---

IN THIS ISSUE

• Dick Monaghan concludes his series on the joys of amateur theatre
• Kate Brookfield describes more of the sights and sounds of Taiwan
• Wendy Fisher and Margaret Manning both offer to carry on the Spinner
• Dilys Buchan describes a washed-out rock concert in PEI
• Arthur Pay continues his story of what he did in the last war
• Here is the second chronicle from Richard Ross
• Gerrit de Leeuw forwards an essay on youth
• Need an excuse for drinking beer in the hot weather?
• Gerrit and Jack Peaker suggests interesting websites

Dick Monaghan comes to the end of his memories of

AMATEUR THEATRE

We come now to the real reason, according to many, why people turn out for amateur theatre: the cast party!

There is a cherished belief among amateurs that professional actors spend their off-stage time in riotous debauchery. I don´t know any professional actors, so I can´t say for sure, but I doubt it. I notice that the scandal sheets and gossip columns feature the same old names, day after day - Paris Hilton and a number of others with no discernible talent, and a number of talented people with no discernible common sense.

Amateurs make the same mistake with riotous debauchery they do with acting and directing. They underestimate what it takes to succeed. Both pursuits require energy, stamina, focus and talent. If you can´t pace yourself, you´ll have your face in the mashed potatoes before the real fun begins.

Many picture the party as a collection of smartly-dressed people holding smart cocktails while discussing Stanislavsky and Method Acting. This doesn´t happen, partly because nobody really knows much about Stanislavsky and Method Acting. The talk rapidly declines to interchanges about lawn care and child rearing, and the path to the bar gets more and more crowded.

Pretty soon some of the guys discover they´ve been in love for ever so long, even though the object of their affection doesn´t know it. Another feels a need to talk to Nelson Mandela in South Africa on the hostess´ telephone, but he has to wait because another guy is overcome with nostalgia for a woman in Buffalo, Wyoming, who he is sure will be glad to hear from him after six years. Still others try to organize an indoor touch-football game using an expensive vase for a ball.

Someone decides this is the place to bare the soul, and another turns up missing, only to be found asleep in the upstairs bathtub just before the police are called.

Husbands are yelled at, boyfriends are dumped, engagements are ended, and conduct is evaluated: "You shouldn´t have done that! You´re going to give adultery a bad name!" Many swear off alcohol "forever," and the host and hostess are temporarily cured of giving parties.

Add it all up, and you realize that in any society where most people have adequate food, clothing, and shelter, life is mostly a matter of defeating boredom. And amateur theatre is not the worst way of doing it.

Kate Brookfield resumes her observations after

A WEEK IN TAIPEI, TAIWAN

The long travel time to get there had its advantages. Because of the time change we woke regularly at 4.30 a.m. Taiwan time. This was the time when everybody seemed to rise, just before dawn, which was about 4.45 to 5.00 a.m. On the first morning, and every morning during the week, we took a stroll around the campus, which by 5.00 o´clock is a busy place. This is the time for morning exercises. The preferred exercise seemed to be Tai Chai in groups with music, or isolated individuals in quiet places. We explored the campus and enjoyed the water lily pool with lilies of every colour and beside it, a lotus swamp with huge blossoms and fruit.

The building where we stayed, the Activity Centre, provided accommodation and also included three restaurants, as well as a small auditorium with a stage for events. The view from our room looked over a long straight road lined with palm trees and in the distance, the hills beyond Taipei. In the foreground was a formal pool with water fountains in front of a sculpture by famous Taiwan artist.

The building next to the Activity Centre was the gymnasium with an Olympic-sized swimming pool, indoor courts for tennis, squash, badminton, a workout room with all the usual exercise machines, plus rooms for fitness classes, etc. The pool was open from 7.00 am to 10.00 p.m., only closed for cleaning between 11.30 and 12.00 p.m. and 4.00 to 4.30. I enjoyed a swim every day, sometimes twice a day.

The Earth Sciences building, where Mike will be employed, was on the curve next to the gymnasium. It was a modern round building housing the usual offices and lecture rooms, plus extensive well-equipped laboratories. They even have a machine for measuring stardust!

On the first day, Mike had gone to meet the Director of Earth Sciences and I was planning my day, checking the map for Taipei and Lonely Planet Guide for Taiwan, when Mike phoned to say that I was expected to attend the orientation and briefing session.

