Speaker 1: Pushkin.
Speaker 2: You're about to hear an episode of Cautionary Tales with
Speaker 2: Tim Harford. Tim's podcast explores mistakes from history and importantly,
Speaker 2: what we can learn from them. As you can imagine,
Speaker 2: there's a lot of disasters to choose from, but there's
Speaker 2: always an interesting angle on what we can take from them.
Speaker 2: I learned something new every time it be surprised, but
Speaker 2: a shipwreck from the sixties can teach us something about
Speaker 2: a mistake we all make when making decisions today. This
Speaker 2: episode is about a poet. William McGonagall is remembered today
Speaker 2: as the worst poet in the world, and Tim is
Speaker 2: obsessed with his work. I think I am too. Here's
Speaker 2: a quick example, A pathetic tale of the sea I
Speaker 2: will unfold enough to make one's blood run cold, concerning
Speaker 2: four fishermen cast a drift in a dory. As I've
Speaker 2: been told, I'll relate the story twas on the eighth April,
Speaker 2: on the afternoon of that day that the village of
Speaker 2: Louisbourg was thrown into a wild state of disarray. So
Speaker 2: what can we learn from a disastrous poet? Tim has
Speaker 2: a few ideas, and in true revisionist history style, he
Speaker 2: has a feeling we've been understanding McGonagall all wrong. Enjoy
Speaker 2: the episode. It's one of my favorites, and make sure
Speaker 2: you subscribe to Cautionary Tales for plenty more disasters and
Speaker 2: plenty more lessons.
Speaker 1: The wind is fierce, no doubt about it. It's the
Speaker 1: strongest gale that John Watt can remember, and he's been
Speaker 1: working for the North British Railway since eighteen sixty seven,
Speaker 1: a full twelve years. It's a good night to be
Speaker 1: safely sheltered in the Railways signal cabin, sharing a mug
Speaker 1: of tea with a friend, signalman Thomas Barkley. As what
Speaker 1: and Berkley sit their tea and look out of the
Speaker 1: window into the darkness, it can see the faint line
Speaker 1: of lamps all along the new railway bridge, running almost
Speaker 1: two miles across the wide River Tay to the city
Speaker 1: of Dundee. Every now and then the clouds gust apart
Speaker 1: and the full moon picks out the high girders of
Speaker 1: the longest bridge in the world. A few minutes after
Speaker 1: seven o'clock comes the signal from the south the northbound
Speaker 1: train is approaching. Thomas Barkley steps out of the cabin
Speaker 1: into the wind and waits. As the train approaches, the
Speaker 1: sparks from the wheels visible in the dark, he greets
Speaker 1: the crew with a smile, handing over the batten that
Speaker 1: gives permission for a train to cross the bridge. The
Speaker 1: train is moving at walking pace. He sees child peer
Speaker 1: out of the window of a carriage as it passes.
Speaker 1: Then as the train puffs off over the long, high
Speaker 1: iron span, Thomas goes back to his friend in the
Speaker 1: shelter of the cabin and sends a message to the
Speaker 1: signal box over on the other side of the river, Tay.
Speaker 1: The signal bell rings three times in response, and still
Speaker 1: the wind howls. Thomas turns back to his mug of tea.
Speaker 1: But John, what is gazing out of the window at
Speaker 1: the bridge. There's something wrong with the train, he says Thomas.
Speaker 1: Barkley thinks he's imagining it, but John knows what He's seen.
Speaker 1: Three red tail lamps fading into the distance over the bridge,
Speaker 1: and then a series of flashes, three small and one big,
Speaker 1: then darkness. No tail lamps. The train's gone over, Thomas,
Speaker 1: he says. Thomas Berkley still isn't convinced. Surely the train
Speaker 1: has just disappeared from view after cresting the highest point
Speaker 1: of the bridge. Surely they'll see her again soon, but
Speaker 1: they don't. Thomas tries calling the signal box on the
Speaker 1: other side of the bridge, nothing. They go outside, briefly
Speaker 1: venture onto the bridge, and then retreat as the wind
Speaker 1: threatens to tear them off the girders and into the
Speaker 1: waters below. The clouds part again, and the full moon
Speaker 1: reveals the scene. A thousand yards of the bridge are gone,
Speaker 1: the high girders of the central spans, the iron piers
Speaker 1: that had supported them also gone. And of course the
Speaker 1: train has gone too, and every one of its passengers.
