David Charters: The world is divided between the examiners and the examined

Jun 24 2008 by David Charters, Liverpool Daily Post

"WOULD you believe it?" said my wife, who had tucked up her legs on our sofa and was reading the Saturday paper, with her mug of coffee steaming on the side table.

"What's that?" I replied, raising a quizzical eyebrow, while slumped on the armchair in the corner of the lounge.

"It says here," she continued, "that scientists in Japan have discovered pigeons who can discriminate between paintings by Monet and Picasso."

"By jove," I said, "they're only a whisker away from being art critics. Give your average pecker a glass of warm white wine, a slice of quiche and a mirror to preen in and, before you can say "genre", he will be writing for the Guardian - volunteering his opinions on such modern masterpieces as the unmade bed and that big crack in the floor, which was all the rage a few months ago."

Ah, but I can remember a little figure with horn-rimmed spectacles and a hint of old Ireland in the weave of his jacket, who would have chuckled at the notion of pigeons flapping over the polished-wood aisles of our famous galleries, hovering here and there to nod sagely at a Constable or a Turner.

"You know," he had said one afternoon many years ago, when we sat at a table in a pub-on-the-skids, overlooking the river, "people think that I drink to excess."

I shook my head in disbelief, as drizzle sprayed the unpolished window. "I don't think they understand," I said, comfortingly.

"No, you're right there," he continued, rubbing his thumb along the swell of the whisky glass, as though it was the hand of an only child. "I don't drink excessively. I drink moderately all day."

"There is a difference," I agreed, uncorking my bottle of red wine.

"A big difference," he said, "but do you suppose the committee of examiners in the sky will understand it?"

Sadly, he will have known the answer to that question for a good few years now.

In fact, if you fancy a little philosophy today, it seems to me that the world is divided between the examiners and the examined. The mystery is why one lot assumed that they were born to be examiners while the rest of us accepted that we were to be examined - from waiting, tremble- kneed, in the playground line, praying for some god-like child to point at us, so that we could play in a cricket or football team. After that there are exams at schools and universities and those panels of judges, who appraise our efforts in the factories and offices.

Then, as the blinds draw closed, we come to the final judgement of Earth - the assessment of a life, as offered to the mourners in church by a priest, preacher or some other "pillar of the community".

When I was a cub reporter on the local paper, we had a policy of recording the deaths of everyone from the town, except those who were behind bars when "touched by the Shepherd's crook". Biographical details would be prepared into a tribute, the length of which was determined by the importance of the life, as judged by senior colleagues. Bank managers, councillors, doctors, teachers, war heroes, outstanding sportsmen and "active" members of charitable organisations, such as Rotary or the Soroptimists, were deemed worthy of the full hit - several hundreds words and a dignified photograph from the family album.

But others were dismissed as having lived lives worth only two paragraphs. "Two paras" was the cry when names were called out in the smoke-cloaked newsroom, where the typewriters chattered.

Life had been reduced to a race in which a few were awarded the medals. The rest of us were listed under "also took part".

The hope of most people was that their kindness, tolerance, capacity for love, sense of humour, quiet bravery and gentle smiles, would be recognised by that committee of examiners in the sky. Was the cello-scraper from Cheltenham really better than the gravel-layer from Scunthorpe?

The great prize was not on Earth but in Heaven. Perhaps, the new desire, near lust, for Earthly success reflects our shrinking religious faith. Maybe, we no longer believe that the poor in spirit are blessed because "theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven", if we ever did.

That could be why so many "two para" people seek celebrity on TV and in the magazines, grabbing all the medals they can, while time slips into the jar at an alarming pace.

But who am I to judge? A pigeon can differentiate between a Monet and a Picasso, so there is still much to hope for, if you believe it.

* LISTEN to David Charters on his podcast at www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk