QUIET, PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

People have commented to me on my children. They usually don't say "What erudite youngsters you have given birth to, and how intelligent they are." Equally, they don't say "Oh, my, how attractive these young people are. Of course, they take after you, Danae."

Those comments would, of course, be true. Valid. Positive. Uplifting. Pleasant to listen to.

No, what has been said is this: "Your children are so quiet."

Being fond of analysis, my mind goes into overdrive when something like the above statement is uttered. I think, "Oh, sweet cauliflowers, my children are quiet. They are not noisy. They do not yell, swear, scream at earth-shattering levels of decibels, they do not feel the need to communicate with people five kilometres away by shouting full-out at them. They do not grab every opportunity to have every stranger stare malevolently at them because they are inappropriately LOUD and riotous. They take after me. I talk when I have something to say; although I have been known to rattle along or indulge in a hefty rant. I listen. I use inner and outer ears to listen.

My children have moments when they talk and it's when they want to talk. I applaud the fact that they aren't like our neighbours - thankfully, they're moving - whose (large) garden abuts onto ours and who have raised two children to scream unmercifully at the top of their capacious lungs at any and all stimuli, bang bin lids and any other intensely loud objects together, and act as the local drop-off point for what seems like thousands of other immoderate kids who are overpoweringly, head-thumpingly, gratuitously and achingly and consistently noisy.

We are generally quiet people. The world does not like quiet people. It respects listeners, but not much. It reveres shriekers and yellers and dinners (those who make a din). A favourite saying in my part of the world is 'Shy bairns get nowt' and, by the sound of it, there aren't many shy bairns around now.

When some woman says "Your children are so quiet" I know that she is making some kind of complaint. Why? What is to do with you if my children don't sound and act like yours, Mrs? I don't complain that your children are vying with the local busy airport to pollute the world with more racket so why comment on my children's peacefulness?

Really, we'd be better off living in another part of the world. Somewhere where thinking is respected and peace is encouraged. Where you yourself are valued, not for how much clamour and uproar you can funnel into other people's ringing ears.

I'll tell you a little secret. In school reports, my child was said to be quiet. I reacted with annoyance but I should have held my peace. I should have said, "Yes, I'm sure you are thankful for the thoughtful ones. They are models of good behaviour for your inconsiderate, annoying, abrasive other pupils, aren't they? Be glad that they are in your class."

Cherish the tranquil non-screamers for they will inherit the world because the government, sooner or later, will find a way to bring in a noise tax.

Until then, if you, Mrs, are tempted to criticise my children because they don't sound as cacophonous as a henyard, I say one thing to you and that is "BE QUIET!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

In the depths of the country

I went away on Tuesday and spent most of the week in the countryside.

I saw sheep safely grazing, and millions of rabbits grazing also around the caravan in which I stayed. I saw panting dogs on leads, and faces turning as their owners' said "Hello" and smiled at us in our plimsolls and caps which we donned all ready for adventures.

I saw gently ambling cows, and curious horses on rolling hills.

I saw a fast flowing river beating its foam against a sharp rocky slope.

I saw men and women jumping from land-rovers, emerging muddy wellies first and seeming healthy and happy.

I saw my children, pink with excitement, taking everything in. The sheep grazing, the hopping, white-tailed bunnies, the dogs with lolling tongues, strangers saying howdy, cows mooing and ambling towards shade, horses staring curiously at us townies, the river rushing and gushing downhill towards yet another country village, mud-encrusted land-rovers with farmers disembarking...

and the stone cross standing proud in the market place and the steady thud-thud of peace and healing, and the long talks about the future, and the past, and what to do with the life we've got and what we should do about people who oppose us and seek to constrain us and make us less than that which we are.

And I learned that there is more here than me and my worries. I learned all over again that I can trust my children to do what is right for them and best for them and I should not worry. I learned that they are amazing people who have truly wondrous minds and secret thoughts. I learned what is important and what is not.

In the depths of the country, I re-acquainted myself with peace and what matters and truth and what is meaningful.

And I am a better person for the four days in the green leafed idyll, the country lanes, the steep hills, the sheep, the rabbits, the caravan and a glimpse of the past ways of life.

No one can remove the 'me' from me. No one can scatter my ashes before I am dead. No one can tell my soul what is its purpose. No one can disturb me, or violate my sense of timelessness. No one can rip from me my relentless desire for righteousness and my thirst for justice.

I will fight on.

Peace is worth defending.