Speaker 1: It's a catastrophe. But this is not a story about
Speaker 1: a fatal bridge collapse. It's a story about a poet.
Speaker 1: I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening to cautionary tales beautiful
Speaker 1: railway bridge of the silvery tay Alas. I'm very sorry
Speaker 1: to say that ninety lives have been taken away on
Speaker 1: the last Sabbath day of eighteen seventy nine, who will
Speaker 1: be remembered for a very long time. Thus begins a
Speaker 1: poem titled the tay Bridge Disaster. It is widely regarded
Speaker 1: as the worst poem ever written, and its author, William McGonagall,
Speaker 1: is widely regarded as the worst poet. I'll spare you
Speaker 1: the full poem, but here's a central verse. So the
Speaker 1: train moved slowly along the Bridge of Tay until it
Speaker 1: was about midway. Then the central girders, with a crash.
Speaker 3: Gave way, and down went the train and passengers into
Speaker 3: the tea. The storm fiend did loadally bree because ninety
Speaker 3: lives had been taken away on the last Sabbath day
Speaker 3: of eighteen seventy nine, which will be remembered for a
Speaker 3: very long time.
Speaker 1: When I was just a boy, I saw an illustration
Speaker 1: of the Tay Bridge catastrophe in a children's picture book.
Speaker 1: It stayed with me. I can still see it in
Speaker 1: my mind. The bridge seems so horribly high and thin
Speaker 1: as it collapses into the storm. The train is just
Speaker 1: steaming off into thin air. It's awful. And then I
Speaker 1: encountered William mcgonagall's truly terrible poem, and it stuck with
Speaker 1: me just as vividly, or should I say, it has
Speaker 1: been remembered for a very long time. Here's the end
Speaker 1: of the poem.
Speaker 3: Oh ill fated Bridge of the silvery tea. I must
Speaker 3: now conclude my lay by telling the world fearlessly without
Speaker 3: the least dismay, that your central girders would not have
Speaker 3: given way. That least many sensible men do say had
Speaker 3: they been supported on each side with buttresses. At least
Speaker 3: many sensible men confesses. For the stronger we our houses
Speaker 3: do build, the less chance we have of being killed.
Speaker 1: It's awful. I'm obsessed with William McGonagall. I have so
Speaker 1: many questions. Who was this man? What does he teach
Speaker 1: us about art? And above all, how does a poem
Speaker 1: get to be this bad? I have several biographies of
Speaker 1: the poet McGonagall in front of me. One of them
Speaker 1: says he was born in eighteen twenty five. Another says
Speaker 1: he was born in eighteen thirty, and both were written
Speaker 1: by William McGonagall himself. William mcgonagall's parents were Irish, but
Speaker 1: he was born in Edinburgh and went to school in
Speaker 1: South Ronalds Say, one of the Orkney islands, remote even
Speaker 1: by the standards of schooltland. William's education was interrupted by,
Speaker 1: of all things, an encounter with his teacher's beloved pet tortoise.
Speaker 1: William was fascinated by the creature, but when he picked
Speaker 1: it up to fully admire the beauty of its shell,
Speaker 1: the unfortunate animal voided its bowels on his hands. In disgust,
Speaker 1: the boy hurled the tortoise to the ground, nearly killing it,
Speaker 1: and mcgonagall's teacher, enraged, started thrashing his face with a cane.
Speaker 1: All very distressing. William's father complained to the local magistrate.
Speaker 1: The magistrate threatened to disbar a teacher, and the practical
Speaker 1: outcome was that the teacher lived in fear of ever
Speaker 1: upsetting William again, who skipped school with impunity. That was
Speaker 1: the story McGonagall would tell, and his point was clear.
Speaker 1: William McGonagall was much like William Shakespeare. He had learned
Speaker 1: more from nature than he learned at school. McGonagall adored
Speaker 1: his namesake, William Shakespeare. He read and re read Macbeth, Richard,
Speaker 1: the Third Hamlet, and othellow.
Speaker 3: I gave myself no rest until I obtained complete mastery
Speaker 3: over the above four characters.
