Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise My parents' generation loved to quote old sayings to make a point. They seemed to have a match for every occasion.
I'm not sure that ignorance is all that blissful. What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve for, was a similar statement.
Ignorance once almost resulted in tragedy for my husband and me. In our early years of marriage we lived in Dublin. Every weekend we went to beauty spots by bus or train - Powerscourt Waterfall, Bray Head, Dun Laoghaire pier, Phoenix Park, Howth Head, Enniskerry. We did lots of walking and sometimes we went cycling. We enjoyed these outings far more than similar excursions by car in later years.
One day we arrived at Bullock Harbour near Dalkey and noticed a sign advertising boats for hire. On the spur of the moment we decided to hire a rowing boat and row over to Dalkey Island. Neither of us knew much about boats but it looked simple enough and the water appeared calm and the island didn't seem far away. How naïve we were and how ignorant! We'd never heard of buoyancy aids or life jackets or of currents and we hadn't a clue as to how to calculate sea distances! As for tides, our knowledge of them was equally minimal. We knew that the tide comes in and goes out, flows and ebbs. If the tide is in, you haven't far to go for a dip. If it's out you have a distance to run before arriving at the water's edge. However, rowing against or with the tide was a concept yet to be discovered.
Off we went in blissful ignorance, experimenting with the oars, and manoeuvring our way out from shore. It had been a bit of a tricky business boarding the boat and getting seated. The boat wobbled and you felt as if you were about to topple into the water. The owner of the boat stretched out his hand to steady us.
As we moved across the waves, the lapping of the water under our oars was like music to our ears. It was sheer bliss, so relaxing and peaceful out there on the water, sounds from the shore becoming more and more muffled. There was nothing to it. We planned to drag the boat ashore on the island and walk around to see the old ruins before setting off for home. The only thing we'd need to be careful about was not to lose an oar.
Then Mike suddenly fancied a swim so he stripped down to his underpants and dived overboard. Panic followed as the icy cold water gave him a shock so he tried to climb back on board. He couldn't. We were maybe a mile from shore so he thought the island was closer and he said he'd swim on and I could row the boat after him. Row the boat ashore. Hallelujah!
To this day I can't row in a straight line. My right arm is far stronger than my left. At one stage I looked behind to see how Mike was doing. Horror of horrors! I was bearing down on him and was about to knock him under with the boat. My heart almost stopped beating but my reaction was swift. I called out to him as I dipped my oars and came to a halt just in time. Mike grabbed the boat and we rested like that, shaken to the core. Drops of perspiration fell from my forehead and my breathing became shallow and laboured. I was numb with shock. I saw some men fishing from a boat in the distance and decided to call out to them across the water but the words stuck in my throat so I took up Mike's shirt and waved it frantically till they noticed. They drew their rods in and started up the motor on their boat and came chugging across the water to us.
Then I began to giggle uncontrollably. This was a sign of nervousness. I had no control over what was happening. The spectre of Mike in his underpants struck me as ludicrous and I knew I shouldn't be laughing but I couldn't help myself. Laughter is a strange sensation. We associate it with happiness but we often find ourselves laughing when we should be weeping, like when we see someone stumble after catching a heel in a pavement stone. My laughter that day was similar. I wasn't gloating over Mike's discomfiture. It was only afterwards that I thought of the indignity of the situation.
The men arrived and took control. They knew they had two right ninnies to deal with. They hauled Mike into their boat and I threw his clothes to him. He had nothing to dry himself with and he had to remove the wet pants and put the dry clothes on to his wet body. He was still shivering uncontrollably, partly from the cold and partly from shock.
Then the men gave me a towrope to attach to my boat and they started up the engine and towed me ashore. I was incapable of rowing an inch. I'd have been rowing against the tide, too. By this time the boat hirer was on alert and he was watching our progress. He obviously realised that the situation was serious and that he bore some responsibility for our safety. In those days the law was quite lax about people's duties regarding safety. Perhaps, he was worried in case he lost a boat!
When we reached shore our rescuers pointed out what a foolish thing we had done. ('Tis folly to be wise!) They explained about the currents in that part of the harbour and told us that the island was three miles offshore and that Mike would never have made it to the island. They were sorry for us and gave us five freshly caught mackerel to take home with us.
We were still shivering with fear and badly shaken so the men told us to go into the nearby hotel and rest till we felt more relaxed and to treat ourselves to a few stiff brandies. This we did but we were very subdued for the rest of that day and we shivered for quite some time. Neither of us spoke much. What could we have said? The enormity of what we had done began to sink in. We cooked some of the fish at home later on and agreed that we had never tasted anything so good before. The fish were a kind of compensation for all we had gone through. However, I wouldn't recommend that method of obtaining good fish!
To die by drowning must be a horrible way to go. I remember when I was six years old and we were at the seaside. My brother held me under water for what seemed like an eternity and I felt myself gasping for breath. It was such a traumatic experience that for most of my life thereafter I suffered badly from claustrophobia. I couldn't bear anything close to my face and if I were hemmed in I'd panic and would believe I was going to die unless I escaped at once. It isn't a pleasant sensation and I still suffer periodically when I find myself in a confined space.
Whenever I think back to that episode with the boat, I shiver afresh as my imagination reveals what could have happened. How could I have lived if I had killed Mike that day? What if I hadn't looked behind me when I did? What if a current had dragged Mike under the water? What if he had suffered a heart attack or severe cramp when he touched the icy water? The possibilities are legion and I have to stop myself dwelling on them. I still suffer nightmares periodically about drowning and I waken up frightened and confused in that twilight area between sleep and wakefulness.
Life exists on a thin thread with dangers ever lurking near. When we are young, we don't always sense danger. Had we been aware of the dangers that day, we wouldn't have gone out in that boat. Mike certainly shouldn't have dived from the boat into the sea. The possibility of capsizing and ending up in the water never once occurred to us. At the time I couldn't swim.
Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.
I wonder.