Paradigms

An example of paradigm shift I've seen quoted many times goes like this - 'In the 1920s, a US battlefleet was on nighttime maneuvres when the watch on the bridge of the flagship noticed a light dead ahead. The Captain orders a signal sent for the errant vessel to move out the way.

"You turn," came the terse reply.

The Admiral duly ascended to the bridge and, outraged, ordered another signal sent.

"I'm a battle squadron of the US Navy and you will get out of my way. Turn away now!"

A reply promptly arrived. "I'm a lighthouse. I suggest you turn."

The battle squadron turned.'

I've read some learned dissertations on whether it was a true story or not. My feeling is that it's not, for several reasons.

A lighthouse should be obvious. Its light revolves - ergo, flashes. Ships don't emit flashing lights unless they are signaling. To attain the rank of Admiral, or even Captain, would suggest a basic mastering of the art of navigation. It stretches the imagination that an Admiral would steer his fleet towards foul water, even at night, even in the 1920s. Likely he would not be an Admiral for long. Watches are kept and, even at night, the simple art of dead reckoning using charts would give the crew a reasonable idea of where they were and if there was any danger. Titanic bumped an iceberg, sure, but they knew where they were (even if they didn't know there was an iceberg there. In any case, few icebergs have a lighthouse attached to them.)

Admirals and Captains do have moments of faulty inspiration. In the 19th Century, HMS Camperdown rammed HMS Victoria at Alexandria while trying to impress the Egyptians with the might and superior training of the Royal Navy. The Victoria was sunk with high loss of life. British sailors in those days rarely learned to swim. Steel battleships weren't supposed to sink, in any case, particularly by ones own side.

The maneuvre wasn't in the textbook and the Admiral hadn't allowed sufficient distance between ships - clearly. Some worthies have suggested that Camperdown's bow ram was the culprit and Victoria wouldn't have sunk if not for this protuberance. Maybe, but neither would've it been sunk if it hadn't been hit in the first place.

In 1905, Rozhdestventsky's Russian flagship, Suvorov, put a salvo into its own escorting cruiser, Aurora, while in the act of pounding the British, Hull fishing fleet. Why the Russian Navy was engaging a fishing fleet, and British at that, is another story. But Aurora survived - to signal the start of the Russian revolution in 1917. Aurora's fire crews were exemplary and the blaze was put out, but, it has to be said, they had a lot of practice. Rozhdestventsky's gunners also fired live rounds at their own Kamchatka - which was supposed to be towing the target - and blew in the after deckhouse. Target towing must have become the least sort after duty in the Russian navy at that time.

But Aurora's dilemma was in the midst of a battle - even if the 'enemy' were fishing boats and, likely, they weren't shooting back. There was enough wildly aimed Russian ordinance flying around anyway to make it seem like a 'real' battle. Mistakes happen in the heat, as it were, when lives are at stake. Mistakes happen during training - that's the point - but measures can be taken to ensure the result isn't fatal. People panic in action and make mistakes sometimes. I understand that.

But, hapless, undertrained and under-motivated as many of Admiral Rozhdestventsky's crews were, they never steered the Russian Second Pacific Fleet onto rocks, despite sailing all the way from the Baltic to the sea of Japan. After the battle of Tsushima, some individual ships drove onto rocks. but some did so deliberately to save the crews. The Cruiser Izumrud ran onto rocks while trying to escape along the coast of Korea, but then, it was taking risks to evade enemy warships.

So my point is - I think - if the Russians didn't ground their fleet in 1905, I doubt the Americans risked their fleet like that in the 1920s.

Harveyisation

'Harveyised' or 'Harveyisation' was a process to produce armourplate for warships in the late 19th Century. 'To be Harveyised' could also relate to the process I've been going through the last few days. First, load onto the IPod all ones PJ Harvey CDs then listen to all 12 or so albums - including collaborations and sundry - end on end.

The result is a complete rewiring of the brain where nothing quite works musically unless it's being sung by PJ. It also creates a desire to find bootlegs and anything at all one might have missed over the years. Such a search took me into the shadowy world of fileshare sites offering dubious copies of dodgy disks apparently recorded by cellphone or a nano in someone's shoe. The quality is often bad and shouldn't worry Universal Music one iota, I would've thought.

Back in the day, fan networks used to distribute these on cassette, re-recorded 10,000 times. Crank the stereo up and you can hear the artist as if they're playing in a cornfield during a gale. Some moron is always having a conversation near the mike - there was no bass worth a damn and the lead always came out of the speaker at the other end of the stage away from the tape.

But these 'booties' were proof positive of a devoted fan and you trumpeted the acquisition to all your mates, who became suitably jealous. I had a drawer full of the shit - only ever played once because they were so bad.

It struck me, though, how easy it now is to download everything - studio albums, concerts - in good quality and not paying a cent to Universal or a shekel of royalty to PJ. I'm no saint and, in truth, I've grabbed the odd song off Limewire and their ilk. But, if I didn't already have most of PJ's music, I could correct that situation in a few hours of free downloading - everything, from 'Dry' to 'A Woman a Man Walked By.'