Speaker 1: Mcgonagall's family moved to Dundee, where both he and his
Speaker 1: father worked as weavers. William would give impromptu performances of
Speaker 1: Shakespeare to his shopmates. He says they were quite delighted,
Speaker 1: and perhaps they were, since they were willing to pay
Speaker 1: good money to support his theatrical ambitions. William McGonagall was
Speaker 1: to play the title role in Macbeth just as long
Speaker 1: as he paid one pound to the theater owner for
Speaker 1: the privilege one hundred dollars in today's money. His colleagues
Speaker 1: all contributed, and nobody can say they didn't get their
Speaker 1: money's worth. McGonagall couldn't afford a costume of his own,
Speaker 1: so borrowed a few items from friends and colleagues, and
Speaker 1: took the stage dressed less like the ambitious nobleman Macbeth
Speaker 1: and more like a highland beggar. The play traditionally ends
Speaker 1: with a climactic fight in which Macbeth is slain by Macduff.
Speaker 1: This concept proved two pedestrian for McGonagall. One witness described
Speaker 1: the result an immortal scene in more ways than one.
Speaker 4: McGonagall had evidently made up his mind to astonish the
Speaker 4: gods at his performance, for instead of dying when run
Speaker 4: through the body by the sword of Macduff, he maintained
Speaker 4: his feet and flourished his weapon about the ears of
Speaker 4: his adverse. In such a way that there was for
Speaker 4: some time an apparent probability of the performance ending in
Speaker 4: real tragedy.
Speaker 1: McGonagall saw it differently.
Speaker 3: The actor who was playing Macduff against my Macbeth tried
Speaker 3: to spoil me in the combat by telling me to
Speaker 3: cut it short. I continue the combat until he were
Speaker 3: fairly exhausted, and until there was one old gentleman in
Speaker 3: the audience cried out well done. McGonagall walk into him,
Speaker 3: and so I did until he was in a great
Speaker 3: rage and stamped his foot and cried out, fool, why
Speaker 3: don't you fall?
Speaker 1: With Macduff audibly urging mcgonagall's Macbeth to go down, and
Speaker 1: Macbeth ignoring him over and over again. Macduff, enraged, wrapped
Speaker 1: Macbeth out his knuckles with the flat of the blade,
Speaker 1: forcing him to drop his own sword. McGonagall was now
Speaker 1: unarmed but undaunted, and he dodged around and around Macduff,
Speaker 1: looking for all the world as though he now planned
Speaker 1: to wrestle for it. The Macduff actor, disgusted at the
Speaker 1: tomfoolery camp, tossed his own sword aside and charged in
Speaker 1: to tackle McGonagall. The sublime tragedy of Macbeth came to
Speaker 1: an undignified end with a title character swept off his
Speaker 1: feet and deposited on his backside. The audience were ecstatically.
Speaker 1: They bellowed for McGonagall to be brought forward to receive
Speaker 1: a standing ovation. What a shame that mcgonagall's artistic sensitivities
Speaker 1: were not put to full time use. He continued to
Speaker 1: work as a weaver for decades. Not to worry. Good
Speaker 1: things come to those who wait. He would eventually emulate
Speaker 1: William Shakespeare, the man he so admired. William McGonagall would
Speaker 1: become a poet cautionary tales will be back after the break.
Speaker 1: McGonagall was about fifty when it became clear to him
Speaker 1: that there was no future in weaving. Machine looms had
Speaker 1: taken over.
Speaker 3: I couldn't make a living from it. But I may
Speaker 3: see Dame Fortune has been very kind to me by
Speaker 3: endowing me with the genius of poetry. I remember how
Speaker 3: I felt when I received the spirit of poetry.
Speaker 1: It was June eighteen seventy seven. McGonagall was lamenting that
Speaker 1: he couldn't get away to the Highlands for a holiday.
Speaker 3: All of a sudden, my body got inflamed and instantly
Speaker 3: I was seized with a strong desire to write poetry,
Speaker 3: so strong in fact, that in imagination I thought I
Speaker 3: heard a voice crying in my ears right right. I
Speaker 3: wondered what could be the matter with me? And I
Speaker 3: began to walk backwards and forwards in a great fit
Speaker 3: of excitement, saying to myself, I know nothing about poetry,
Speaker 3: but still a voice kept ringing in my ears right right.
Speaker 3: Until at last, being overcome with a desire to write poetry,
Speaker 3: I found paper, pen and ink, and in a state
Speaker 3: of frenzy, sat me down to think what would be
Speaker 3: my first subject for a poem.
Speaker 1: That subject was the Reverend George Gilfillan, a local preacher.
Speaker 1: McGonagall wished to praise. The poem stirringly concludes.
