‘Morning’... has broken

There is a Scottish saying, “We’re a’ Jock Thamson’s bairns”. Depending on your outlook on life that’s a very socialist, Christian, Buddhist, humanist, or just downright decent viewpoint. I’ve heard cynical Scots add, “… and there’s nae doobt he had a bike,” but it is, nevertheless, a good sentiment. 

I’m not sure if there is a Polish equivalent but I was certainly raised with that ethos. Politeness and respect should be shown to one and all, be they wealthier or poorer, older or younger. My father would extend a greeting to anyone he would pass, be it adult or child. I don’t recall him ever stopping to blether, he was never that kind of man, but just a simple “Good morning” would usually suffice, and I was expected to do the same, which I did. 

This was taken to a new level on my first day at secondary. As I walked up to the bus stop, I passed a girl on her way to work at the bank. This was probably her first job, maybe even her first day. As she approached, I nodded and said “Good morning”. She ignored me. 

I’ll admit, as a 12-year-old she was undoubtedly the fairest damsel I had ever seen, and would, inevitably, grow into an adolescent crush. She was a daily and unavoidable encounter at the start of every single one of my schooldays and for the best part of over 1000-plus of them I never let her pass without a “Good morning”, but never once received a response. 

When I left school at 17, with awkwardness now wedded to cynicism and sarcasm, I suppose I should have presented her with a bouquet of flowers and a card that read, “Thanks for not acknowledging my existence, 1968-74”. 

Now, where most folk would say it was daft to persist when she obviously didn’t feel any requirement for the briefest of polite daily exchanges, her obvious disdain for me just made me all the more determined to ensure I never missed a single greeting. Plus, it just felt rude to pass someone on a daily basis in total silence.

That may seem like a pointless exercise but, a few decades on, she became a neighbour of my mother’s and, to this day, we exchange pleasantries when we occasionally meet, though I have never mentioned she is approximately 1000 ‘good mornings’ behind on my scorecard, and probably has no recollection of the awkward teenager she passed every day all those years ago. 

Perhaps it was the ‘training’ all those years ago but, more than half a century on and with times having dramatically changed, I still persist. 

When I’m out and about, usually in the morning, and suddenly find myself approaching a stranger I continue to say “Morning...” though, usually I still don’t get a response and that does irk me, bringing back what my mother and father  instilled in me, “Politeness costs nothing”. 

I’ll make an exception for the local youngsters I pass on their way to school, primary and secondary, albeit with some reluctance. As a grandfather I appreciate the “Don’t talk to strangers” message, though the “Cross over the road when you see a man approaching” is a bit disconcerting but, in this day and age, understandable. However, having four wee grandkids, I’m not too comfortable with the lesson that it is  better to risk road and traffic than pass a male adult on the pavement in daylight.

Then again, we may all be ‘Jock Thamson’s bairns’ but our parenting preferences vary. 

If there is an accompanying adult, there might be a response, and that endorses my childhood indoctrination but now tenuous belief in common courtesy. 

Since we are all on the same journey, though on different paths towards the  same guaranteed destination, I am less forgiving towards my fellow pedestrians, especially 'visitors' holidaying in the village.

One of my early morning routes takes me past a local landmark, ‘The Blocks’, known by many photographers as the ‘Zigzag Pier’, and it is an attraction that sees camera-carrying visitors on an almost daily basis. 

Not long before Christmas there were three snappers at various points along the harbour wall, capturing the sunrise. 

“Good morning,” I said to the first. There was no response. 

So I upped the ante and vocabulary for the second with, “Hi there, lovely morning isn’t it?” 

Again this was met with silence. 

So, third time lucky huh? That meant expanding the communication. 

I hailed the chap with, “Good morning! What a beautiful sunrise; looks like we’re going to have a lovely day,” stopping short from suddenly breaking into the Bill Withers’ hit. 

Result? A hat-trick of silences! 

By the time I got home I’d mentally written a rather scathing, ‘sweary’ limerick about ‘Three photographers on a harbour wall...’. 

But even with such rejections, old habits die hard and I persist with my “Morning” acknowledgement to those strangers I pass. 

My wife tells me that I proffer those greetings where she would never consider it and, as a child, it wasn’t something she was ever encouraged to do. 

My insistence on some form of minimal verbal interaction surprises her as she doesn’t view me in other ways as presenting an affable or approachable front, or someone who is ever inclined to ‘small talk’. 

This may well have been a lifetime flaw, an innate idiosyncrasy. While that is probably a valid viewpoint that’s not the issue, it is back to that ‘Politeness’ belief. 

To me, now, it is probably the last remnant of my childhood world where a “Good morning” to all and sundry was as normal as being chased for trying to retrieve a football from a neighbour’s garden, saluting your teacher in the street (well, one particular teacher or else you got belted the next school day), good table manners, closing doors, sitting silent through ‘Sing Something Simple’ on the wireless, and always remembering to say “Please” and “Thank you”. 

I appreciate that less and less people now choose to help someone in distress or difficulty, preferring to reach for their smartphone rather than reaching out with a helping hand. 

I had an embarrassing situation a couple of years ago when I went for a walk on New Year’s morning. I have a suspect left leg and as I stepped off a high kerb on a brae in the village, my knee gave way and I went crashing down, just as a group of visitors who were enjoying a festive break, approached. 

They walked around me as I struggled to get up, with comments like “Look at the state of him”, and “What a disgrace”. Maybe if it had not been January 1 the reaction might have been different, but it was a humiliating and embarrassing experience, leaving me bitter and more than a little angry. 

However, I have still clung on to my “Morning” ritual though, after the habit of a lifetime, the time has come where I believe I should now ignore my fellow early wayfarers, accepting that the vast majority, even enjoying a break in a small community, wish to be isolated in their personal bubble, resistant to such annoying intrusions as a greeting from a 'local'. 

That’s been reinforced on two near-sacred dates. 

Early on Christmas morning, two out of three folk, ignored my ‘Merry Christmas’, and two out of two ignored my “A guid new year to you.” 

I’ve never been one for resolutions but as we progress into 2023, I reckon “Speak when spoken to, but not before,” might well be mine. 

We’ll see.

Picture: Jaesub Kim (Pixabay)