The department head had a screen the size of one wall in his large office to show his Power Point presentation on the institute. This a research institute for sciences so he showed the whole structure of the set up, the various people and their area of study, and a lot about the geological structure of Taiwan. I found out that we are on a geological fault! The equipment in the various labs was very impressive ... no shortage of money. I think it might be all on their website. This website gives a similar introduction to the institution: http://www.sinica.edu.tw/as/asbrief.html.

I learned that Taiwan is subject to earthquakes as it lies on a fault line. We were told about typhoon days by the person who picked us up at the airport. When a typhoon is expected, everything closes down and he said it is like a national holiday - I suppose the equivalent of our ´snow days´. A typhoon had just missed Taiwan the day before we arrived. We also heard about the eathquake in Japan that happened when we were travelling.

After the presentation we were taken round the building, then we went for dinner with them. I was introduced to some strange dishes, all good, and as it was western style we had knives and forks, thank goodness. I haven´t mastered the art of eating with chopsticks. One dish they insisted we try, a Taiwan speciality, looked like a black jello that hadn´t set properly as it was quite liquid but jellied pieces in it. It was sweet and I think it was a jelly made from an an infusion of coriander. Our hosts didn´t seem to know the English name, but they said it was a herb.

There were three restaurants in the centre. This meal was in the western-style restaurant which had a large copy of a Leonardo de Vinci sketch on the wall. The dining room was cafeteria style and this is where we had breakfast, and only chopsticks and spoons were provided. The third eating place was the coffee shop for snacks and light meals. I tried a lot of different dishes and liked the food. Chinese food is all supposed to be good for your health.

In the afternoon of our first day, I went to the centre of Taipei exploring how to use the public transport. Just outside the campus was the main road where I took a bus to the subway, known as the MRT (Mass Rapid Transit). It was unbearably hot, but the bus and MRT were air conditioned, so I didn´t walk around much. I just got to the central downtown area and then went into an underground shopping mall. I had to get out of the heat. Most people carry umbrellas for UV protection. I bought myself one the second day.

The noise in the shopping mall was something else! There were lots of arcades with kids playing machines. Most of the merchandise was the usual mall stuff, shoes, clothes, and bags, but unlike our malls, lots of book stalls and many people of all ages browsing the books.

The strangest sight, for me, was the massage centres. A row of beds had people lying on them covered with yellow sheets. The masseur had a curved tool in both hands and was pummelling the clients up and down the spine. There was also another place for foot massage. Later in the week, I was tempted to have a foot massage as I got blisters from walking in sandals without socks, but it took 45 minutes and I didn´t have the time as we had planned to do a lot of things that day.

More to come.

I am surprised and delighted that two long-time readers have offered to take over the editing and publishing of The Tale Spinner if and when I no longer can:

VOLUNTEERS

Wendy Fisher writes: I would definitely keep up your newsletter. I find the stories awesome and it´s an absolute gem! It never dawned on me until I saw Pete´s (Peter Weatherby) comment in the last issue, but I could do it. Plus I might retire this year after 33 years with my employer so that frees up some time for me.

Bottom Line - if you really choose to quit at some point, and nobody else lines up for the job, I´d love to step in. I´d even help in some capacity if you want to do part of it. I would do the bothersome part for you.

ED. NOTE: In addition to her generous offer to carry on the Tale Spinner when I no longer can, Wendy already has an online organization that introduces would-be penpals to each other and has started another about retirement. If you are interested in writing to other women, see Wendy´s website at

http://www.friendship-by-mail.com/index.html

If you are retired or about to retire, go to http://www.retirement-online.com

And Eric Manning writes: Margaret has asked me to write you about the future of Tale Spinner, having read of your friendship lunch with Geoff and Freddie.

She says this could be the motive for her to get back into regular writing and would like to offer to take the editorship on should you decide to have a break from it.I suspect there are others who will offer. Margaret says that she would like to help in some way.

Dilys Buchan writes from

THE QUIET GREEN ISLAND

There is a God! Last night saw the much-trumpeted arrival of the rock band Aerosmith in Charlottetown, and the world went crazy.

It seems there was a four-hour wait for the ferry from New Brunswick, and a never-ending stream of cars across the Confederation Bridge. I do believe the city doubled in size yesterday, if you include the hordes of tourists who were already here.

Here´s the fun part. It started to rain on Friday, and rained and rained and poured and blew; and it did all this for about thirty hours. Then it stopped, at eleven on Saturday night. Exactly when the blast on the beach ended.