Speaker 3: My blessing on his noble form and on his lofty head,
Speaker 3: May all good angels guard him while living, and hereafter
Speaker 3: when he's deed.
Speaker 1: McGonagall sent the poem to the Dundee Weekly News, which
Speaker 1: took the unwise step of printing it. Thus encouraged, he
Speaker 1: sent a second poem, Bonnie Dundee.
Speaker 3: Oh, Bonnie Dundee, I will sing in thy praise a
Speaker 3: few but true, simple lays regarding some of your beauties
Speaker 3: of the present day, and virtually speaking, there's none can
Speaker 3: then gainsay for super fine goods. There's none can excel
Speaker 3: from Inverness to Clarkenwell and your tramways. I must confess
Speaker 3: that they have proved a complete success, which I am
Speaker 3: right glad to see, and a very great improvement to
Speaker 3: Bonnie Dundee.
Speaker 1: There is more, but alas, the Weekly News declined to
Speaker 1: print what it described as a so called poem, at
Speaker 1: which point McGonagall sent them a letter threatening to stop
Speaker 1: sending any more poems. The Weekly News dryly explained to
Speaker 1: its readers that we can only express the fervent hope
Speaker 1: that he may put into execution this artful threat. In
Speaker 1: the summer of eighteen seventy eight, McGonagall had been a
Speaker 1: poet for just a year when he received a letter
Speaker 1: from Queen Victoria's private secretary, Sir Thomas Biddulf, informing him
Speaker 1: that Her Majesty would like to become a patron of
Speaker 1: his poems. McGonagall seems not to have registered any surprise
Speaker 1: at this sudden honor, but he was inspired to make
Speaker 1: the fifty nine mile journey from Dundee to Queen Victoria's
Speaker 1: residence at Balmorral so that he could recite his verse
Speaker 1: for her. For an unemployed weaver, there was no way
Speaker 1: to reach Balmorrale except to walk. The journey took three days,
Speaker 1: during which time McGonagall was fared and sheltered by shepherds
Speaker 1: who took pity on him. He recorded some of his
Speaker 1: journey in poetry, notably.
Speaker 3: On the Spittle of Glen Shee, which is most dismal
Speaker 3: for to see, with its bleak and rugged mountains, and
Speaker 3: clear crystal spouting fountains with their misty form, and thousands
Speaker 3: of sheep there together doth.
Speaker 1: Room, He was drenched by hours of rain, and threatened
Speaker 1: by the roaring and flashing of a thunderstorm overhead. That
Speaker 1: was undaunted, having told his friends back in Dundee that
Speaker 1: on his way to see Her Majesty and Balmoral he
Speaker 1: would pass through fire and water rather than retreat. Finally,
Speaker 1: mid afternoon on the third day, McGonagall reached Her Majesty's
Speaker 1: residence at Balmoral Castle. He was intercepted by the constable
Speaker 1: at Balmoral's Gatehouse Lodge, who presumably observed mcgonagall's collar length
Speaker 1: way of hair, his drenched, patched up clothes and his
Speaker 1: dirty boots, and did not think to himself, here comes
Speaker 1: a future poet laureate.
Speaker 3: I showed him Her Majesty's Royal letter of Patronage for
Speaker 3: my poetic abilities, and he read it and said it
Speaker 3: was not Her Majesty's letter.
Speaker 1: Someone had played a cruel trick, But McGonagall insisted that
Speaker 1: the letter was genuine. The Constable took it away for
Speaker 1: a while before returning to announce.
Speaker 4: Well, I've been up at the castle with her letter,
Speaker 4: and the answer I got for you is they can
Speaker 4: he be bothered with you?
Speaker 1: McGonagall showed the Constable a copy of his poems, including
Speaker 1: the claim that McGonagall was poet to Her Majesty. The
Speaker 1: Constable objected.
Speaker 4: You are not poet to her Majesty. Tennyson's the real
Speaker 4: poet to her Majesty.
Speaker 1: Ah. Yes, Alfred Lord Tennyson, the actual poet laureate. How
Speaker 1: inconvenient In writing The Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred
Speaker 1: Lord Tennyson performed a rare feat. He created a poem
Speaker 1: that is as famous as the Disaster. It describes.
Speaker 5: Canon to the right of them, Canon to the left
Speaker 5: of them, canon in front of them, bollied and thundered,
Speaker 5: stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and
Speaker 5: well into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell,
Speaker 5: rode the six hundred.
