It has been very sad this week to witness the reaction of some to the death of Lady Thatcher. As recently as today, a serving police officer has resigned following comments on Twitter. Social media are here to stay and are generally used responsibly and respectfully by the millions who use them. I wonder if the comments made by the officer were made during work time. He is gone now so it is now academic. I trust the next holder of his position will be more committed to the job for which he is paid. I can hope.
All of us have reason at various times to feel a little resentful of people we encounter. This is human nature. Thankfully, it is also normal to move on and get on with our lives. It seems that this has been too much for certain sections of society this week. To say that you disagreed with the policies of Lady Thatcher is fine. That is free speech and she of all people would approve. To express joy and happiness that she is dead is a different matter. At best this is childish but at worst it is despicable. How would any of these people feel if their peers expressed similar sentiments about one of their loved ones? In life, we are judged ultimately on our words and our deeds. These people have a lot to reflect on. Whatever we may feel about the past deeds of Lady Thatcher or any one else, it is not right to speak ill of them when they die.
Offhand, I can think of Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussain, Bashar al-Assad, Muammar Gaddafi and many others each of whom have happily presided over the massacre of their own people. The policies of Lady Thatcher in the 1980s may have cost some people their jobs but in the pantheon of world leaders past and present she was hardly a monster! She was an elderly lady who died. I would like to think it is not asking too much to afford her and her family the dignity and respect they deserve as they come to terms with their loss.
News that a song entitled "Ding Dong The Witch is Dead" has become the best selling record in the UK must be welcome news for the producers of the musical "Wizard of Oz". The song is not new of course and first rose to fame when it was performed in 1967 by the Fifth Estate. It is sad that the BBC has taken its usual course of dithering by fudging on the issue of playing it. They propose to play a shortened version. In effect, the BBC had two choices to begin with. The first option was not to play it and thus propel its sales into the stratosphere. If the song contained foul language and was blatantly offensive and distasteful, they would be justified in doing so. The song though is neither offensive nor distasteful. To retain their integrity the BBC must therefore play it in full because it is the top selling single. Ironically, throughout the years of her leadership, I can't remember a single newspaper or journalist portraying her as a witch. Even if people have chosen to associate this song with her in the week that she died, that is surely a matter for them and their consciences. While it is distasteful, by the same token the people who buy this record with Lady Thatcher in mind must live by their deeds. It would be interesting to know how many of the people buying this record actually lived through the 1980s. Would it be beyond the realms of possibility to think that some of them have been influenced by social media? If so, more fool them. If people are bitter about the legacy of Thatcherism, there are more seemly ways to show it.
On a happier theme, our tortoise Hogbad has today emerged from hibernation. It is a reflection of how cold this winter has been that this is the latest anyone can remember her coming out of hibernation. She was tucking happily into a generous wedge of cucumber for supper and looked ready for the summer ahead. I am ready for the summer ahead and as much as I like rain, I do hope that it is the exception rather than the rule this summer.
In his peerless novel Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh paints a picture of a British summer for which we all crave. In the chapter Et In Arcadia Ego, Waugh takes us on a magical journey which takes us back to the rose tinted days of our youth. Great writers make you feel as though you are actually there. I don't know that I have ever left that place. Evelyn Waugh was undeniably the greatest Catholic writer of the twentieth century and I would happily settle for a summer like that one. Sadly, the wine, women and song of Waugh's world have given way to the sex and drugs and rock and roll of ours. Oh to turn back the clock!
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