an old post from a couple of years ago about a bizarre bit of counseling (thoroughly deserved, though)
Duncan.
Duncan
JoinedPosts by Duncan
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Craziest thing you've ever been "counseled" for????
by superman ini know that this has been a popular post in the past.
but after my last post, it got me thinking.
i used to always use those stupid field service report slips as scratch paper.
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Christine's Retirement Lunch
by Duncan ina few months ago, i went to christines retirement lunch.. i didnt really know christine that well, she joined the company when we merged with another business a year or two before.
she took care of facilities management (cleaning contractors, building maintenance, landlord management etc) on all the properties the company used.
prior to the new arrangements, she would most probably have been one of my team, but as it was, she reported up to someone else, and i never got to know her properly.. until the day of the retirement lunch, when i sat next to her and a long talk.
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Duncan
A few months ago, I went to Christine’s retirement lunch.
I didn’t really know Christine that well, she joined the company when we merged with another business a year or two before. She took care of facilities management (cleaning contractors, building maintenance, landlord management etc) on all the properties the company used. Prior to the new arrangements, she would most probably have been one of my team, but as it was, she reported up to someone else, and I never got to know her properly.
Until the day of the retirement lunch, when I sat next to her and a long talk.
Somehow, we got on to the subject of the sixties in general, and the TV show Top of the Pops.
If you have never heard of it, TOTP was a top-rating BBC show which played all the hit pop records every week, often featuring live appearances of the stars of the day – the Beatles and the Stones in the sixties; Oasis, Robbie Williams and so on in the nineties and two-thousands.
It chronicled over its four decades the whole history of pop music in the UK, and quite aside from the power it had to make or break individual pop acts, its wider cultural significance in the UK was simply immense.
I remember very well the huge impact the show made when it first started showing in the mid-sixties. Everyone at school would be talking about the acts featured the previous night. The timing was perfect: TOTP just caught the start of the “British Explosion” of pop talent which pretty much conquered the world in the mid-sixties. It was must-watch TV.
And, of course, the show regularly took a pounding from the platform at the Kingdom Hall. I remember this very clearly. Pop music generally, of course, was considered to be “worldly” and “Satan-inspired” but this show provided a sharp focus; it was, in fact, an absolute gift for that type of look-down-their-nose, no-part-of-the-world, Jehovah’s-wrath, judgemental brother who disapproved of everything.
“Brothers, have you seen that programme? Top of the Pops? How could anyone doubt that this system is nearly done? That long hair! That jungle-beat music! Boys who look like girls! And girls who look like I-don’t-know-what! And that dancing! Have you seen the way those people bump and grind into each other? Absolute filth, brothers! How glad we can be….[blah blah] ”
Younger members of the congregation knew enough to take this kind of tirade with a pinch of salt – after all, they were ALWAYS railing about something, right? But, in my congregation, at least, TOTP drew a particularly violent and righteous response.
I remember one sister in particular (the wife of this chap, actually) who, in an answer during the Watchtower study, made a comment about
“ the young people on Top of the Pops, the way they dance, the way they look, you just know that they’re not even listening to the music, they’re just thinking ‘how soon can I get this person into bed?’ It’s disgusting!”
[that comment, by the way, being so over the top, became a congregational catch-phrase among the younger ones for years after that]
I mention all this reaction to the show, because it just sets a scene. TOTP had been - for so much of my childhood - utterly reviled, held up as an example of the most wicked, death-deserving depravity the world had to display. I grew up being taught, in no uncertain terms, that those involved in it were in the same class as those beyond-all-hope vile sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah.
….and now here I am, eating lunch with Christine, we have been talking about her grandchildren, and how she’s thrilled to be able to spend more time with them. And then we get on to Top of the Pops.
“Oh, yes, well, I used to live in Manchester in those days. I was in the studio audience for that very first show in 1964, and then quite a few after that…
…A group of us girls used to go every week to see the latest bands,we would always try and dance at the very front to see if we could get ourselves on TV! Such happy days!”
