality in the Great War. Shortly before returning to the UK in January 1918, Spring Rice re-wrote and renamed the poem, significantly altering the first verse to reflect the huge losses suffered by British soldiers during the intervening years. What had been the first verse morphed to become a second verse that is now widely disregarded.

In 1921 Holst was commissioned to set the poem to music. He was, at the time, extremely busy and was relieved to discover that – with only minor modification – the grand theme from “Jupiter” fitted the lyric well enough. Upon such small ‘accidents’ great moments of genius do often seem to hang.

Finding myself in harmony with a two thousand voice impromptu choir for  “I Vow to Thee my Country” in the sublime setting of St Paul’s Cathedral last week proved such an unexpectedly emotional experience that I found myself struggling to give voice at all to the second verse. I was sufficiently moved that I find I must needs say more on the subject…

…but that can wait for a second post…

 

 

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Breathe deep

October 4, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

BreathAnd when I breathed, my breath was lightning.

Black Elk

Amazing! Here I am in my seventh decade and I am still discovering absolute fundamentals about the business of living that I would have expected to have learned long, long ago.

The Kickass Canada Girl and I have colds. Fairly minor colds it must be said – and they didn’t disturb our trip to Bath (of which more anon!) so we mustn’t complain. The first cold of the season is – however – always somehow more annoying than any other – particularly if the sun is still shining – which it has been…

My cold came out last week and I had a couple of uncomfortable days at work as a result. At lunchtime on one of those days I was browsing stuffily on the InterWebNet trying to discover if there was any truth in the dictum that one should feed a cold – in other words, wondering if I should force myself to have some lunch. The advice I uncovered – that one should eat if one were hungry – was not exactly earth-shattering, nor particularly helpful.

I did – however – discover from one of the articles consulted something else entirely – which stunning piece of advice was simply to breath deeply!

Now – I expect that all of you already know this, but if that’s the case then how come no-one has mentioned it to me before?

The premise is this: when you have a cold and your nose is blocked and your throat is sore, then you are also most likely to have a thick head and to feel all-round miserable as a result. The feeling miserable actually inhibits recovery, since the resultant dejected slump does nothing to haste its progress.

The thick head is caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain, which is in turn the result of the shallow and ragged breathing by means of which one tends to try to mitigate the discomfort in nostrils and throat. The answer – stunningly – is to make an effort to breathe more deeply and, in particular, to do so outside in the fresh air. After a short course of such treatment – the argument goes – your head will clear, you will feel considerably better, and the rest of your body will more rapidly follow suit.

Well – I tried it – and you know what? It worked – at least, it did for me!

Now – how many colds have I had over the last sixty years for which this simple trick might have helped?

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Pirouette and flourish

September 30, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Image by Andy Dawson Reid“I was pirouette and flourish,
I was filigree and flame.
How could I count my blessings
when I didn’t know their names?”

Rita Dove – ‘On the Bus With Rosa Parks’

We who are the fortunate ones should by now know most intimately the names of our blessings and thus meet no such challenges in the area of numeracy. Our blessings are counted daily and grateful thanks are offered to our gods – whatever form they may take.

This week brings yet another such benediction. We have to be at work for only three of its working days!

Yippee!

On Thursday it is the Kickass Canada Girl’s birthday and – as is our wont – we will be celebrating in some style. We escape in the morning to that favourite haunt of ours – the lovely Georgian city of Bath. Owing to a turn of outrageously good fortune I am in grateful possession of a gift voucher for the night at an extremely prestigious spa hotel, to which we will repair forthwith. Spa treatments for the Girl and extended exposure to sauna and steam rooms for me will be followed by a splendid repast at the hotel’s Michelin-starred eatery – and all as a result of a favour that I did for someone. Truly what goes around comes around.

Sadly we could not afford to extend our stay at this pleasure dome to a second night, and Friday thus finds us downgrading to a rather more humble hostelry. We should not complain though, as this one also has a pretty decent restaurant. We will not be able to tarry in any case as we must make our way over to the Recreation Ground – being lucky possessors of tickets for the Bath/Saracens game on the Friday evening. Those who follow such things will know that the top of the table in this year’s rugby premiership is currently fairly tight, and that as a result this particular clash carries great import.

