I’ve been re-reading The Shooting Party, by Isabel Colegate. It’s one of my favourite novels and I’ve read it several times, but this time I was reading with a particular purpose in mind. For the next ten weeks I shall be using this novel as one of the texts to draw on for examples of writing techniques for the Creative Writing course I’m leading at Carlisle’s Phil and Lit, and looking for those examples requires a close focus on the text.

What surprised me was that despite having read the book before, there was so much detail that I had not consciously registered, or at least retained in the memory.

Something else, though, of more general interest came out, and that related to the background ideas that Colegate presents us with about what life is and how we might think it should be conducted. Now this novel was written, or at least published, in the early nineteen eighties, but it was set a lifetime earlier, in 1913. My adoptive parents were born in 1907 and 1908. I grew up in the 1950s.

There’s a quotation from about two hundred years ago – some attribute it to Sydney Smith – about what hasn’t been ‘reasoned in’, being difficult to ‘reason out’. Brought up to date, it means what we’re taught before we are old enough to rationalise its wisdom, is so taken for granted as to be virtually hard wired into us. And how old do we have to be before we even recognise, or learn about that process, and see that we have been exposed to it? My guess is that the learning, the recognition, comes later than the age at which we visit it on our own children.

As a counter-current to that, there was – but not necessarily only – a nice little change between the novel’s text, and the ‘same’ scene as recreated in the film version (which followed soon after publication). That involved a Derbyshire ‘peasant’ expressing his distrust of Welshmen. In the film, this had been expanded to include Jews. What agenda, I wonder, was being addressed by the addition, for it made no significant difference to the story, only to our perceptions of that working class individual. Stories, whenever they are set, whenever they are told, carry the stamp of the time of the telling, however historically accurate they might try to be.

But still it occurs to me that the ideas I’ll will have had not reasoned into me, are likely to have been those that were not reasoned into my parents by the generation  before. My maternal grandmother was born in 1876 (and her husband, I think, a few years earlier). She told me once of watching the soldiers go off by train to war. I presumed she meant the Staffordshire Regiment, and the First World War. She said she had been a young girl at the time though, and would have been in her thirties by then. She recalled the sight in the early nineteen sixties. The surprise was, that she remembered them wearing red uniforms. This must have been the early Boer War, or even one of the colonial slaughterfests of the late nineteenth century, when we had ‘the maxim gun, and they had not!’ Thus the slow pace of change, generation to generation. Thus the surprising similarities of thought, and assumption, in the minds of my parents, and the characters of a novel set in 1913.

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