And the Winner Is ...

Luky;
There was a time when psychologists strongly disapproved of parents quarrelling in front of their offspring. For all I know, they still do. My parents often quarrelled in front of us. That is, my mom quarrelled and my dad held his peace. When I was little, he used to give back as good as he got but later in life he grew philosophical and let my mom have the last word.

Staying together
It taught me a great deal about staying together. When my husband used to make me angry, I thought: "Well, I suppose that's the way it goes in every home," and eventually I learnt enough sense to let him have the last word quite often, although he used to say I'm the fighter. Once when Christmas was just around the corner and I was feeling tired and edgy, I was often less than tactful and diplomatic. One day my husband and I were having it hot and heavy when I heard two of my daughters holding a running commentary on our dispute, much in the way of those television table panels at world boxing fights. They were were calling us "Ireland" and "Holland".

Ireland and Holland
Their discussion first caught my ear as I was pondering a way to floor my husband with argument. "Holland is plotting her strategy", I heard. "Don't be fooled by the momentary calm. She will return to the fray bloody but unbowed."
"Ireland is getting the worst of it," was the reply. "He is sitting quietly in his corner wondering what brought him to match his fists with so formidable an opponent."

Just then I thought of a great come-back to my husband's previous remarks and proudly dealt him a resounding verbal blow. He visibly wilted, momentarily at a loss. "Holland is not keeping to the Queensberry rules," one commentator remarked disapprovingly." "That's because she makes her living writing stories," the other countered. "Didn't you know the pen is mightier than the sword?"

And the grim Dutch gunners eyed them well
I was staring challengingly at their father, my arms akimbo. "Holland should be careful about her stance. Ireland seems to be preparing for the Heimlich Manoeuvre," one daughter said. "What's the Heimlich Manoeuvre?" I asked, deflected from my firm purpose to win this argument. Within minutes, all of them, including my opponent were displaying and demonstrating the ploy and the quarrel was forgotten.

I do not advocate physical violence. This is totally repugnant to me, because men are often physically stronger then women. It's like matching a heavyweight with a bantam weight. However, a little verbal sparring wil sometimes clear the air. Married people should never be so insecure and afraid that they cannot allow their partners or their children to take a look into their own heartaches and frustrations.

Judging from the evidence, it did little harm to my children.

Catherine Nicolette;


Whenever Dad and Mom had a falling out, Dad's joie de vivre used to be temporarily quenched. He would repair afterwards to the kitchen and mope around there. I would follow him to console him, and Dad would be grateful for  the company. If Mom had won the argument, he would raise a toast to his feisty Dutch wife - he with a nerve-restoring whisky and I with an equally nerve-restoring diet Coke - and he would recite Aubrey de Vere's Ballad of Athlone - how he, Sean Whittle, was the courageous Gael in the face of certain death, and Mom the grim Dutch gunner who eyed him well. Once when Mom swept regally through the kitchen and heard him reciting the poem with his eyes turned meaningfuly towards her, she told him she could sweep him from the seas as easily as Admiral Tromp would.

Dad then went to the lounge to nurse the last of the whisky in peace, and I was left sitting next to him reflecting that when Mom and Dad had a real falling out, it was better than a history lesson.

Photograph was taken by Rev. Catherine.