A PLACE TO CALL OUR OWN

A part of the stone wall in our backyard has fallen again. Slowly but surely, the insidious roots of trees and creeping ivy have damaged the boulders when we were sleeping. So with some homemade cement concoction we decided to put the wall up again, boulder by boulder with the wind behind us, whistling all its charm. Physically putting the stones back, one by one requires dedication, commitment, constant drive and dogged persistence. There was this construction-disruption duality of creativity. A sisyphean but therapeutic task indeed.

What is it with broken walls and mending them?

A fallen wall would be the red fox’s answered prayer to lay his paws on the chickens in the coop. The red fox here is certainly not the doe-eyed Disney version of Tod as in the ‘Fox and the Hound’ but the sly, lean and mean type that has no qualms about plucking the chickens’ feathers one by one. On the other hand, a fallen wall would be my puppy’s answered prayer to a glimpse of the outside world, to his delight or detriment.

Do we erect walls to keep intruders out or to protect the inhabitants within? Running Robert Frost’s poem ‘Mending Walls’ through my mind, I would think it is a little bit of both.

Walls create a sense of security.

The Caherconnell Stone Fort in the Burren, stands testimony of the need to construct walls to protect settlements even in prehistoric times. These walls are physical echoes of a distant past. No castle is complete without thick walls and a moat. The Bunratty Castle near Shannon has eyelets in the wall where archers can let fly dozens of arrows without being seen. In times of peace, these eyelets double up as peeping holes for fair maidens to view the dashing suitors and knights who approach the castle. Not unlike the screens that divide the sitting room from the family room in a typical Peranakan house – where modest maidens in the past could view their male visitors in the sitting room.

Walls prevent accidents.

There is also the look out wall which protects the viewer from sharp drops in height and allows him to view the splendid scenery. One such wall is the Ladies View about 12 miles from Killarney on the N71 road headed towards Kenmare. It is a major stopping point for visitors and the view from this look-out area is probably the best known of Killarney. The picture perfect photos of the mountains could be taken either in the mid-morning or mid afternoon. Seemingly, Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting visited this spot during the royal visit in 1861. They were so enraptured with the view that it was named after them.

Walls create a psychological space.

We need a place to call our own away from prying eyes and nosey neighbours. Imagine living in a glass house where others can see us sip our tea or comb our hair.

Having said that, it is also frightening that barriers can confine.

We have seen how walls that have been set up to divide political ideologies fall to allow reconciliation and freedom. The concrete reality can be a focal point for tensions between the factions supporting opposing ideologies. Chaotic celebrations would fill the air with the fall of a political wall.

Finally, we have also seen how walls around our minds shut out possibilities and differences in opinion or ideas. Often times we are left with the impression that if two people have differences, they are not considered equals by society. Take for example the gypsies who have their own customs and practices. I have seen a number of them in the neighbourhood who live in caravans and keep to themselves. It is impossible for us to build lasting relationships while we are still possessed with hatred and discrimination.

There is indeed no room for such walls of separation and segregation.

PERSISTING IN A QUEST

I AM not into submarines but I do enjoy war movies in which the majority of the plot revolves around a submarine below the ocean's surface. Usually, the plots in such films focus on a small but determined crew of submariners fighting against enemy submarines or submarine-hunter ships, or against other in-house problems like domestic disputes and faulty engines.
Some of my favourite submarine movies are Up Periscope 1959, a World War 2 drama starring James Garner as a navy frogman fighting the Japanese, the 1990 Hunt for Red October and the portrayal of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Hallmark Channel in 1997.

Seizing the sudden good weather, I had gone to Lahinch to enjoy the beach and thereafter to the pier to look at the number of fishing vessels moored there as well as smaller boats which use it as a launching site for sea fishing and recreational sports. There were lobster pots and fishing nets, and the air was dank and stale. The smell of fish and brine clung to my clothes like an uninvited guest.

So, it was a pleasant surprise when I found myself at Liscannor, a coastal village on the west coast of Ireland, the home of John P. Holland (1841-1914) a single-minded genius, a dreamer, a schoolteacher and an engineer. Most of all, Holland is widely known as the inventor of the modern submarine.
Sadly, some, if not all, geniuses are often not recognised during their life span.

Van Gogh and Vivaldi died penniless; Mozart was laid in an unmarked grave; Socrates was sentenced to death by drinking hemlock; Marie Curie was subjected to a smear campaign by France's Excelsior magazine, and Holland died a poor man with no public recognition of the fact that he had designed and built the first modern submarine. His only reward was the Medal of the Rising Sun, which he received from Japan after its success over the Russian fleet in 1904 to 1905.

What struck me was the visualisation, the insistence and the persistence of a quest.

Holland's first submarine, aptly named the Holland No. 1, saw the light of day in 1877. It was 4.2m long, powered by a primitive 4hp engine and carried one man. When it was brought down to the Passaic River and launched before a big audience, it sank. Someone had forgotten to insert the two screw plugs.

It took 50 years for Holland to be well remembered and it was not until 1951 with the Albacore that submarine design returned to his original vision and managed to exceed the seven-knot underwater speed that the Holland achieved.

The question remains: would someone lose his desire to excel if not in the right environment?

An Internet post reads: "I am a young adult, 22 years with a high IQ. When I was in high school, I was an avid reader. I could concentrate and focus for a long time. I loved it, but going to college changed that. My college focused more on memorisation. I lost the desire to learn. I finished college in May as a pre-medical student. I am trying to get into medical school. I was diagnosed with depression first and bipolar second during my undergraduate years."

From this post, I can deduce that a genius in the making can be impeded by unsupportive circumstances. It is frightening to note that some geniuses, in pursuing their dreams, have actually gone mad when adversity and setbacks plague their souls.

Being a genius is a process. A process of learning, becoming and being one. It is the "at the moment-to-moment" life that is lived, the sacrifices made and the extraordinary resources within and around.

Thomas Edison gave his famous formula for genius as one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration. Mustering human perseverance can pay off.

At the end of the day, the full-grown genius is like a submarine that is capable of independent operation below the surface of the water.

And that brings me back to John P. Holland.