A Sort Of Greatness

The flags in school have been at half-mast this week to mark the death of one of modern Singapore's founding political fathers. It's been fascinating to witness the more than determined efforts to engender a sense of nationhood through the establishment of a sort of collective memory. Judging from the genuine sense of respect for the gentleman in question one senses from the students I think it's working.

Initially I was telling myself that this is something my childhood was largely free of, and then realised just how far off the mark that notion was. To cite but one example - I found myself thinking of the funeral of Churchill (Winston - he of the big cigars) which took place when I was nine or ten years old. What passed for the media in those days certainly went to town on that. Little as I was, I had a melancholic sense of the passing of greatness from the land.

It was roughly seven years later that Lou Whittaker sort of spoilt the effect by telling me of how he had come to hear the news. He was walking down the street when he found himself approached by an old buddy, an old-school radical of the type that Denton bred in those days. According to Lou. his pal told him the big news and drew this colourful moral: Well, Lou, when we finally get to hell and there's a war on, at least we'll know which bastard started it.

Funnily enough I've now reached an age when an understanding of Churchill's many faults if anything increases my respect for him. I rather think, for example, that he would have quite enjoyed Lou's story.