I have nothing against Aerosmith as a band. I just didn´t want to hear them up here on the top of the hill. Praise the Lord, I could only hear the occasional raucous roar. It was as though God turned on Her big sound machine in the sky to drown them out, just the way I do when, at midnight, the local teens are still destroying the park across the road.

On a more pedestrian note, I have to feel a bit sorry for those folks who paid well over a hundred bucks for the privilege of sitting in six inches of mud and going deaf to boot.

My neighbour, Joe, went down to see what was going on and then gave voice to what most islanders must be thinking: "Rock concert? They have to have rocks in their head to sit out there!"

I can hardly wait for tomorrow´s Guardian. The letters to the editor are still buzzing over a minor rock concert two weeks ago, where they dared to use the F word while children were in the audience. Oh horrors!

And oh, to be eighteen again and actually have a good time!

Here is the next instalment of the story by Arthur Pay:

"WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE LAST WAR, DADDY?"

When Neville Chamberlain announced in 1939 that a state of war existed between us and Germany, I expected that there would be immediate air raids on towns in Great Britain, and in apparent confirmation of this, an air-raid warning was given within minutes of the broadcast speech. There was no air raid, and the wailing of the siren was followed within a few minutes by the continuous note of the "All Clear".

I had been well conditioned by reading H. G. Wells´ "The Shape of Things to Come" and had also seen the film. It was almost inconceivable to me that people anywhere would even contemplate war, given the threat of air raids, and the Russian pact with Germany seemed to make the possibility of war on just one front so daunting that no-one would consider it an option.

Indeed, Britain and France seemed to have been manoeuvring for Germany to attack Russia and leave the West alone. I remember discussing with Reg Underhill, who later became Lord Underhill, the effect that the non-aggression pact between Germany and Russia might have. Reg Underhill was the secretary of Leyton Labour Party and I knew him from League of Youth days. He was also a pacifist, but he was sure that the pact would make war inevitable.

For a week or so after war was declared, I was completely gobsmacked. But then, nothing happened, and the Sitzkrieg commenced. I presumed that both sides were reluctant to start the fireworks.

Christmas passed and then eventually in the spring of 1940, the Low Countries and Belgium were invaded after bomb attacks, and the collapse of the Allied armies in Northern Europe began, finishing with the withdrawal at Dunkirk. I remember having a bicycle ride and picnic in Essex with Charlotte one Sunday in 1940, in beautiful spring weather, and hearing even at that distance the rumble of gunfire and bombs from the other side of the Channel.

I was involved with fire-watching at Waterlow´s factory in Wharf Road, Islington, but it only meant sleeping overnight in the factory. Life went on in London - though one could hardly say normally, because there was an overwhelming premonition that momentous things were happening, or about to happen.

As previously mentioned, Charlotte and I took our holidays together, cycling across England to Wales, north to Snowdon and then back through the Peak district, southwards to Huntingdon and home. I remember the astonishment of some London conscripts on duty at a check-point in Wales that we should consider the places they were posted suitable for a holiday. We were in Chester Youth Hostel when Paris fell to the Germans.

On our return to London the preliminary skirmishes of the Battle of Britain were taking place in the sky, but although there were frequent "red alerts", no bombs were dropped on towns until September 1940, when the London docks were targeted and set on fire. The bombers returned in the evening and night-time and the London Blitz had started.

I cycled over to visit my relatives in Greenwich across the Woolwich ferry, but the damage to the houses where they were living was not extensive.

The Tribunal decision was that as I had a conscientious objection to military service, I should remain in my occupation at Waterlow´s or take up work in connection with the land.

I was promptly sacked by Waterlow´s, and after a visit to the Labour Exchange, was directed to the Huntingdon War Agricultural Committee and cycled down to Huntingdon to start work in September 1940.

To be continued.

Richard Ross continues his chronicles from abroad:

AN AMERICAN IN PARIS

I revisit you now in what could be my third week in Paris. I cannot explain how much I enjoy the abroad experience and the state of mind that follows. Though I love and miss you all, I may have inherited the wanderlust gene that has landed in a few Ross´s and Bells over the years.

Let me begin with my utmost appreciation for the French´s emphasis on mayonnaise! At all times of the day, I can dip any food from french fries to carrots without any of the mayonnaise taboos that I´ve been confronted with in the States. But you do wonder between the cigarettes and mayonnaise, how these people live to see their children graduate high school.