Speaker 1: William McGonagall never got close to succeeding Tennyson as poet laureate.
Speaker 1: Yet his poem The tay Bridge Disaster matches Tennyson's achievement.
Speaker 1: I mean, Tennyson was good, but he was no William mcgone.
Speaker 1: But I digress. The constable suggested that McGonagall demonstrate his
Speaker 1: skills by reciting some poetry at the castle gate. No, sir,
Speaker 1: said McGonagall. He wasn't some wandering charlatan. He was the
Speaker 1: real thing.
Speaker 3: Take me into one of the rooms on the lodge
Speaker 3: and pay me for it, and I will give you
Speaker 3: a recital.
Speaker 1: The constable didn't oblige, but he gave McGonagall some advice.
Speaker 1: Unless you want to be arrested, go home and don't
Speaker 1: think of returning to balmorel. McGonagall duly began the three
Speaker 1: day walk home to Dundee. When he got back, he
Speaker 1: wrote up his adventures, sent them to the newspapers, and
Speaker 1: before long was being mocked up and down the British Isles,
Speaker 1: as a headline in the Evening Telegraph put it, extraordinary
Speaker 1: freak of a Dundee poet William mcgonagh at Balmoral, genius
Speaker 1: still unrecognized. When a cruel prank wastes a week of
Speaker 1: your life, dashes your hopes and leads you to being
Speaker 1: mocked in the national press, what can you do? The answer,
Speaker 1: pick yourself up and try again. McGonagall noted that Tennyson
Speaker 1: was famous for his war poetry, so he decided to
Speaker 1: dabble in war poems too. They are not very good.
Speaker 1: The Battle of Cresse begins.
Speaker 3: To us on the twenty sixth of August. The sun
Speaker 3: was burning hot in the year of thirteen forty six,
Speaker 3: which will never be forgot.
Speaker 1: And ends with the classic McGonagall move of cramming some
Speaker 1: extra syllables in free of charge.
Speaker 3: And the king's heart was filled with great delight, and
Speaker 3: he thanked Jack for capturing the Bohemian standard during the fight.
Speaker 1: But McGonagall was soon encouraged to receive a lucrative job
Speaker 1: offer from the famous playwright and theater impresario Dion Busico.
Speaker 1: Busico's letter invited him to a fine dinner, but as
Speaker 1: McGonagall tells the story, he arrived to find several men
Speaker 1: awaiting him, barely suppressing giggles as McGonagall was served a
Speaker 1: cheap sandwich. McGonagall had been pranked again, although when Busico
Speaker 1: heard about the joke, he sent McGonagall a sympathetic letter
Speaker 1: and five pounds, enough money for McGonagall to visit London.
Speaker 1: He had hoped to meet with one or two of
Speaker 1: London's most celebrated actors, but had no more luck there
Speaker 1: than at Balmoral. Later, McGonagall ventured to New York, a
Speaker 1: city he honored indistinctive style.
Speaker 3: As for Brooklyn Bridge, it's a very great height and
Speaker 3: fills the stranger's heart with wonder at first sight, and
Speaker 3: with all its loftiness, I venture to say it cannot
Speaker 3: surpass the new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay.
Speaker 1: William McGonagall did not succeed in selling his poems in
Speaker 1: New York, so returned to Scotland. He was cheered to
Speaker 1: receive a letter from the poet Laureate of Burma, writing
Speaker 1: on behalf of Burma's King t boor Mad King McGonagall
Speaker 1: Topaz McGonagall Knight of the white Elephant of Burma. McGonagall
Speaker 1: accepted the honor and wore his medal, a silver elephant,
Speaker 1: with pride. If he ever feared that this letter was
Speaker 1: as fraudulent as the others, he shared no doubts. McGonagall
Speaker 1: spent his final years giving public performances in Perth, Glasgow
Speaker 1: and Edinburgh, where the main attraction appeared to be the
Speaker 1: opportunity to hurl abuse and worse at the aspiring poet laureate.
Speaker 1: McGonagall would dash about the stage excitedly enacting the action
Speaker 1: as he gave dramatic recitals of his war poems, clad
Speaker 1: in a kilt and brandishing a claim or with perilous enthusiasm.
Speaker 1: More useful was his small round shield with which he
Speaker 1: could parry incoming eggs and cabbages. William McGonagall died in
Speaker 1: poverty on the twenty ninth of September nineteen oh two.