Yeah, I see the point clearly, if I didn't before. I always thought Limewire was a lottery, with as many trojans out there as the real deal. But these sharing sites are astonishing in both the quality and comprehensiveness. I bought 'White Chalk' as a digital download from the Vodafone store - it cost me 15 bucks, I think. I could've got it for nothing, complete with artwork and lyric sheet. It's not okay - this is PJ's livelihood - she deserves the income.

So how do you convince a spotty teen they're screwing the artist who has to eat like the rest of us? For every lavishly wealthy artist there's 300 or so struggling musicians. How does one appeal to teens' better natures?

You can't - they don't have one. I've never met a teenager who wouldn't take something for free if they knew they could get away with it. The only thing that stops them is consequences. Risk doesn't often figure large as a brake on teen behaviour, but a security camera, guard, road spikes and razor wire give them pause to reflect. Teens are amoral - they always have been. They don't develop a true conscience until they're my age - or older. Cops are the only thing that stops teens running riot.

Maybe the answer is with a use now pay later scheme? It would work a bit like those hire purchase things where 'you pay nothing for 12 months.' In this case, the kid downloads all they want - as they're doing now - but then pays the appropriate fee once they've grown up. By then they might acknowledge their sin and want to redeem themselves. It'll make them feel better at the same time they're discovering how boring marriage and a mortgage is.

Look, they've just given up booze, drugs, casual sex, parties, rock concerts in the belief they should 'settle down.' What better way to cheer themselves up by paying for all that music they pinched off the Net when they were kids?

Brilliant idea?

But really, I've been 'Harveyised' again. My brain has been case hardened against anything that's not PJ. I'll snap out of it eventually, of course, but I feel like I've fallen in love again.

Don

A New Start

I headed home from work with Ciaran's excited - and very loud - voice still ringing in my ears. 'I had to get to the Makino Pools, now, and...'

'But,' I told him. 'It's not 4 o'clock and the boss gets pissed if I leave early.'

'Come, now!'

And so on.

I waited until 4 and drove the usual way - down Aorangi to the BP service station, then down Church. The Makino Pool was a short distance from our house, down Grey. Ahead I saw the flashing of Police lights.

'Aha,' I remember thinking. 'They've pulled over some boy racer near our house. The local kids think it's a bloody race track.'

However as I got closer, I saw the police had closed the road between Grey and Fitzroy. Outside our house were hundreds of cars and spectators. A tourist coach was parked across the drive, completely blocking the house from view. I recall wondering whether it was a Denning and whether it had a Detroit Diesel. Mostly, though I was in shock.

I spun the Subaru into Grey and headed for Makino, wondering what the Hell we'd gotten ourselves into.

I guess it began when my oldest boy managed to gain the attention of the local police a few years back. Rohan had a positive knack for making wrong choices, based on the misconception he was 18, not 13/14 years old. He'd figuratively painted a target on his back since primary school - not a good idea when you live in a small town were everyone knows you.

We grew accustomed to having the police visit with another installment of Rohan's misdemeanours. I knew the authoritative knock of the patrol at 3-am in the morning and the hum from the I car stopped outside. There was always an accompanying squelch of radio traffic and the faint ticking from the revolving beacon. What was it this time? Theft, drinking, out after curfew, or pissing off some shopkeeper?

We tried everything and followed every professional's advice. There were parenting courses, anger management, psych assessments etc, but nothing stuck, nothing seemed to convince my boy there was a far less arduous course in life. Trouble stuck to him like discarded masking tape to a shoe. No matter how hard he shook, it was still there in the morning.

We moved into Diversion, and knew the next stage was the Youth Justice system.

One day, while in a rage he chose not to control, he clocked his mum with a balled fist sending her sprawling over the sofa. Tine had enough and called the police from a neighbours. Rohan had just slipped over into the legal age of criminal responsibility, so I watched in despair as the constable clicked the cuffs on my boy and hauled his ass off to lock up.

Tine has Huntington's Disease, an incurable, genetic, neurological disorder that affects balance, memory, brain function and which ultimately leaves the sufferer bed ridden and facing an early death. It's a tough break for, not only Tine, but the rest of us who have to try and carry on some kind of normal life as she gets sicker and sicker. Slowly, she was changing from that lovely, ball of fire that captivated me 19 years ago. HD affects the personality - makes her less able to cope with normal stress - makes her slow to grasp simple ideas. Her deterioration is a tragedy beyond words - and she's only 45!

A combination of all these factors and the intervention of this state agency and that came to a head a month ago. Our Family Support Worker - I'll name her - Robyn Duncan - stopped by and announced we were to have 'an extreme house makeover' at the end of August. Her husband, Bruce, was a builder and was willing to offer his time for a little renovation of our hovel.

Our hovel, you understand, was bought by us as a hovel to make into a decent home over the next few years - time and money willing. However, with Tine having to reduce her hours at work - due to excessive fatigue because of HD - we were being severely squeezed financially. We couldn't keep up with normal maintenance, let alone make improvements.