Saturday will – the Girl assures me – be given over to shopping. There is the small matter of a birthday gift to be purchased, in the form – most likely – of a new outfit. I wouldn’t want to give too much away – however – so we will have to see what transpires.

We are very aware that we are extremely lucky souls and we are filled with gratitude for all of the wonderful gifts that are bestowed upon us. It behoves us not to take these things for granted – and we will do our darnedest so not to do.

Blessings, blessings, blessings…

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Bake on

September 22, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThose souls who reside in the United Kingdom and who still consume the products of the organisations both private and public that engage – for better or worse – in the televisual arts, will have been unable to avoid over the last year or so the nationwide enthusiasm for the category of comestible cookery that utilises prolonged dry heat by convection rather than by radiation… known more commonly as baking!

I refer – of course – to the ‘Great British Bake Off’.

The Kickass Canada Girl is a fan. I don’t mind it being on in the background. The recent ructions on the show – which need not detain us here – have done little to impinge on its overall veneer of gentle British whimsy which has proved for many a welcome corrective to the endless diet of so-called ‘reality’ shows.

Naturally, our broadcasting and other media corporations – never known to go easy on an expiring equine – have parachuted aboard the passing bandwagon and all things bakery related have now been hailed as the best thing since – er – sliced bread!

Thus is was that I found myself on a recent Saturday morning listening to one of those Radio 4 (a sort of talk radio, for north American readers) programmes that is a miscellanea of items comprising in the main interviews with interestingly ‘normal’ people (sometimes in extraordinary circumstances but just as frequently not so) only to discover that this particular episode had a ‘baking’ theme.

One interviewee in particular caught my ear. Louise Johncox – a journalist who writes for publications such as The Times, The Sunday Times, The Daily Telegraph and The Guardian – comes from a long line of bakers and confectioners. Her father ran a tea shop for more than forty years in the Home Counties and she grew up surrounded by the smells and tastes of fresh-baked bread, cakes and patisserie.

The object of Mrs Johncox’s appearance on the radio was to promote a book that she has recently had published. The Baker’s Daughter is a charming cross between a memoir and a recipe book. Mrs Johncox speaks well and passionately on the subject and has a clear love of all things related to the baker’s art.

Given my ambivalence on the subject you might be surprised that I am expending precious words on it. Well – as you might have guessed by now – there is a hook. Mrs Johncox’s father’s tea shop – Peter’s, Weybridge Ltd – was located in the small Surrey town in which I grew up.

Peter Johncox and his wife Frankie moved to Weybridge in the spring of 1960 – in the same year as did my parents! I was six at the time and I remember this delightful emporium existing virtually unchanged throughout my adolescent years. Peter’s was famous amongst other things for its Welsh Rarebit which I swear – no doubt erroneously – that I can still remember. The recipe for this treat is – fortunately – included in the book. The tea shop stayed open until after the turn of the millennium, by which point Peter Johncox had become too old and infirm to continue its management.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWhat really took me by surprise – as I listened to Mrs Johncox’s reminiscences on the radio – was just how teary I found myself all of a sudden. My mother never drove a car and thus could for many years be seen trundling her shopping bag on wheels the mile or so from our house down to the centre of town to do the shopping. Once all had been crossed from her list she would repair to Peter’s for a much need cup of tea and – mayhap – a sweet treat – as a means of recharging the batteries for the fully laden return trip up the hill!

My mother died in 2010 – a mere two years before Peter Johncox. Peter’s – as with so many other such familiars – is long gone, and I rarely now find myself with a reason to visit Weybridge.

The book is a delight – both as a culinary treat and as a reminiscence of times past. I thoroughly recommend it.

