I received these words from my father via email. I am sure he won't mind me telling you all he is 78 years young. So much truth....
Last week we went, Marie and I, to Burnsall which is in Wharfedale and part of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. The sun shone, the river Wharfe ran dark with peat from the Western fells, and the dale was cheerfully alive with day trippers and holidaymakers.
We walked along the river for a mile or so to where it broadens, with deep, calm stretches beloved of fly fishers in search of trout. It was here that we once watched a delightful event involving a duck and some ducklings, a small occurrence which has stayed with us ever since. Last week we remarked on it again . We recalled seeing a lone lady Mallard duck swimming sedately down river, a lone escort to a whole flotilla of very tiny ducklings, mere balls of feathers. (Is there an accepted collective noun for ducklings? Probably not; anyway, this was certainly a flotilla) There were about eight to twelve of these little creatures paddling hard under the watchful eye of their kindly guardian. But, there was one missing. Eighty feet away across the river, perilously close to the far bank, was another duckling, obviously having strayed wilfully rather than with mere carelessness. The lady duck’s quacks towards it became loud and insistent. The miscreant either failed or chose not to hear. If a Mallard can sound apoplectic, this one of ours did. She fairly quacked with rage. Eventually, the little creature responded and, while the whole party waited, swam as quickly as he was able towards them. No sooner had he (it had to be a boy) arrived than the indignant lady duck snatched him up bodily and plunged him beneath the water where she shook him violently back and forth. As the little fellow bobbed to the surface, she grabbed him again and gave him another hard dose of the same treatment. The whole group then continued sedately down the river with the misbehaving one apparently none the worse but undoubtedly somewhat wiser.
As we walked on, I considered, not for the first time, that the creatures of nature do not just care for their young, they discipline them. There is a notable exception: Western industrialised homo sapiens. I know that is an outrageous generalisation, but there is truth in it. For the last fifty years we have lost sight of the fact that our young need not just essential love and care but discipline, to teach them respect for others and what is good behaviour and what is not. In a minority of our homes boys below their teen years are the bosses, lone mothers having given up the struggle. In our schools young louts cause disruption and fear whilst any teacher putting a hand on one of them risks the loss of his livelihood and even his freedom. I know that there exist decent young folk, many of them, but the anti-social element has increased hugely. I am very much on the side of our lady duck.
As we strolled along amid cheery hellos from those we met, I reflected what friendly, kindly people most of my fellow countrymen are. What I did not know was that on that very afternoon louts were BlackBerrying (what a harmless pursuit blackberrying was in my day) and Tweeting and Twittering (budgerigar-speak?) to encourage more of their kind to engage in riots in London. What followed over the next few days was society coming face to face with the results of decades of loss of authority in the family, schools, and within the community as a whole.
For years our politicians have ducked taking a stronger line. They should take their cue from our Wharfedale duck. Give ‘em a good scragging and serve ‘em right!