I can’t help but laugh. You couldn’t find a more harmless-looking, sweet natured, white-haired old grandmother than Christine. But! she was one of those shameless Jezebels, pumping and grinding, dancing with all those sexy lewd movements, justly provoking Jehovah’s earth-shattering wrath with her flagrant wickedness back in the sixties.
One generation’s unspeakably wicked, death-deserving sinner is the next generation’s mild-mannered white-haired old grandmother.
And the word that comes to mind is: silly.
Weren’t we silly? The whole “Armageddon’s coming to wipe you sinners out!” thing - looking back on it now - was just so utterly silly. The lather we worked ourselves into over such trifling, transient events - weren’t we foolish? Weren’t we silly?
They’re no better today, of course. Religions like the Witnesses will always be populated with a good proportion of people absolutely outraged by the modern world, and predicting God’s imminent judgement upon it.
It’s the inherent silliness of their position which will do for them in the end.
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Being told what to say in Convention interviews
by passwordprotected inhas anyone else heard tell of interviewees in convention parts being told what to say?
the way i've heard it is you're contacted to be interviewed in a convention talk because you've had a great experience in some form or other and they need you to boast about it.
so, you meet with the brother handling the assignment and you go through your experience with him (boast about it).
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Duncan
I'll admit this is a bit of a re-heat, having posted it before, but it's to do with assembly parts:
I remember having an assembly part in the early seventies, based around one of those godawful “What about Dating?” articles in one of the magazines. (no one in England even calls it “dating” do they?)
I was a pretty good and faithful dub, really, a regular pioneer, a MS, that kind of thing, but I do remember thinking that this article was just plain ridiculous. Way over the top.
And that feeling, I think, came through in the way I ended up playing this sketch.
You’ll be familiar with the set up:
Basically right-hearted but spiritually weak young teenage brother confides in understanding, compassionate elder that he “just can’t understand” this magazine article [holding it in his hand] about dating.
Caring and wise elder “reasons” with weak teenage brother over twenty minutes or so and finally young brother fully comes around to the approved Watchtower viewpoint and expresses joy and gratitude to Jehovah for correcting his wayward thinking.
Now, what happened certainly wasn’t deliberate and conscious behaviour on my part – it was a bit Freudian, probably - but I remember vaguely forming an intention to kind of make the “before” character seem reasonable and likeable, and playing my “after” character in a wholly lifeless and zombiefied manner.
In rehearsals I hadn’t really given them any clue, I had enough sense to tone down the “before” guy, and it wasn’t word-for-word scripted, it was slightly different each time. …But on the night..
“Hello young Brother [Hormones]! Why, you look a bit down-in-the-dumps! Anything wrong?”
“Oh, hi Brother Elder, it’s nothing really. …Well, it’s… it’s just this Watchtower article [produces same with flourish] about dating. You know I’ve been getting quite friendly with young sister [Nubile] recently? Spending time in field service together?”
“Yes indeed! Fine activity! And the article gives us timely counsel. What’s the problem?”
“It’s just this [holds magazine and pretends to quote, in a quite frankly mocking tone] “ …heartbreak… unhappy marriages… unevenly yoked… teenage pregnancies… loathsome sexual diseases…” [looks up] - For Goodness sake! I only want to take her to the Pictures!”
Even after all these years I smile about this, because I REALLY delivered that line.
Well, it brought the house down. Maybe 10 or 15 seconds of top-volume laughter followed by a round of applause. I basked.
This, of course, was not how we rehearsed it, and full credit to the elder who after a few seconds pulled himself together and carried on with the sketch. I did too, I played my part thereafter exactly as we rehearsed it (I was very conscious of the buzz of conversation going on as people kept talking over the sketch)
The part ended, I (my character) was fully turned around and restored to Watchtower orthodoxy, and we shuffled offstage.
