Believing as I do that you often spur youngsters into inquisitive action through quiz and play (“game” rather than “ernest”, says Chaucer), how good to be at our prep school, Dunhurst for the launch at assembly last week of the splendid treasure hunt A La Recherche des Carambars Perdus. Up stands Eli Chilton, French teacher to announce this quest: find one of the carambars hidden around the school; open it and find, not gooey stuff, but a French idiom, which you can cherish and deploy; collect as many carambar-idioms as you can, remembering them as you go – pupils can compare them and ultimately possibly win a prize, even beyond that of being more gallically figuratively armoured than they were before.
Some will not be tickled by this quest – chacun à son goût (I used to say), until one of my children, more in tune with modern French idiom, said it was “so out of date, like saying b’gad” and I should be saying chacun à son truc, which I say now. So here’s to keeping your idioms out of flares and in skinnies – and to ingenious ways of spurring on our natural inquisitiveness. Also, here’s to having fun with weighty titles. My ancient American uncle’s chronicle of his early life – escape from Scotland, go to Hawaii, find yourself invading Okinawa – is titled La Triviata, which shows at least that British understatement survived the journey.
Idioms will be on the minds of those of us lucky enough to hear the National Poet of Wales, Gillian Clarke, when she reads in our theatre tonight at 8 pm. To set the poetic hares and juices running and to nod at this beautifully Keatsian “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” we are having, here is a haiku from the letters page of a weekend paper:
Even a monk must feel
A sense of wonder:
A heron takes wing from a marsh
In autumn twilight.