An out of control teenager had put holes in the wall. The roof leaked badly and had rotted carpets, floors and a roof beam. The back door had been kicked in once too often and had fallen apart. The house needed painting, inside and out, and the stove had only two elements running. The oven had died, the fridge leaked all over the kitchen floor, cupboards were broken and vermin were slowly chewing through the wiring - despite the attentions of two cats.

We all slept in the one room over Winter because there was no insulation and it was too expensive to heat. We had a log burner, but it was non-compliant and we had no money for wood. I used to forage fuel from the side of the road and various parks - chucking logs onto the back of the truck and spending hours trying to hack through it with an axe.

Strange how easily one gets used to the smell of one's own shit. We lived in disorder and chaos, but I couldn't see it. Most of our life had been characterised by struggle. This was just another struggle and I did what I thought I had to do to survive. Most everyone else was better off than us, but that was par for the course.

Robyn and Bruce got together with Police Youth Aid Officers - principally Constable Scott McKenzie - and decided to take our situation to the Mayor. Seemingly, overnight it became a community project to bring us help. Tine was finally leaving work to an uncertain future. The community of Feilding made a decision to make her final years as comfortable as possible.

From a few licks of paint and a tidy up, the thing escalated beyond anyone's initial conception. Finally, they assembled over 60 companies willing to offer time, goods or money. There were the Air Force boys from the Ohakea Base nearby, Police personnel, kids from Hato Paora College, Lions Club, Salvation Army, Manchester House Social Services, Huntington's Disease Association,our neighbours - to name those who we know about. Leader and Watt Appliance Store provided a washer, Gary Dyer Painter, Noel's Property Services, Tri Web Desktop Services, Insulation Specialists, Woolworth's Supermarket, TVNZ, Manawatu District Council, Raceway Motels, Tatton's Pharmacy. Some of these firms know us as customers - most don't. I do gardening for a couple of them but, I'm not sure they know that.

In all, teams totaling 75 people spent from Friday 28th, to Tuesday 1st giving us a new home to be proud of. If I could, I'd name every company, every organisation and individual publicly and broadcast their extraordinary acts of kindness and love all around the World. I wish I could, but, I simply don't know who most of them are. If time and labour had been totaled, it comes to over $100,000 spent on us. (I think about US62c to the 1NZD = roughly over $US62,000)

Budget Waste provided 8 skips and they threw out most everything we had, save our books, CDs, vinyl record collection and the clothes we were wearing. In return, they replaced everything ten fold. We have a new kitchen, bathroom, laundry. The kids and us have new beds and coverings, clothes, TVs. My pieced together stereo got biffed and they replaced it with a near new Aiwa with Kenwood speakers. Accidently, I think, my computer gear and camera went AWOL. No problem, the Salvos said, we'll find a new camera! Tine got a new sewing machine and desktop computer - a Windows machine, but who's complaining? Our lounge has new furniture, drapes and we're heated with a top range heat pump. Insulation has been put in under the new roof, as well as underfloor.

Outside, we have a new garden. Potted camellias and pansies surround our new front porch. We have a fruit orchard, with an almond tree, cherries and feijoas (pineapple guava) flower beds and a vegetable garden. Our old shed was torn down but the carport was fixed up and fitted with folding clothes lines.

Most everywhere we are discovering little touches. A drawer full of cosmetics, after shave, socks. Woolworth's Supermarket stocked our cupboards so full I'm not sure how we can chomp through it all. In addition, the MDC's Makino swimming pool gave the kids a year's free entry and lessons. Focal Point Cinema gave us 14 tickets to a family movie of our choice. Raceway Motels put us up FOC for 4 days.

The effect on our family is profound. I feel more powerful. Things have resolved themselves into a clarity - my thinking has been reordered.

We were whisked from the pools in a white Holden V8 accompanied by celebrity type security terse instructions by mobile. 'Ok, we're on our way now.' 'Ok, we'll let you through.' 'Move the bus - move the bus!'

The bus roared off as we got out of the car. It was a Hino, reared engined with a tag axle. Before us were hundreds of people, press, TV cameras. Robyn and Annette, the HD Social Worker, guided us up the drive while the TVNZ lady hovered with her cameraman. People were clapping and cheering. The smiling TVNZ reporter asked me how I liked my new home. I don't know what I said. I hoped it wasn't stupid. Someone told me they thought I was 'well spoken.' I guess that means I didn't make a dick of myself before the whole nation. Maybe it was good editing?

Ciaran's class got to watch our performance the next day on Breakfast TV. He's 11 and thinks the publicity will get him girlfriends. Taran tried to make a speech on his own but he folded. He's 8 and shyness took him in the end. Tine floundered a little before dissolving into tears. It was good television, I guess.

The local paper, the Herald, had us front page featured for 2 days. The regional paper, The Manawatu Standard, managed one front page. There's stuff online too. I'm becoming as publicity conscious as Courtney Love.

Mostly, I can't wait to leave work each day and head home to the palace.