Speaker 1: He was seventy two years old or seventy seven. He
Speaker 1: was buried in a pauper's grave, having practiced the art
Speaker 1: of poetry for twenty five years, and having been mocked
Speaker 1: for every one of them. The death certificate misspells his
Speaker 1: name Emil Zola died on the same day, as it happens.
Speaker 1: Zola a fine writer, he was no William McGonagall. Cautionary
Speaker 1: tales will return after the break. The poetry critics argue
Speaker 1: that McGonagall has an important lesson to teach us. He
Speaker 1: is the perfect example of how not to write poetry.
Speaker 1: If you must read him, be sure to do the
Speaker 1: opposite of whatever he does. Joseph Salaimy, an award winning poet, complains,
Speaker 1: I know far too many persons who share some of
Speaker 1: mcgonagall's faults. Can we at least resolve that we will
Speaker 1: not commit the poetic crimes that McGonagall committed. We stop
Speaker 1: with the humdrum plainness, the vapid statement, the dull diction,
Speaker 1: the crappy meter, the tedious length, the triviality, the commonplace thoughts,
Speaker 1: and the cliched perceptions. Dr Gerard Carruthers, an expert in
Speaker 1: Scottish literature, agrees there is something rather cruel about us
Speaker 1: still reprinting and republishing McGonagall. He told the BBC it's
Speaker 1: time for us to close the book on McGonagall once
Speaker 1: and for all. But that feels so narrow minded. I
Speaker 1: draw a different lesson. We shouldn't complain about a man
Speaker 1: who wrote bad poetry. We should celebrate a man who
Speaker 1: wrote poetry. Of course, the poems are bad, but most
Speaker 1: poems are bad. Most acts of human creativity are fairly incompetent.
Speaker 1: Most of us can't write novels, not that anyone else
Speaker 1: would pay to read. Most of us can't draw or
Speaker 1: paint anything that anyone else would pay to look. Most
Speaker 1: of us can't act. We can't sing, We can't dance.
Speaker 1: Who cares dance and sing? Anyway? I think we're prone
Speaker 1: to making a sad mistake. When we think about creative acts,
Speaker 1: we instinctively set the benchmark at an absurdly high level.
Speaker 1: We've been spoiled, perhaps because at the touch of a button,
Speaker 1: we can listen to Glenn Gould playing Johann Sebastian Bach.
Speaker 1: We can watch Ian McKellen and Judy Dench performing Shakespeare.
Speaker 1: We can read a novel by Austin, or watch a
Speaker 1: film by Coppola, or gaze at an interior by Vermere.
Speaker 1: Not only has modern technology made these wonders possible, but
Speaker 1: modern technology also makes more humdrum creative acts economically worthless.
Speaker 1: Nobody is going to pay me to perform bark or
Speaker 1: paint a watercolor. But I still play the piano from
Speaker 1: time to time, and very occasionally I pick up a
Speaker 1: pencil in a sketch book. It doesn't matter if there's
Speaker 1: no economic value in the result. There's personal value for
Speaker 1: me in the process of trying to express myself. That
Speaker 1: might seem obvious, but it's easy to forget. In debates
Speaker 1: about the rise of generative AI, people worry about the
Speaker 1: death of human creativity. But I don't think generative AI
Speaker 1: is more of a threat to human creativity than the
Speaker 1: camera or the record player. It changes the economics, to
Speaker 1: be sure, McGonagall lost his job as a weaver because
Speaker 1: of machine looms, so he would have understood all about
Speaker 1: losing work to a machine. But while a new technology
Speaker 1: changes who might be paid for creative work, and what
Speaker 1: sort of creative work they might be paid for, and
Speaker 1: how much they might be paid for it, it doesn't
Speaker 1: make creative work impossible. All of us are free to
Speaker 1: sit down in front of a piano or an easel
Speaker 1: and try to create something beautiful. And while it's nice
Speaker 1: to succeed, it's more important to try. As we grow
Speaker 1: from children into adults, we often express our creativity less.
Speaker 1: It might be because we're afraid of failure, which is
Speaker 1: another thing to admire about McGonagall. He wasn't afraid of
Speaker 1: creative failure. In fact, he wouldn't recognize creative failure if
Speaker 1: it hurled an egg at him. That's one way to
Speaker 1: look at McGonagall anyway, as a man who was always
Speaker 1: willing to express his inner creativity. But that's not actually
Speaker 1: the way I see him. I don't think William McGonagall
Speaker 1: was admirable because he gave poetry a try. I think
Speaker 1: he was a genius. You've perhaps heard the story about
Speaker 1: the man who goes to a doctor. He feels depressed.
