The Second Mister Read Online Free

and bizarre dimension. Patriotism, ( the name we give to Nationalism when we encounter it in our own country ), often provided the initial impulse. A teacher of our native language might lift his eyes to the ceiling, ( a sure symptom of highmindedness ) and ask:
    “What about someone who says ‘ I do be going to the pub every night ‘ or ‘Johnny does not be too good at times ?’ Such statements are a direct assertion by the Irish Nation of its ancient and inalienable right to articulate An Aimsir Gnáth Láithreach. * *
    Another teacher’s patriotism was of a geographical variety. One day he was reading from a textbook about the fluvial geography of our own small corner of Ireland.
    “ The tributaries of the Shannon Estuary are The Mague, The Deel, and The Feale.”
    He suddenly threw the textbook on the ground, gave a little jump, and shouted with all the vehemence he could muster:
“ Contemptible rubbish! We claim that the Feale is an independent river !
    He did not even give himself time to look up at the ceiling.
    And so it continued, day after day, for years on end. The tabulae of our minds became less and less rasae as the imprinting of peculiarities of outlook and ideological stances went on and on, even at third level. One Monday morning in 1964, while well hungover, I was struggling through a two hour lecture on some of the less sexy aspects of metaphysics. It was obvious to everyone that the lecturer had to pretend that his assertions were the result of objective and impartial reasoning, while at the same time warding off anything that might in the slightest way conflict with the immemorial infallibilities of Holy Church. To get himself out of some obscure corner, that was probably visible only to himself, he came up with something called “a schematic image. ” I put down my sixpenny biro on the desk, pinched myself to make sure I was awake and decided I could take no more. Perhaps I was right. Many years later, after he had become an elevated ecclesiastic, he argued before a public tribunal that by means of a “ mental reservation ” he could tell an untruth without telling a lie. Plus ça change….
    I cannot claim that the blackguarding was entirely in one direction. I had an elderly history teacher who had the habit of walking up and down between the rows of desks, while at the same time recounting the innumerable invasions of Franche-Compté. He always wore a sports coat with very large pockets containing at least two pipes and several days supply of tobacco. One day, when Franche-Compté was being invaded even more often than usual, he stopped beside my desk to light his pipe. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling as I winked at my friend John who was sitting in the front row of the class. I then dropped a note in the teacher’s pocket which read:
“Dear John,
You have the biggest head in Europe.
Regards,
Paddy .”
    When the pipe was glowing he recommenced his march up and down between the desks. As he passed John, my friend retrieved the note from the pocket with a deftness that indicated that he might have a future as pickpocket, if he ever failed to make a living from Seventeenth Century European history. The next time he reached the front John dropped another note into the gaping pocket which I duly retrieved. This read:
“Dear Paddy,
How nice to hear from you !
You have the smallest brain in the whole wide world.
Yours sincerely,
John “
    Did any of this matter ? After all, I eventually left the educational system with an adequate grasp of the Ablative Absolute and a useful knowledge of the Roman Law of aquaducts. ( The formula for benzene, unfortunately, remains an ongoing mystery). I also learned how to read but, some would say, not how to write. I know the year in which the 1916 Rising occurred and can tell three dirty jokes in French. ( On grounds of obscenity, I once had a limerick refused by the editorial board of our parish magazine - the first and only time it ever refused anything