Skidmore's Island: The Swarming Of The Flies
"The art of politics is a constant effort to repair the harm done by the preceding politicians,'' declares Ian Skidmore.
The mistake was to think of “Lord of the Flies” as a work of fiction. When we were eleven my bosom pal Bobby Thompson and I were persuaded by a charismatic 13-year-old called Bunny Praeger to join his syndicate of schoolboy shoplifters. There were branches in six schools in the centre of Manchester and the more prosperous suburbs. It was a very well thought out network and we only stole to order. Predictably, my speciality was books. Our raincoats had pockets that went through to our suits. Bunny taught us to leave the coats open when we stretched over a counter so that the raincoat covered our busy thieving hands.
It was a great success, though short-lived. The reason it withered was our fear of punishment and the difficulty, seventy years ago, of inter-school communication.
We manage things so much better in this brave new world. We have banished discipline and given our children electronic toys which make communication instant. Now our deprived youths all have Blackberries and bikes.
The art of politics is a constant effort to repair the harm done by the preceding politicians. The problem of the Arabs was caused by their betrayal by Lloyd George’s government. It was the action of the Allied governments at Versailles that made World War 2 inevitable. Our feral youth and the fact that Britain has the highest figure of teenage pregnancy can be laid at the door of the parent of permissiveness, Roy Jenkins.
Harold Wilson hid youth unemployment by opening universities to young illiterates. We support the Arab Spring despite the fact that Tunisia is now ruled by fundamentalists, the most coherent party in Egypt is the Arab Brotherhood and there is evidence of a heavy fundamentalist presence among the Libyan rebels.
Whatever the politicians tell us were the reasons for the recent breakdown of civilisation in England, we need to know nothing more than that every generation has criminal propensities and there are always charismatic schoolboys like Bunny Praeger to harness them.
Happily, that is not one of my worries.
There is only one thing wrong with old age. It does not last long enough. Only the old have complete command of their time. For most of life, doing nothing is frowned upon. Only old folk can muse with impunity. Or, for that matter, doze. I enjoy a nap after breakfast but only in my eighties can I indulge myself. We can ponder with impunity the sad truth that Western civilisation is going to Hell in a handcart but only really worry when the Co-op runs out of croissants.