Speaker 1: The world seems so frightening and bleak. Don't worry, says
Speaker 1: the doctor. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight.
Speaker 1: Go and see him perform. That'll cheer you up. The
Speaker 1: man starts to sob, But doctor, I am Pagliacci. It's
Speaker 1: a story that's been retold and remixed countless times. So
Speaker 1: here's another remix. What if William McGonagall isn't the pompous, talentless,
Speaker 1: sad victim of bullies that he seems to be. What
Speaker 1: if William McGonagall is the most brilliant clown who ever lived?
Speaker 1: And what if Unlike Palliaci, whose despair became clear when
Speaker 1: he took off the mask, McGonagall never removed his mask,
Speaker 1: because underneath it he was the one laughing harder than anyone.
Speaker 1: Think back to that appearance as Macbeth, in which McGonagall
Speaker 1: refused to lie down and die and wrestled with the
Speaker 1: infuriated actor playing McDuff. It's hard to think of a
Speaker 1: funnier scene in the history of theater. Was it really
Speaker 1: just mcgonagall's arrogance and stupidity, or did he know full
Speaker 1: well that he was putting on a show. When the
Speaker 1: reviewer said that McGonagall had decided to astonish the gods,
Speaker 1: he wasn't referring to some pagan pantheon. The gods is
Speaker 1: theater speak for the cheap seats. McGonagall was playing to
Speaker 1: the crowd, and specifically to the poorest theater goers. Of all,
Speaker 1: his friends from the workshop had all contributed to get
Speaker 1: him on stage in the first place, and they loved
Speaker 1: what they saw. McGonagall certainly gave you a show, And
Speaker 1: once you read mcgonagall's poetry not as an exhibit of
Speaker 1: utter incompetence, but as a deliberate, sly joke. You quickly
Speaker 1: detect hints of mischief. The one poem, an Ode to
Speaker 1: the Moon, begins.
Speaker 3: Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light. Thou seemest most charming
Speaker 3: to my sight. As I gaze upon thee and the
Speaker 3: sky so high, A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Speaker 1: Just the usual clumsy cliche. No, mcgonagall's winking at us.
Speaker 1: He knows what we do in the dark. The next
Speaker 1: verses celebrate the way that the moon provides light for
Speaker 1: the fox to steal a goose from the farmyard and
Speaker 1: the poacher to set his snares.
Speaker 3: And Beautiful Moon with thy silvery light, the cheerest the
Speaker 3: lovers in the night, as they walk through the shady
Speaker 3: groves alone, making love to each other before they go home.
Speaker 1: Really, we're going to believe that William McGonagall was only
Speaker 1: accidentally funny. McGonagall is best known today for his poem
Speaker 1: about the tay Bridge disaster, but in an early poem
Speaker 1: he also describes the tay Bridge when it was first.
Speaker 3: Built, beautiful railway bridge of the silvery tea, the longest
Speaker 3: of the present day that has ever crossed, or a
Speaker 3: tidal river stream, most gigantic to be seen nearby Dundee
Speaker 3: and the Magdalen Green.
Speaker 1: At nearly two miles in length. It was an engineering miracle,
Speaker 1: but McGonagall was a Dundee local, and like any local,
Speaker 1: he would have known that the high girders of the
Speaker 1: central bridge had already been blown down once during construction. Otherwise,
Speaker 1: why on earth includes this.
Speaker 3: Verse beautiful railway bridge of the Silvery Tay. I hope
Speaker 3: that God will protect all passengers by night and by day,
Speaker 3: and that no accident will befall them while crossing the
Speaker 3: bridge of the Silvery Tay, for that would be most
Speaker 3: awful to be seen near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.
Speaker 1: This isn't the work of an idiot. It's the work
Speaker 1: of an old school medieval fool, a court jester using
Speaker 1: humor to speak truth to power. Two years later, the
Speaker 1: bridge was down and dozens of people were dead. After
Speaker 1: a disaster at a shipyard which killed thirty eight people,
Speaker 1: McGonagall composed a long lament, including praise for.