 

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…how much we enjoy…

September 9, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Image from PixabayIt is not how much we have, but how much we enjoy, that makes happiness.
Charles Spurgeon

Last Sunday’s Observer newspaper contained an item on the emerging field of ‘happiness studies’. I kid you not! And when it comes down to it – given the current state of this terrene body – who could argue that anything that leads to an increase in happiness be anything but a good thing?

One of the subjects of the article was a study by two American professors – Amit Bhattacharjee and Cassie Mogilner – a prominent finding of which was that the older people get, the more content they are with ‘ordinary’ experiences. “In fact” – the piece proclaims  – “the potential to be content with everyday pursuits eventually grows equal to exotic trips or pricey restaurant meals.”

Whilst I would not claim to have quite reached this point – my fondness for the delights of  Epicurus being yet strong – I am becoming aware as I age of a significant re-orientation in this general direction. I now discover much pleasure in really quite simple things.

When I was young I quite naturally burned with the desire to achieve things – to become ‘someone’ – to make some kind of mark. Though not, perhaps, particularly ambitious in the conventional way, I really was quite desperate to be taken seriously – certainly in artistic and creative terms but also in my chosen career – or, should I say, in the career that had apparently chosen me. I obviously required considerable levels of validation – of affirmation – from others if I was to achieve a sufficient degree of self-esteem that I felt comfortable about my place in the world.

This restlessness must have made me quite a difficult person to live with – or even to be around – and I should perhaps offer my apologies to those that had to endure it. Youth – as Shaw has it – is indeed sometimes wasted on the young!

Though much has since changed, this is surely not merely a case of all passion being spent. The passion is rather now considerably more focused than once it was – such being essential when one must work with a more circumscribed supply of energy and life-force.

We are, as a species, by our nature hungry for knowledge and imbued with the desire to create. The path to happiness – as has been pointed out by many more learned than I – lies in the adoption of ‘projects’ that allow us to exercise these basic needs – but with the proviso that we must be able to set achievable targets by which our progress may be measured. If we have either taken on too much and are unsuccessful in our endeavors – or have not challenged ourselves sufficiently – the outcome is unhappiness…

As we advance in years and – hopefully – in wisdom, this careful balancing act requires finer and finer control. If we are fortunate we will by this point have acquired the skills through which successful outcomes may be achieved.

You will have noticed that this brief discourse on happiness makes no mention of love. This is not because I consider this fundamental to be unimportant – or even worse, antithetical – to happiness, but more because its very great import means that it must needs have a forum of its own.

Happy days!

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This time…

September 4, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Image by Andy Dawson Reid

…things will be different!

 

Einstein had it right with this incontrovertible aphorism:

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

It is widely acknowledged throughout the circle of my acquaintance that I habitually suffer a not inconsiderable degree of discomfort at this calendrical juncture. This has – of course – much to do with the onset of the new academic year (and with all that that implies) – not to mention the increasing impingement of that which is – by me at any rate – the least favoured of the seasons.

Proof of this sad state of affairs can be educed from my postings from around this time over the past several years, such as this, this  and even this – although I feel sure that you have far better things to do with your time than to subject yourself to my historical moans and grumbles.

Recent levels of stress emanating from my place of employ suggest that this year will be little different. There are reasons – however – to hope for an alternative outcome – that this time things will indeed be different.

Two years ago – in a somewhat precipitate post – I rashly announced that I was about to embark upon my last year at work before retirement. The gods – naturally – wasted little time in punishing me for this hubris and – as you are doubtless aware – I am still here…

Well – I now grit my teeth – gird my loins – summon up my courage – and make the same pronouncement again… this time with nobs on! I am contemplating several possible scenarios. The worst case has me retiring at the end of the summer term next year. The most optimistic has me packing my bags and waving good-bye in January. The intermediate options might involve working a reduced week in the new year to see me through. Negotiations with my employers commence almost immediately.

The Kickass Canada Girl is – at the same time – examining her possible courses of action. She would also love to slow down. One thing of which we are certain is that – once we have sold our UK property – there is very little to hold us here. Our retirement projections – though of course flexible – are all predicated on a start date of January 1st 2015.