Yes, wine and champagne are often cheaper than the water, but wine is not as pervasive as I had envisioned. My family drinks not a sip a week, and often the cafes and bars are filled primarily with coffee and beer drinkers. It may just be my experience. Also, another popular cocktail, which can be found on most menus, is the "Hurricane Katrina". I suppose the Mediterranean hasn´t stirred up anything severe enough to induce any feeling of empathy into the French people.

Have I become immune to gorgeous, stylish, and super-confident women? No.... Have I built up somewhat of a tolerance? I suppose. You have little choice if you continue to ride the Metro every day.

Monday through Friday, from 8 to 10 am, I have my intensive French class at the Sorbonne. As an American, I am finally a minority. Each morning, in a classroom where any other language except French is forbidden, I am surrounded by Spanish, Swedish, Mexican, Turkish, Brasilian, Japanese, Chinese, Canadian, and Lebanese. Beginning this week, I have been going out for coffee after class with an eccentric southern male "Spanyard", a kindhearted Bolivian and a curious Chinese girl. With each of our native backgrounds, we have little hope of communication unless we apply our intermediate French. I sit impatient for tomorrow´s rendezvous.

At the American-sponsored institution, I am taking a French culture and civilization course and a class a little more up my alley, called Islam in France, taught by a magnificent and brilliant Iranian woman.

Outside of class, I hang out with a lot of Parisians, Swedes (studs and the rest of the Nevadians can empathize with Swedish presence), and of course, Americans, including a large Georgetown contingent, whom I look forward to continuing friendships with as we inevitably find ourselves in Washington.

My fellow Gloucester friend, Oliver, and I have still preserved our pact we made prior to our arrival in which we vowed we would only speak to each other in French. So within a few social networks and my host family, French immersion is taking place. However, I still have a way to go. I have my first date with a Parisian though, on Sunday, so maybe a pretty teacher is just what I need!

My running routes are breathtakingly surreal. In my many running routes in Gloucester and Washington, DC, I have yet to run directly underneath the Eiffel Tower. Now here in Paris, I use the Eiffel tower (I must say it truly is the most incredible man-made creation I have ever seen) as just a helpful navigational reference.

I have booked my spring vacation. During two weeks in April, I first fly to Dubrovnik, Croatia. After a few days on the beach, my friend and travelling partner, Kate from Australia, hope to head even further south to Montenegro via Bosnia. A night in Bosnia and a few more days on the beach in Montenegro, we should be ready to head even further east, with a visit to Belgrade, Slovakia, and then Budapest, Hungary. We fly back out of Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. So yes, these places may seem to be bizarre spring-break destinations, but what´s an adventure without actually making it an adventure!

My host family´s great. She is a weathered chef, with a diverse selection of dishes each night. The fellow French student who lives with me as well is a cheerful and intelligent fellow, who often uses me as a listening ear to the latest English he learned in school that day.

I have so much more to discuss but I am sure you all either have a class to attend, another e-mail to read, or a pot-roast in the oven (the latter is more directed specifically at my mother).

To be continued.

Especially for the patio season, here is an excuse for drinking beer:

THE BUFFALO THEORY

as explained one afternoon at Cheers by Cliff Clavin to his buddy Norm. Here´s how it went: "Well ya see, Norm, it´s like this... A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That´s why you always feel smarter after a few beers."

Gerrit de Leeuw forwards this essay by Samuel Ullman (1840-1924):

YOUTH

Youth is not a time of life - it is a state of mind. It is not a matter of red cheeks, red lips and supple knees. It is a temper of the will; a quality of the imagination; a vigor of the emotions; it is a freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over a life of ease. This often exists in a man of fifty more than in a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years; people grow old by deserting their ideals.

Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair - these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust.

Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being´s heart a love of wonder; the sweet amazement at the stars and star-like things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next, and the joy in the game of life.

You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair. In the central place of your heart there is a wireless station. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, grandeur, courage, and power from the earth, from men and from the Infinite - so long are you young. When the wires are all down and the central places of your heart are covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then are you grown old indeed!

THIS WEEK´S SUGGESTED SITES

Gerrit de Leeuw forwards a URL which must have been seen by everyone by now, but is well worth watching again: http://video.yahoo.com/video/play?vid=646496&fr

Jack Peaker sends this website for people who want to test their reflexes:

http://www.ferryhalim.com/orisinal/g2/applegame.htm

You may also read this newsletter online at http://members.shaw.ca/vjsansum/

One of the universal rules of happiness is: always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual. - Terry Pratchett (Jingo, 1997)