I had people congratulate me through the day on my assembly part – I felt like an Oscar winner. It was great, I had made the article look ridiculous (which it was) but I had done nothing wrong, because I had allowed myself (my character) to be won over in the end. I had ended up with the correct viewpoint. It was a strange kind of victory, but real nonetheless.
I heard the CO wanted to talk to me.
“Yes, well done, Duncan. Very – uhhh - lively.”
“Thank you, Brother Merry. [ David Merry – anyone remember him?]
“You got a big laugh there. You KNEW you would, didn’t you?”
“er… yeah..”
“ yes...” He said. That was all.
I never got asked to do an assembly part ever again.
Still, that one moment in time….
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The real truth is here, please read this, IMPORTANT!
by Hybrid Faith inthis is the real truth.... .
http://www.bric.uk.com/index.html.
also read the proof that although correct in principle, the watchtower are in fact the evil slave class.. .
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Duncan
Hey Scully
the only "real truth" that has any meaning for me is the sunshine on my face, the warmth of my bed and a damn fine cup of tea
out of all the billion trillion squillion posts that are on this forum now, there's few that match that for wisdom.
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Night Guards at Twickenham
by Duncan ina very enjoyable part of my job these last few years has been entertaining clients with corporate hospitality at the rugby union international matches at twickenham.
i work for a software company, as finance director, and these events such as the six nations, or the annual barbarians tour - provide companies such as mine a valuable opportunity to spend time with customers and prospects and try to interest them in our products, or at least get them to be favourably disposed to the company.
sponsorship of rugby matches like this is actually quite a smart move marketing-wise.
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Duncan
.. and a welcome from me, too, Four Candles, as the official "host" of this thread.
I'm honoured that my little story moved you to plunge in and get involved.
Duncan.
("bill hooks?")
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Night Guards at Twickenham
by Duncan ina very enjoyable part of my job these last few years has been entertaining clients with corporate hospitality at the rugby union international matches at twickenham.
i work for a software company, as finance director, and these events such as the six nations, or the annual barbarians tour - provide companies such as mine a valuable opportunity to spend time with customers and prospects and try to interest them in our products, or at least get them to be favourably disposed to the company.
sponsorship of rugby matches like this is actually quite a smart move marketing-wise.
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Duncan
Hi Besty! [Hi to other respondents, too, of course]
From what I've heard it was pretty riotous though....
Well, exactly. I only did it one year, and even I had a fair share of stories to tell.
I suspect, actually, that our year was pretty tame.
For the entire period there was no acohol - or girls - involved at all. I just wonder about other years, other cities.
Like I said, I'm surprised that this hasn't been written about before.
Duncan.
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Night Guards at Twickenham
by Duncan ina very enjoyable part of my job these last few years has been entertaining clients with corporate hospitality at the rugby union international matches at twickenham.
i work for a software company, as finance director, and these events such as the six nations, or the annual barbarians tour - provide companies such as mine a valuable opportunity to spend time with customers and prospects and try to interest them in our products, or at least get them to be favourably disposed to the company.
sponsorship of rugby matches like this is actually quite a smart move marketing-wise.
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Duncan
A very enjoyable part of my job these last few years has been entertaining clients with corporate hospitality at the Rugby Union International matches at Twickenham. I work for a software company, as Finance Director, and these events – such as The Six Nations, or the annual Barbarians Tour - provide companies such as mine a valuable opportunity to spend time with customers and prospects and try to interest them in our products, or at least get them to be favourably disposed to the company.
Sponsorship of Rugby matches like this is actually quite a smart move marketing-wise. They are very popular events, with a convivial atmosphere not usually found at Football (soccer) fixtures – and appreciation of Rugby still, in England at any rate, pretty much follows along old-fashioned class lines. The kind of boy who went to a “good” school – where typically they only played Rugby (soccer being for the oiks), thereby instilling a lifelong love for The Game They Play In Heaven - is the kind of privileged, well-to-do boy likely to have risen in the corporate world to be a mover and shaker in the city. Precisely the kind of corporate big-shot we want to meet.
