Some insights by Rodney Dale

There are times when one suddenly becomes aware that something has come into fashion. For instance, there were the blow-moulded letters that suddenly appeared on every pub, and the moment when all butchers started to wear white hats. Of course, fishmongers had been wearing genuine boaters for years, but the butchers’ hats were, I think, plastic – and they’re still wearing them.

 Now, I’ve gone through life having an increasing number of insights – such as, for example, that as one goes through life one has an increasing number of insights. Another insight is that one often discovers that things one thinks were invented at about the time when one became aware of them are actually much older. Thus I thought that the idea of buying things on hire–purchase was invented after the war, when in fact it began as a manifestation of emerging Victorian affluence. But I’m sure that I was in at the beginning of pub letters and butchers’ hats.

 Another insight was the ‘all-the-worlds’-anythings’ syndrome. The discovery was founded on the fact that in the late 1940s I had a large ammunition box mounted on the handlebars of my bicycle (instead of a basket) and attended the meetings of the Cambridge and District Branch of the National Cactus and Succulent Society in the Guildhall on the first Thurday of every month. Because I was interested in cactus and succulent plants, and could never remember to take my books back to the library, and had this huge box on my bicycle, I naturally chose to be branch librarian. But what of the syndrome? Well, I noticed that as soon as the cactophiles gathered in the room, they talked of nothing but their plants; outside that room they were (presumably) ‘normal’ people, but the mental environment in which they found themselves set their thought processes into cactus mode. At the annual cactus convention, forgetting the wicked spines of Echinocactus grusonii, stirring speakers would emphasis the soothing properties of the lovable cactus, even going so far as to aver that, if all the world’s cactophiles pulled together, peace and harmony would prevail, and the world would be a better place. This of course works best in an amateruish way – those within the cactus circle want to draw in those without: ‘Why not come to one of our meetings?’ So along you go, hints and tips are bandied freely about, and pieces broken from prize specimens are pressed – albeit delicately – into the extended hand of friendship.

 So when all the world’s housewives, weightlifters, beekeepers, trainspotters, birdwatchers or anythings get together, and their world – whatever it is – takes over their thought processes, the whole world becomes a better place. And no doubt when a multifaceted individual scurries from one dingy church hall to another, on the way doffing the hat of the philatelist (say), and donning that of the jazz enthusiast (say), the world becomes an even better place.

 Such an amateur approach is diametrically opposed to the professional – and especially the quasi-professional – organisation, often behaving as though its purpose was to exclude rather than to draw in new members. Watch out for phrases such as ‘dedicated to maintaining the highest professional standards’ when what is really meant is: ‘creation of an exclusive and self-perpetuating body for our own aggrandisement’. A window-cleaner complains of the disrepute brought upon his serious profession by thieves pretending to clean windows, and calls for a professional register to prevent misrepresentation. What is missing is the mechanism by which a professional window cleaner is somehow prevented from being a thief as well – unless, of course, the new pride he takes in his window cleaning precludes any illegal practices which would bring disrepute upon the brotherhood.

 Once the window-cleaners have their professional body, up will spring a trade magazine established to con its advertisers into thinking that its readers are conning their advertisements. It is here that ‘all the world’s anythings’ come to the fore again – titles such as ‘Double the life of your bucket’, ‘A squeegee for the next millennium’, ‘A sucker for climbing’ and ‘Secrets of the bo’s’n’s chair’ take us into that world where window-cleaning is all, a view reinforced by advertisements for lightweight multiconfigurational ladders, sponge sets, and chrome restoration capsule attachments for steam cleaners.

 Not everyone has all the answers, I’m sorry to say. In an out-of-date number of Reclamation Management I came across an article on going into Europe (it was very out of date). ‘Good’, I thought, ‘Europe through the eyes of the scrap-merchant. Has it lived up to their expectations?’ But the Editor was not very helpful: ‘Nothing we can say will influence anyone one iota’. How sad! He goes on to say some things which, as predicted, will not influence anyone one iota and finishes by enlisting the help of the audience: ‘Some of our more informed readers might like to respond by giving us their views.’ Hear, hear! Would that some of your fellow editors were so discerning – they’ll print any old uninformed rubbish.

Here’s the almost identically titled Recreation Management, described somewhat convolutedly by its editor as: ‘more than just another journal which one hasn’t time to read’. Not having had time to read it, I cannot comment upon his self knowledge, but flicking through the pages transported me once more into the environment of all the world’s anythings – the world seen through the eyes of the recreation manager; a world of retractable gymnasium seating, swimming-pool filtration units, sewer inspection craft (interesting recreation that, tours of the sewers) and artificial ski slopes.

 And that was when I had another insight: the launch of a new magazine for butchers (who presumably never suffer from butcher’s block) wherein some enterprising advertiser told his readers – and we must admire his insight – that, whatever corners they cut, all would be well as long as they wore white plastic hats.