Last night when I left the house to take the dog out, our local fox was mid visit heading toward the compost bucket. I know she is a wild animal, but I swear she takes the time to look me in the eye before running away! It’s not the first time either: there seems to be this amazing pause that takes place where she stares at me before she turns her beautiful tail and runs. We’re currently running similar schedules with me on the end of the day dog taking out duty and the fox coming down to see if any tasty snacks are available. Some days we do this extraordinary Grandmother’s Footsteps’ routine, with me moving away from the house towards the river, and sneakily looking back, and the fox waiting for me to move away, half hidden by the lane’s ferns. I know she’s there; she knows I’m there and we navigate the space between us. If I’m making the journey the other way – heading back to the house, the fox looks me in the eye and steps backward with each forward step I take forward.
She is clever. She is smart. And, I think, a bit playful. Some days the compost bucket is tossed about the garden for no discernible reason except that it’s fun. Years ago, I remember our cat Tiddy, a giant of a beast running across a different garden being chased by a fox, and then, within seconds Tiddy was chasing the fox the other way! It was like the Keystone cops. It was definitely a game. Another time, I saw the same fox playing football on the lawn. And once, a fox walked between me and the door when I was about to turn the key – I was so startled and was relieved to see a neighbour who verified that I was not going mad, and it had happened.
Foxes get a bad rap, of course - they’re misunderstood. Yes they’re very clever, and cunning if you like. They hunt alone and there’s evidence that they have the capacity to navigate the world by following ley lines. Whatever, that cleverness has sometimes characterised them as tricksters, sneaking around and killing at will. It’s not the whole truth. Foxes are cache animals: that’s why they kill all the chickens in the coup. It’s not bloodlust, it’s clever, it’s tomorrow and the next day’s packing up.
All this talk of sneaky foxes against my recent experience of our night time visitor, has made me reflect on a couple of childhood incidents. That, and recently finishing Alan Davies’ biography Just Ignore Him, which is an eloquent evisceration of the memory of childhood abuse by his father, but also an extraordinary account of fitting in (or not) as a child in school and Scouts. I had a bit of a rocky time in my junior school years – from age 8 through 13 – with people dying left right and centre, and I fell through a greenhouse too having 84 stitches in my leg and I was VERY sensitive and SHY. And odd looking, like I hadn’t quite grown into my face or long limbs. And I couldn’t walk properly. Unlike Davies, I didn’t want to be noticed. I wanted to fly under the radar.
The two incidents that have been swirling around my head both relate to the same person and throw a light on being wronged, on how it feels to be misunderstood. They aren’t serious in the general scheme of things, but they have stayed with me because they speak of the things that matter to me. And that have always mattered. They speak of someone lying to make a point or get their own way. (And you must read Davies’ book, if you haven’t, because what happened to him is a hideous extension of this, an adult who constructed an alternative reality to deceive and lie about their behaviour. To justify their wrong-doing and shift the blame.)
The first of my memories – in Sunday school – was a test. I didn’t know it was a test, and if I had, I am not sure it would have changed how I behaved. We were being taught by Brown Owl and it’s interesting that I can’t remember the parable she was illustrating but I can remember the event. She asked the group who didn’t bite their nails, and for those people to put their hands up. I didn’t, and never have, so I put up my hand. In this retrospectively quite strange episode, Brown Owl went down the line of children and studied all of our hands and as each not bitten hand met with approval, she handed out sweets to each child in turn. She got to mine, and she said I’d lied. That I clearly did bite my nails. I was 9 ish and I was aghast! She passed me by for sweets and continued to hand them out to the others. I was outraged. It felt like bullying. It felt unfair. It felt like I had done nothing to deserve this. And that I could do nothing to right the injustice. It was my word against hers!
Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble not telling my face what I think. The Brown Owl just carried on. I wasn’t going to agree with the lie or succumb to social pressure, but I was upset. I had a reputation for crying too – but I wasn’t going to let that happen either. I was going to stick by my guns.
It just all felt horribly unfair. Like you’ve only got half the information and the information you do have is flawed but you’re powerless to do anything about it.
And then the bible lesson was over, and everyone started to troop out, and then I was called over by Brown Owl and I was given all of the sweets that were left in the bag. I was no doubting Thomas, or turncoat – I could withstand the pressure to not deny the truth even when it hurt.
And do you know what, I still hate that. I still hate only having half the information or been picked on for no good reason or having some undeserved reputation or being misunderstood, like the fox. Do better.
Another time, I was at Brownie camp at Paxwold near Market Weighton.* It was my birthday. I arrived at breakfast with no expectation that anyone would do anything about it, and Brown Owl** sent me away. She said, “You’ve got a dirty face.” I knew I didn’t. I knew that was absolute rubbish, but I turned away and ran back to the bathroom. I remember crying bucket loads – how could someone be so mean to me on my birthday? How could they do that? But I pulled myself together, I washed my face even though it was clean already and then walked back to the breakfast room. Whereupon everyone started to sing Happy Birthday! There was a huge pile pf presents and a special Madame Cholet (a Womble!) which I kept for ages and it turned out to be a VERY good day.
But the feelings. The feelings of being dismissed. Of being excluded and shamed. Of being misunderstood. It has stayed with me. (Of course, there are multiple other bigger and more horrible stories I could tell to illustrate this, but I won’t – not here! And the point is, these illuminate the point without exposing anyone very much.)
So, in conclusion, I think this is a plea. To be straightforward. To not assume that a reward however good it is, is worth the pain and shame of being alienated from your peers. Don’t wilfully misunderstand people because it suits your purpose or lie to them particularly if you are the person with power. Look beyond reputations or skin-deep assessments: foxes are no more sly than I am, they’re just trying to feed their cubs and manage day to day. They’re sophisticated hunters and honestly quite beautiful. Look a fox in the eye one day and tell me differently.
*I still have the postcard I sent my family from this Brownie Camp. It was essentially a list of all the things I had bought for everyone. A ruler for K. A keyring for mam. A bookmark for dad. And so on. Straight forward and uncomplicated. And kind. If you can be anything, be that. It tops almost everything.
**Brown Owl was actually a really nice person. Except she kept giving me my stories back for my writer’s badge saying the writing was too scruffy to read. Did I re-write them neatly? No. I did not. I just wrote another story. Years later when I was on teaching practice Brown Owl and I got on the same train at the same time for about 10 weeks. It was lovely to have her by my side as I entered my professional life.