Usually, we’ll arrange a nice lunch before the match – Twickenham stadium these days has loads of top-rate restaurants and private dining rooms right under the stands - with plenty of liquid refreshment thrown in to make sure the event is jolly and enjoyable.
And from time to time, if the occasion and company is right, I might just say to the guest that I’m entertaining - “Do you know what? I actually lived here, sleeping under the West stand , for two weeks one summer back in the seventies!” It invariably gets their interest, and then I’m able to tell them my story about being one of the…
… Night Guards at Twickenham.
The truth of it is, I can’t believe that no one has ever written a post about night-guarding at District Assemblies before; it was such an experience. Having been out for more than 30 years, I don’t even know if the Society does this any more, but back then, in the seventies, it was a highly-sought-after assignment for a young man in the Truth.
What would happen is this: The society would hire a football (or Rugby) stadium like Twickenham for that summer’s annual District Convention. The brothers would typically have occupation of the venue a week or two before the actual assembly, and the need was felt for some sort of security force. The Night Guards’ job was to patrol the venue through the hours of darkness to discourage any worldly or criminal element from attempting to damage or steal any of the Society’s property on site.
Looking back now, I’m not quite sure what we were supposed to be guarding. Signage? PA equipment? Watchtower Literature? Certainly, there was never any money left on the site overnight. Anyway, a Night Guards corps was formed every year and word went out to the congregations for any “suitably qualified brothers” - preferably pioneers - to apply for the job. In the summer of 1974, this was me and Tom, my pioneer partner.
Both of us were In Good Standing, both regular pioneers and Ministerial servants. In the first year we ever applied, we got accepted, and were asked to go along to Twickenham about a week before the assembly was due to begin. We were to turn up with clothing, toiletries, sleeping bag, a torch and a referee’s whistle.
At Twickenham, we wandered around for a bit (Tom had actually helped with some construction/wiring work a little earlier, so was more familiar than me with the pre-assembly set-up) and eventually we met a young brother – about our age, but whose name I have completely forgotten. Anyway, he was one of the deputies to the Night Guards boss – a middle-aged brother called Bob Miles, who we’d get to meet later. The young brother showed us where we’d be sleeping – it was a players’ changing room area under one of the stands - and we found a spot and unrolled our sleeping bags.
We walked back out into the sunshine on the concourse with the young brother who was explaining all about the shift system ( 6:00 pm to 1:00 a.m. then 1:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m.) and how we’d be assigned to a partner, so that we’d always patrol in teams of two. He also explained about the torches, whose purpose was obvious, and the whistles - “Very important. Blow on your whistle if you see something, or need assistance – there will always be at least 6 or 8 teams of two in the stadium, and they’ll all come running.”
Then Tom said, on a whim, really “I suppose we should just try them out then, for a test?” - although, I have to say, our whistles had been blown plenty of times before, ever since we got them.
“Yeah, sure.” Said the brother.
Tom gave his whistle a prolonged blast – similar to a full-time whistle in a football match, if you know what that is.
“Seems to be okay!” we all laughed. But I could already see a figure bearing down on us from one of the marquees around the concourse. I vaguely knew this chap, I’d been introduced to him some time before, a wholly unpleasant, self-righteous Bethel brother, Neil [something], who, it turned out, was a Night Guard and Bob Miles’s number two man. He marched up to us with a face like thunder, furious and indignant.
Neil pressed his face right up to Tom, maybe two inches away, and he bellowed.
“You never, ever, EVER, blow your whistle except in an EMERGENCY!! IS THAT CLEAR??”
He was red in the face and actually spitting into Tom’s face as he shouted.