Now – this is clearly a much more positive and realistic declaration than that which I made two years ago. This – of course – simply reflects just how much water has flowed under the bridge since then.

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Cause for celebration!

August 1, 2014 in Life as we know it, Moving to Canada | 2 comments

sponsorIt occurred to me – a couple of weeks back – that it had been a number of months since I had last been in contact with Oldest Friend and his good lady. I should perhaps – I mused to the Kickass Canada Girl – drop them an email.

“Give him a call” – the Girl directed.

As a long term proponent of world peace I acceded to this ultimatum, quickly dialling Oldest Friend’s mobile number. Following a brief hiatus he answered – somewhat testily, I thought.

“Not a good time?” – I enquired.

“We are in Australia” – he grouched. “It’s three in the morning!”

I forwent quizzing him as to why his mobile phone was switched on if he was trying to get some sleep and promised to contact him again in short order. I briefed the Girl.

“I had a hunch they might be down under!” – she said brightly. I bit my tongue.

She was right to be unsurprised. Oldest Friend’s son lives in Australia with his lovely wife and they have only recently taken delivery of their firstborn.

A couple of weeks on and Oldest Friend called to say that they were back in the country. We arranged to meet  them last Wednesday evening at the same Surrey pub at which we had discussed retirement with them a couple of years back. It was good to see them again.

In some ways they are in a similar position to us. Having inherited the family home on the death of his mother some 18 months ago Oldest Friend is battling to sell the property with a view to relocating elsewhere – although unlike us they have not yet decided where that should be. Like us much is yet up in the air for them and we compared notes concerning the dread feeling of powerlessness by which we all seem currently to be enveloped. We bemoaned as one the fact that nothing seemed to be moving forward on any front. Knowing that one is not alone in one’s travails is surprisingly comforting.

But then – on the very next day – something did happen and there was after all a reason to crack open the Harry Champers in celebration. Yesterday was our fourth wedding anniversary – the which had already put us into a good humour. This mood was further enhanced by the receipt from Citizenship and Immigration Canada of a couple of weighty emails. CIC had not – to this point – even acknowledged our presence on the planet, so it was with great excitement that we learned that not only had my application for Permanent Residence been received by them, but that the Girl has already been approved as my sponsor! The whole shooting match is now on its way back across the pond for the second part of the process to begin in London.

Hoo – bloomin’ – ray!!

Now that does feel like progress…

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Unequal

June 27, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Uneven_scalesWhat started out as a single post has now miraculously morphed into a series of four!

This eclectic assemblage of ramblings has thus far encompassed cricket, the demise of socialism and sun-worship.

What can it all mean?

Time to wrap it up…

My theme is – of course – inequality. I have addressed the topic a number of times before (here, here, here and here) and the gentle reader will doubtless have deduced by now that it is a subject that exercises me greatly.

Simply put – excessive and increasing inequality in any society is a bad thing and can only – in the long run – lead to disaster.

The free market is a valuable tool. It generates wealth, encourages competition and promotes progress. It is also – however – a completely amoral device. It is not of itself a good – even though good can come from it. For the benefits that can accrue thereby to be put to good purpose – the advance of society as a whole and the elimination of those evils of deprivation – lack of education – poor living standards – low life expectancy and unfulfilled promise – it is essential that the tool be managed, purposed, regulated and generally focused on the overall good. The market cannot achieve these aims unassisted.

Those who insist on the market being given its head – on its being allowed to exercise untrammeled influence on all areas of society – are in effect proposing an order entirely free from moral compass. This way madness lies. Events demonstrate time and time again that venality and criminality are not confined to the ‘lower orders’. When the powerful succumb to corruption they frequently do so absolutely. Human nature being what it is, the mere accumulation of wealth is no guarantee of altruistic or even acceptable behaviour.

By way of justification of their imperfect belief system those on the right may point to the fact that – in a period in which the rich have become the mega-rich, then the hyper-rich and ultimately the ultra-rich – living standards of those at the bottom of the pile have also risen marginally. It matters not – they protest – that the 1% own an ever increasing percentage of global wealth – just as long as everybody else’s living standards have also crept up.

