Crossing the Line.

I heard something this evening which made me smile broadly. (Smiling broadly is something I rarely do, you understand, so it was an occasion of some moment.)

I was watching the first episode of the comedy Blackadder II, having picked up the whole series for the princely sum of £1 in a charity shop. Queenie, modelled on Elizabeth I, daughter of Henry VIII, is recalling things which amused her as a child.

‘What were those people called, the ones with funny faces and bells?’ she queries.

‘I think you’re referring to jesters, ma’am,’ replies Lord Melchett.

‘No, no, that’s not right,’ says the Queen. ‘Oh yes, I remember. Lepers.’

And then I wondered whether such a joke would be tolerated these days. We wouldn’t dream of engaging in light hearted repartee about, say, a Downs person, or anyone else with a recognised disability or condition which set them apart from the majority. We would consider it offensive to the sufferers of such conditions, and rightly so.

But we in the modern western world think of lepers in exclusively historical terms – even biblical ones – and imagine that leprosy no longer exists, at least nowhere that’s likely to be reached by a 20^th century western TV comedy show. So does that make a difference? I suppose it probably does.

*  *  *

And talking of people set apart from the majority, I saw a young woman in Uttoxeter today who came close to arresting my breath. She wasn’t just pretty – pretty girls are, after all, ten a penny – but her looks, her bearing, the simplicity of her dress and demeanour, and the strength of her presence were exceptional to the point of being as rare as a pearl among pebbles.

I so wanted to tell her, but you can’t, can you, not even when you’re old. I forced myself to stop staring at her and smiled at the baby girl she was carrying instead. The baby smiled back, which was ample recompense for the frustration of having to remain quiet and unobtrusive.