This chap richly deserved a smack in the gob, and no mistake, but Tom - to give him his due - was absolutely humble, and just said,
“Okay, sorry”
Somewhat mollified, and – I think - beginning to feel a little ashamed of himself, Bethel Boy Neil said
“Yes. Well. It is important. So, uhhm, don’t forget. ” And he turned away. We watched him go.
“What a pratt.” Said Tom, and the three of us nodded in silence.
We met Bob Miles later that evening, prior to doing our first rounds. He was a tubby, white-haired, mild-mannered, benevolent uncle type of chap, the kind of guy who you couldn’t imagine ever saying boo to even the timidest goose. Not at all the military-type I was expecting.
Maybe he got the job precisely because he was that type of harmless-looking meek “Christian” type of brother. Perhaps the Society knew that there was a danger of the Night Guard corps becoming a magnet for the more aggressive, uber-masculine type of volunteer, and his appointment was a deliberate counter-balance. Or maybe it was all just random, who knows? There was the fact that he had as a deputy that absolutely puffed-up, self-important martinet in old Bethel Boy, so, I guess Bob himself had a counter-balance.
As it turned out, Tom and I were not partners, but each of us got assigned to someone else. Tom got a mischievous-looking young chap (called Ray, I think); my partner was a recently-baptised young man, all quiet and bookish called Martin.
Martin turned out to be really good company. We patrolled around the concourse through the night and talked and talked. He was a recent convert and had been pretty much a hippy living in a commune when he came into contact with the truth. He went for it straight away, got baptised, started pioneering and was made a ministerial servant in not much more than a year. But, because of his background, he had the most encyclopaedic knowledge of rock bands and music, which, to me, was hugely impressive. He also had a rich fund of drug-related stories, including loads of personal experience, which made him even more exotic in my eyes.
Looking back on it now, I think I was so impressed with Martin precisely because he was a recent convert. As a born-in myself (well, not quite – but good as), I think the overwhelming cognitive dissonance I was wrestling with at that time - and which I was doing such a tremendous job in repressing - made me attracted to anyone from outside and who appeared to have been recently convinced about the Truth.
I wanted to find out all about their experience. My closest friendships were not with people like Tom or other born-ins like myself, but with people like hillary_step (who is on this very forum!) and others such as my best friend brother Pete (h_s will know who that is) who were newly converted. I just couldn’t get enough of that stuff - I think I was looking for a way to continue believing myself.
Anyway, Martin was a really great chap, but – back to the Night Guards.
One experience I remember very clearly from the first day of the actual convention was early in the morning. We were all (I guess about 30 of us ) gathered with Bob talking about our day-time duties, as the brothers and sisters were beginning to stream in.
A chap came running up to us, all breathless and excited.
“North Car Park! A Worldly Ice Cream Van!” he said.
“ Okay, lads!” said Bob. “We can’t have this”
The whole mass of us started walking to the North car park. Walking faster and faster. We broke into a trot. We were running. Bob was being left behind. A low sound started, I don’t know who began it, but it rose and rose, louder and louder … “yyyyyeeeeeeeeeeEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
We were a mob. A lynch mob. I realised straight away what was happening and my blood ran cold. I stopped.
I watched them run on (Bob still gamely trying to keep up) as they disappeared around the corner of the stand. I wasn’t going to have anything to do with it.
I heard later that the chap just simply moved away and there was no unpleasantness at all. I guess he was just bemused. After all, what possible harm was he doing? He wasn’t competing with anyone - it wasn’t as if there was any Watchtower Ice Creams you could buy. But, we had exercised our rights - if we had been animals, I guess it was the equivalent of the Witnesses pissing in every corner to stake out their territory.
We had seen off the Worldly Ice Cream Man.
On the second or third day of the assembly we had our biggest moment of excitement f the whole assembly. And I missed the whole thing.
Martin and I were on the 6:00 to 1:00 shift, and went back to base to sleep at 1:00. As I slept, I was vaguely aware of whistles and shouts going on, but not enough to properly rouse me.
