(If you haven’t already read “The Starfish Thrower (2)”, just let me say that you will understand this post a lot more easily if you do.)
OK. Back to St Ives:
And back to the moral of that story.
I was once told by a wise man, “You can always find a reason for not doing something”. And that is so true.
Why bother helping starfish?
It’s too hot
There are too many of them
What’s the point?
and so on.
But don’t just look for a reason to do nothing. It’s easy. Just throw the starfish back. You don’t need to train for 20 years and spend £300 on special equipment:
You don’t need to gather a crowd and you don’t need to wear special clothes:
And you never know. You might attract a helper:
Or get the grateful thanks of a mermaid.
With me, it’s always contributions to charity that I baulk at, whether that be my valuable time or my hard earned cash.
I give a little money to the Salvation Army because my Dad said that if you were freezing cold on a foggy station platform during the winter of 1943, the Salvation Army would always be there to help you. The Church of England never was. Nor was anybody else. So my Dad ordered me to donate a little money to them from time to time. But equally I could say to myself, “Well, I never saw my Dad give them any money himself, so why should I bother?”
In other words, “You can always find a reason for not doing something”.
Four days later, I was back in St Ives, wandering round a gallery stuffed with art that I like. Pictures of dogs, pictures of dogs playing cards, pictures of very large sharks, undersea divers, undersea divers being attacked by very large sharks, and most of all, aeroplanes.
I used to read war comics when I was little. Ones like this…
Just look at that fantastic line “Spitfeuer! Achtung!!” I’m fluent in that kind of German. I often think I could have been a Kommandant of a Prisoner of War Camp, using just the German from war comics and films.
This art gallery had dogs and sharks and undersea divers. And it also had this wonderful print:
Nowadays, lots of Germans visit Cornwall and they visit St Ives. They all like to look around the art galleries.
Suddenly a little boy came in, closely followed by his Dad. He looked up at the aircraft print on the wall.
He pointed up at it and loudly and clearly, he said to his Dad, the line I had waited to hear somebody say for 50 years. He shouted:
“Achtung Spitfeuer! Achtung Spitfeuer! Achtung Spitfeuer!”