Well – they are wrong… and it is just not good enough!

History teaches us that the the ultimate outcome of ever increasing inequality is revolution. That the West has not in recent decades experienced a greater degree of rebellious unrest can be attributed to three facts:

  • living standards for even the poorest segment are higher than they once were
  • in a globalised economy it is considerably more difficult to identify and locate the guilty parties
  • many in the West subscribe to the lottery mentality, by which – however long the odds – they still believe that they can hit the ‘wealth’ jackpot and join the 1%

The bad news for the ultra-rich is that it is all just a matter of degree. We don’t yet know where the tipping point will be, but be it will.

And at that point things will turn nasty!

 

OK – enough of this now…

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Heliolatry or pyrodulia – 2

June 21, 2014 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Photo by Luc Viatour on Wikimedia.orgWith the despatch of Socialism to the sidelines of history (see my previous post) and the resultant almost inevitable hegemony of the market, one could be forgiven for thinking that – for those with a social conscience – the game was up. Rabid marketeers and their fellow travelers on the right did what all good ideologues do when in a similarly victorious position – they plunged the knife in and twisted the blade!

These people would have us believe that there is no power – no authority – but the market. They are not to be trusted. Any notion that the market represents the ultimate form of democracy just doesn’t stack up. True democracy requires universal suffrage – something that the market can never provide, the rich holding the equivalent of a block vote.

Time for an allegory!

Those who worship the sun (and I refer here not just to those with a vitamin D addiction!) do so because they see the incalescent orb as the source of all life on earth and the origin of all power – which must be honoured accordingly. The Aztecs for example – as is well known – believed that regular human sacrifices were necessary to ensure that the sun repeat its transit of the heavens each new day – turning its face the while beneficently upon the earth.

It must be remembered though that not all that the the brightest star provides is propitious. The sun can burn and otherwise mutilate unprotected flesh – it can scorch the earth – it can bring the drought – can deliquesce the insubstantial. Nor are its favours bestowed equally upon all. This all-powerful sun-god must be appeased – apotheosized. Those who make the biggest sacrifice – or erect the most lavish temple – may expect to reap what they sew as the god smiles upon their endeavors. Those who do not – or cannot – must expect just to burn… burn… burn…

Adherents of Social Darwinism – and those who are in fact so even should they reject the term – have much in common with these heliolatrists. They might protest that their belief in the need for us to earn our rewards  – coupled with an avowed espousal of philanthropy – stands them firmly on the moral high ground. Unfortunately – as inequality continues its dizzying increase – the evidence suggests otherwise. Are these high achievers really working harder than ever before, whilst the remainder of us get lazier and lazier? And how much of that hard work actually just goes into the blackmailing of institutions such as the banks to hand over ever larger bonuses?

In fact the fine sentiments of those enthusiasts for market freedom ring as hollow as do those that they despise from the opposite end of the spectrum – from the social engineers. The truth is that human nature makes fools of us all just as soon as ever we try to codify our preferred social science.

There is an alternative…

Time for a different allegory!

Regarding fire-worship Wikipedia informs us thus:

Although the term “fire-worshippers” is primarily associated with Zoroastrians, the idea that Zoroastrians worship fire is originally from anti-Zoroastrian polemic. Instead, fire — even in a Fire temple (the Zoroastrian terms are more prosaic and simply mean “house of fire”) — is considered to be an agent of purity and as a symbol of righteousness and truth. In the present day this is explained to be because fire burns ever-upwards and cannot itself be polluted.

The Zoroastrians’ ‘agent of purity’ is indeed a powerful tool and bestows many benefits on humankind. The Promethean gift is also capable – of course – of bringing calamity but – unlike the sun – can and indeed must be controlled and contained.

Treated with respect fire is thus clearly in the service of man and not the other way around!

Here surely is a better model for the market – a tool for the benefit of all humanity rather than a Mammonian god that must be served.

This is where we now draw the battle lines…

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