I found out about it the next morning.
Bethel Boy Neil called us all together to tell us what had happened.
“ Last night, we had a break-in. Worldly people, snooping around, looking for what they could take.” He puffed up a little. “I discovered them, and called for assistance. Eventually we were able to chase them off.”
Now he got all serious. “Let this be a lesson to all of you! This job is not a lark! It is a serious business, and we must all remain alert!”
I must admit to being impressed. I never really thought there was any danger of “worldlies” attacking us, but, here was the proof, from Neil.
I spoke to Tom about it, who seemed not impressed at all. Eventually, he told me the truth.
“Yeah, it was me and Ray. That Neil, he is such a f***ing arsehole! [in our private pioneer code, swearing to each other was acceptable, but never in front of others] We just had to do it! It was Ray’s idea, we hid behind a bin for a bit, then just buzzed him in the dark as he came past. We just turned off our torches and ran around a bit. What an idiot! He deserved it. Did you see how he’s carrying on?”
All they had to do after that was turn their torches back on, and join in the ”hunt” for the Wordlies, same as everyone else – but the Worldlies couldn’t be found. They must have been frightened off!
I had to admit it was funny. And I’m pretty sure that, by the end of the day, most of the Night Guards - everyone except Neil and Bob - knew the real story.
Twickenham’s been so rebuilt and redeveloped that my old lodgings there don’t exist anymore – the whole stand has been replaced. Do the Society even have Night Guards any more?
Anyway, that’s pretty much my Night Guards experience. On the final day of that assembly I got introduced to a sister who seemed enormously impressed with the whole Night Guard thing. She took my photo - I looked heroic.
I married her a year later, and consequently was never a Night Guard again - but that’s a whole other story.
Duncan.
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Do you condemn the Society's no-blood policy and still do not DONATE BLOOD?
by nicolaou init's your decision to make.
it would be as wrong of this community to insist everyone donate blood as it is of the cult to insist otherwise.
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Duncan
Hi Nic, Good topic.
One of the things I am proudest of (in retrospect) was the speed with which I was able to overcome a lifetime's conditioning (not quite a "born-in", but good as) and get over the blood issue.
Last meeting attendance was 1979. I started giving blood in 1981 - they used to arrange it at the place I worked - and have done so fairly regularly ever since.
It's a fine, giving, christian thing to do. I'd urge every healthy person here to consider it.
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Did you have any ''dirty creepy old men'' in your congro?
by karter inwe had one always had his hands on the sisters and would stare at there brests all the time .
any new sisters were ''new meat'' lost count off the times he was told off by the elders
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Duncan
There was this one creepy brother, in my old congregation, middle-aged, several kids, and an elder wannabee (made it eventually, I understand).
His speciality was zooming in on any young married sister who had just given birth. I know from personal experience - he did this with my wife. He had never shown the slightest interest in us or her prior to that first occasion we turned up at the hall with our new-born son.
He was all over her straight away. Going on about Jehovah's marvellous provision of breast feeding.
"Do you breast feed? ... How often? ... Do the beasts get uncomfortable and swollen? ... Are your nipples sore? ... Do you put any cream on your nipples? "
On and on about breasts and nipples. Nipples and breasts. On and on.
"I think it's marvellous to see... Don't feel embarassed ... just breast feed when you like, in front of anyone ... Nothing to be ashamed of .... If you ever drop by, you can breast feed in our house, I won't mind..... nipples this ... nipples that.. marvellous breasts..." and so on.
It was clear that all he was doing was getting off by talking to young attractive girls about their breasts. The fact of the baby's birth gave him his chance to have these conversations about breasts and he took every chance he could to really get acquainted with every young sister's nipples, his gaze relentlessly locked on to the objects of his obsession.
My wife thought these conversations (with his ugly, stupid wife standing by, smiling all the while, nodding dumbly) were utterly inappropriate. He was just a dirty old man, really a creepy guy. We talked about it to a few others, and that was pretty much the consensus among his other victims.
