The Story.
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Stories please the heart. It's true. There's nothing like finding true meaning in a great piece of writing. Mostly, the stories I hear come from the words in novels, many of which are truly great examples. It's these ones that you hold gently, careful not to dirty or crease the cover. The stories you are doomed to never savour because they're so good that you always devour them, sometimes in one sitting. If you're like me, you may even polish the finger prints off their glossy covers when you're done, only to place them, skinny side out, in an obvious place on your book shelf. Yet each time you glance in their direction the colours on the spine conjure up a little patch of familiarity deep inside; a soft regognition of those special people, places and events that hollowed out a little place in your heart and mind.
There's this ad on TV at moment that really captures what I'm getting at, embracing the power of the story. Granted it's an ad for pay TV, but I really like how it's just Dustin Hoffman talking. And even more so, I really like what he's saying (I've more than echoed it in my words above). Watch the clip for yourself (above) if you haven't already...
I spend most of my working life teaching stories, watching stories, listening to stories and telling stories (the latter is perhaps too frequent, as I've come to realise, in the classroom, I am a big user of the analogy and anecdote - perhaps too much so, ha ha ). Anyway, one story that's stuck with me over the years delves into a time gone by: The Great War, or World War One as it's more often known. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque (translated from German) gives the account of innocent German teenagers thrust into the hellish experience of the frontline of war. I like it because it's from the perspective of 'the enemy'. Not that I can say my personal enemy, but at least in a patriotic sense, the enemy of my country at the time. Yet I come to realise these charaters are far from the enemy, as I follow their horrific journey we are united by our universal ties to humanity. These boys were just like you and me.
What's my point I hear you say? I know, I know, I'm winding it up...
This story is true. Those words on the page were real. And when I walk on the gently ondulating grassy hills in the south of Belgium, I think about these things and those people who scratched a meagre existence (and death) into this very dirt. Yup, to me this was a pretty powerful experience.
Below is a series of pictures of the two places we visited near Ypres, situated on what was once the Western Front. No running commentary for this next post, just pictures and captions. Hope you like, don't be thinking I'm crazy now, just a person who feels and thinks quite deeply at times (and at other times, quite shallowly too, ha ha). Enjoy.
There's this ad on TV at moment that really captures what I'm getting at, embracing the power of the story. Granted it's an ad for pay TV, but I really like how it's just Dustin Hoffman talking. And even more so, I really like what he's saying (I've more than echoed it in my words above). Watch the clip for yourself (above) if you haven't already...
I spend most of my working life teaching stories, watching stories, listening to stories and telling stories (the latter is perhaps too frequent, as I've come to realise, in the classroom, I am a big user of the analogy and anecdote - perhaps too much so, ha ha ). Anyway, one story that's stuck with me over the years delves into a time gone by: The Great War, or World War One as it's more often known. All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque (translated from German) gives the account of innocent German teenagers thrust into the hellish experience of the frontline of war. I like it because it's from the perspective of 'the enemy'. Not that I can say my personal enemy, but at least in a patriotic sense, the enemy of my country at the time. Yet I come to realise these charaters are far from the enemy, as I follow their horrific journey we are united by our universal ties to humanity. These boys were just like you and me.
What's my point I hear you say? I know, I know, I'm winding it up...
This story is true. Those words on the page were real. And when I walk on the gently ondulating grassy hills in the south of Belgium, I think about these things and those people who scratched a meagre existence (and death) into this very dirt. Yup, to me this was a pretty powerful experience.
Below is a series of pictures of the two places we visited near Ypres, situated on what was once the Western Front. No running commentary for this next post, just pictures and captions. Hope you like, don't be thinking I'm crazy now, just a person who feels and thinks quite deeply at times (and at other times, quite shallowly too, ha ha). Enjoy.
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