Speaker 3: One thousand pounds from the directors of the Thames ironworks
Speaker 3: and shipbuilding company, which I hope will help to fill
Speaker 3: the bereaved one's heart with glee.
Speaker 1: Idiot or court jester, you be the judge. As for
Speaker 1: those prank letters from Queen Victoria's secretary, from dion Busico,
Speaker 1: from the King of Burma, maybe they were hoaxes on McGonagall.
Speaker 1: Maybe there were hoaxes by McGonagall on the rest of us.
Speaker 1: They certainly helped to shape the legend. For a man
Speaker 1: almost universally viewed as a failure, McGonagall knew how to
Speaker 1: draw a crowd. When a statue of Scotland's greatest poet,
Speaker 1: Robert Burns, was unveiled in Dundee, McGonagall was kept away
Speaker 1: from the occasion by police to avoid a disturbance of
Speaker 1: the peace. His Dundee performances so often ended in a
Speaker 1: near riot that he was eventually banned from giving any
Speaker 1: more recitals in the town. No wonder he died in poverty.
Speaker 1: He'd been making fifteen shillings a night, the equivalent of
Speaker 1: a week's wages for an ordinary laborer. Not so bad
Speaker 1: for a man who lost his trade because of the
Speaker 1: March of the machines. His downfall wasn't because his poems
Speaker 1: were terrible. It was because his clowning performances were too
Speaker 1: riotously successful to be allowed to continue. He died in poverty,
Speaker 1: not because he was bad, but because he was just
Speaker 1: too good. We'll never know what William McGonagall was really
Speaker 1: thinking as he took to the stage each night. Was
Speaker 1: he oblivious, as he seems to be, a man with
Speaker 1: skin so thick that neither insults nor insights ever got through.
Speaker 1: Or was he far more tragic than the mythic figure
Speaker 1: of Palliaci, the clown, proud of his poems but knowingly
Speaker 1: subjecting himself to nightly humiliation because there was no other
Speaker 1: way to put food on the table. Or was the
Speaker 1: whole thing a comic master stroke. Did he never take
Speaker 1: off the mask? Or did he never put it on
Speaker 1: in the first place. But while we can't read his mind,
Speaker 1: we can read his poems, and they've brought pleasure to
Speaker 1: countless people. A few years ago, an Edinburgh auction house
Speaker 1: put up for sale a collection of first editions of
Speaker 1: Harry Potter books, signed by the author JK. Rowling, who
Speaker 1: it turns out, named Professor Minerva McGonagall in honor of
Speaker 1: the man she described as the worst poet in British history.
Speaker 1: The books went for a handsome enough price, I suppose,
Speaker 1: but in the same auction a rather higher sum was
Speaker 1: paid for a different literary gem, thirty five poems by
Speaker 1: William McGonagall, some of them signed by the great man
Speaker 1: himself JK. Rowling. If Commercial's success is the mark of
Speaker 1: a great artist, then she's one of the best. But
Speaker 1: she's no William McGonagall. He will be remembered for a
Speaker 1: very long time. For a full list of our sources,
Speaker 1: see the show notes at Timharford dot com. Cautionary Tales
Speaker 1: is written by me Tim Harford with Andrew Wright, Alice
Speaker 1: Fines and Ryan Dilly. It's produced by Georgia Mills and
Speaker 1: Marilyn Rust. The sound design and original music are the
Speaker 1: work of Pascal Wise. Additional sound design is by Carlos
Speaker 1: San Juan at Brain Audio. Bend A. Dafhaffrey edited the scripts.
Speaker 1: The show features the voice talents of Genevieve Gaunt, Melanie Guttridge,
Speaker 1: Stella Harford, Oliver Hembrough, Sarah Jupp As, Saamonroe, Jamal Westman,
Speaker 1: and Rufus Wright. The show also Wouldn't have been possible
Speaker 1: without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Greta Cohene, Sarah Nix,
Speaker 1: Eric Sandler, Carrie Brody, Christina Sullivan, Kira Posey, and Owen Miller.
Speaker 1: Cautionary Tales is a production of Pushkin Industries. It's recorded
Speaker 1: at Wardore Studios in London by Noria Barr and Lucy Rowe.
Speaker 1: If you like the show, please remember to share, rate
Speaker 1: and review. It really makes a difference to us and
Speaker 1: if you want to hear the show ad free, sign
Speaker 1: up to Pushkin Plus on the show page on Apple
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