But, nothing was ever said to him, of course.
It was all deniable. He was only celebrating this "faith-building, marvellous provision from Jehovah" of breast-feeding the young. Now what could possibly be wrong with that?
Duncan.
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The Nails in Jesus' Hands
by Duncan indear everyone,.
i have been watching the new bbc production of the passion this easter week.
very good it is too, i think, and its interesting that for the biggest, most expensive star they had in the cast, they gave him the role of pilate, not jesus.
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Duncan
Dear everyone,
I have been watching the new BBC production of the Passion this Easter week. Very good it is too, I think, and it’s interesting that for the biggest, most expensive star they had in the cast, they gave him the role of Pilate, not Jesus.
In fact, in this production, there is every bit as much attention paid to the viewpoint and back-story of Pilate and High Priest Caiaphas, as there is to the Jesus story. Perhaps this is the reason they used their only ‘A-lister’ for Pilate. Or perhaps they just didn’t want Jesus talking in a broad Belfast accent.
Anyway, Friday’s episode took us up to the crucifixion. And it’s this that I what to talk about – or at least one aspect of it:
The Nails through the Hands.
The BBC’s depiction of the crucifixion was quite unlike any I’ve seen before. I guess this was by design – usually a production team will want the look of their work to be both novel and memorable and will usually strive to find ways to give a piece of film-making an innovative look.
The crosses were very much T’s , and the famous victims had their arms placed in a Y shaped position with huge great foot-long spikes nailed in half-way up the forearm, so that the hands were up in the air, much higher than the cross. The legs were almost bent double, pushed together over to one side.
If you haven’t seen it , the position Jesus ends up in is best described by imagining Pete Townsend of the Who making one of his trademark leaps while playing guitar using his famous windmill technique – freeze the body in that shape and take away the guitar and you’ve got it.
Anyway, the nails.
His has bothered me for a while, and watching this show on Friday made me think about it all over again.
Here’s the problem – nails can’t hold a living persons hand/arm attached to a piece of wood IF HE DOESN’T WANT IT TO REMAIN THERE. Think about this a minute. If someone, some robber or something, broke into your house and nailed your hand to a door frame then left you, wouldn’t you - er - just lift your hand off the nail?
The robber would be completely stupid to assume that you were all taken care of while he set off to do what he came to do - murder people, steal things etc. You would, maybe slowly and carefully, but without a doubt certainly you would free your hand and then make your next move - run away, call the cops, get your gun etc. etc.
It doesn’t matter here whether we’re talking about the rather weedy four inch nails usually depicted in a crucifixion scene or the BBC’s fearsome and manly foot-long spikes. The further damage and pain involved in simply lifting a hand off a nail is nothing compared to the damage and pain already inflicted. There’s blood everywhere anyway – which can only help with lubrication if it were needed, which I doubt.
In a crucifixion my guess would be that there would be at least some of the victims who didn’t really want to participate. Simply nailing their hands or arms to the cross-piece would never stop them struggling to remove themselves from the cross. The Roman guards would get pretty cheesed-off after a while just nailing people back into position.
Surely you would have to tie them as well? I know the Bible doesn’t say anything about tying Jesus to the cross, but I can’t help thinking that it must have been standard practice. Nails alone just don’t make sense.
This idea, of course, renders redundant all those learned, tedious discussions you sometimes see in Christian literature over whether the word “hand” in Greek really meant “wrist-and-forearm” , thus allowing a loophole to get them out of the difficulty that a human hand couldn’t bear the body weight and would simply tear open. He was tied-up as well, you dopes!
Curiously enough, Monty Python’s Life of Brian gets this one completely right. It shows the crucifixion victims both nailed and tied. No surprise really, that film is intelligent and perceptive on so many levels.
But I guess they weren’t really singing.
Happy Easter to all,
Duncan.