From: annarichmac@hotmail.co.uk
To: historymacA@btinternet.com
Dear Da
This is another letter. I’m typing this one too and I’m going to e-mail it. But it’s a letter just the same.
I’ve seen it. Culloden. Peter Watkins – the guy who made The War Games for the BBC. Then they banned it. That’s the one, isn’t it? You told me you saw Culloden when it first came out. When the clansmen and the black and white redcoats talk straight to the mike and answer the questions. When did you last eat? What do you own?
I saw it in Film Studies, the week after Ashes and Diamonds. I can see why they programmed them that way, two war films, a documentary and a fiction. I thought Culloden is also like fiction. It’s not just that the events seem impossible, so crazy. It’s the way it’s made. The film-maker comes in from above, the omnipotent author guy, just like the nineteeth century novelist. And I might have heard you argue something like that yourself, with three glasses of vino down you. Tolstoy says more about the 1812 campaign when he’s telling a story – lies, if you like.
But Culloden is a flicking amazing film. Glad I went, though I was wiping the eyes. Very girly. But some of the guys were sniffing too, on the way out.
Next week, it’s Bill Douglas. You should be doing this course. Remember I watched one of the trilogy with you. Heavy going but the both of us glued to it. Did you ever see Comrades? It comes later, on the bill. His big movie. I know you’re skint but why don’t you get the bus down. It’s about the Tolpuddle martyrs. But it’s not a documentary. It came out at the wrong time and it’s pretty long. My lecturer says it’s really worth watching. I’m definitely going for it.
So it’s been a thoughtful week, Da. And I think I know what I want to do. After Uni. And it’s not a flicking PhD. Not an MLitt neither. And I’m not winding you up when I say I know you’d come up with a dozen great topics.
It’s teaching, Da. But don’t think it’s English. Even at Uni there’s a lot of getting fed with spoons. The students who do best – they spot the questions, read the lecturer’s books and just come up with a small variation. I could teach people how to do that but I’m not going to do it myself so be warned, the degree will be mediocre. Not mikalor or however you write it – not miserable like a puddle of drizzle – just medium.
I know you think I’m spending too much time on the water but that’s where I’m coming from. Oops, yes, I know we’ve all come from a womb. I can hear your interruptions before you say them.
I want to teach kayaking. I’ve been doing it at the club, after freshers’ week. Taking the baby paddlers. It’s amazing. You watch them achieve something they couldn’t manage at the start of the lesson. It’s just something I can do, help people to get a skill they might never get, on their own. That’s it. After four years of studying criticism, I know I’m not that into theory.
It’s another year at Uni – the postgrad, Outdoor ed. A fair bit of crap, of course. Big chunks of serious Scandinavian meditations saying obvious things about the great outdoors. Just about as boring as some of these old Bergman films you persuaded me to watch with you. Summer with Monika was OK. But I’ll have a good qualification. Don’t worry, I won’t need any more cash from you – I know you’re pretty stretched. A girl can see the signs. It’s in Edinburgh, which helps. Mum’s doing OK. Her job’s come through the cuts. Plenty Eastern European folk in SY needing a hand with their English. Know you don’t see that much of her – cos you’re cooking on gas for a crust – but she’s sailing again. Regular crew for a cove with a cruising yacht. They’re talking about Norway. She’s cut her hair short and she’s looking pretty cool.
My own paddling is coming on. I don’t do much at sea, these days. We keep tabs on rainfall and river levels all week then go chasing new runs.
Things are all good with me, Da. Only wee thing is Les is kind of slow in coming round to the idea of another year in the UK. The van is purring and he’s hungry for the off. Even the Scottish rivers don’t do it for him. He’s a man with a surfboard and he needs to use it. He’s talking about Ireland. I’m saying, what’s one more year? And what about Barvas beach and the Valtos break. We could be back and fore. I can get work at home out of term-time. He’s twitchy and getting grumpy as hell. I think he might be for offski anyway. Maybe he’ll be back for me. The VW chariot carrying me home.
Have you joined the Sportscentre yet? I suspect you’ve not got round to it and I’m going to nag you. Daughter’s prerogative. Swimming’s the way. Stress in the kitchen and home to sitting on your behind watching videos of old movies. It’s a lifestyle but. The white thatch suits you. Don’t cut it short. The headband is groovy. Keep it on, out of the kitchen.
Any chance of that monkfish with the red onion marmalade, when I’m back on the rock?
Take care of yourself,
xxx