Letter From The Other Side. From Cynthia
Written by Elizabeth. M. Thompson.

Cynthia Discovers Philosophy Isn't Her Thing.

Dear Del,
What a very exciting time you had last week on your radio programme. You certainly have some unexpected occurrences. I quite envy the variety it brings to your life.
As I told you, a friend asked me to join the U3A Philosophy class. A range of emotions passed through me as I at first felt flattered she should think I would be suitable to join in what I assumed to be an intelligent, august, and deep thinking group of people.
She had never given me the impression she thought so highly of me or my intelligence in the past. As I contemplated further, it occurred to me I may have assumed the wrong reason for her invitation. Perhaps she was motivated to ask me because she actually felt I needed the association of people able to define life’s little problems and put some perspective into the turmoil of our world.
With some trepidation I accepted and arrived at my first class. Deliberately I made my way to a chair at the back in rather the same self conscious manner an unaccustomed churchgoer likes to sit in the rear pews near the doors. Thus allowing an easy escape route and there is less likelihood of people witnessing any gauche mistakes.
My misgivings were confirmed when I looked around for my friend, hoping she would sit beside me. Instead I saw her on the far side of the large room already surrounded by others she obviously knew well. My gloom increased as I became convinced she was trying to avoid me in case I embarrassed her in some way and surmised she was now probably wishing she hadn’t suggested my attendance.
‘Welcome to the meeting.’ The class tutor began.
There was a rustle of movement as people around me took out notebooks and pens and assumed serious faces and attitudes.
The teacher spoke for a while about a personage evidently of some historical importance and of whom I had never heard. While I was trying valiantly to catch the gist of what he was saying, a male voice from somewhere to my right interrupted his flow by calling loudly. ‘I can’t hear you; I have a hearing problem could I move forward?’
Others agreed with the speaker so the instructor suggested that everyone with hearing problems move forward.
For about fifteen minutes we seemed to be playing a type of musical chairs while those with a hearing difficulty moved forward and those with good hearing moved back exchanging little snippets of information about the pros and cons of various hearing aids.
I have excellent hearing so I stayed where I was.
The meeting resumed but not for long. This time a female voice complained loudly she suffered a ‘bad back’ and now she had shifted she had lost the use of the padded chair she customarily used.
There was another smaller version of musical chairs as the padded chair from a man with hearing difficulty went to the lady with the back problem.
Everyone settled again took up their notebooks and it was announced it was time for a cup of tea.
So far, I thought I hadn’t heard much philosophy but perhaps the class included physical activities such as shifting chairs with the philosophy which would come later.
Instead of trying to balance a cup of tea and start a conversation with people I didn’t know, I went to the corner table where there were a few books the class could borrow.
I hoped to find a book in plain English which would give me some basic guidelines of what and why we were there. More gloom as I read the uninspiring titles.
Eventually and unenthusiastically, I chose a book and asked the little lady in charge of them if she had read it.
‘Good Heavens no! Do you think I have time to read every book on the table?’ She replied crossly and glowered at me.
In normal circumstances I would have returned the rudeness in spades. I held my tongue, signed my name and returned to my seat smarting from her outburst. If her attitude was an indication of an older wiser result of the classes, I felt I might skip that part of my life and go straight to my second childhood.
When the rest of the class had finished their biscuits and drinks, the meeting continued without any further chair moving with the exception of an elderly gentleman wandering from his seat, passing right in front of the teacher as he was speaking and without a word leaving the class.
Shortly afterwards the meeting ended and I returned home no wiser than when I went in.


The following week everyone sat in the same chairs and the teacher resumed his discussion which touched on Darwin. At last a name I recognised!
However a man to my left said something which seemed quite reasonable to me but must have struck a raw nerve with another gentleman on my right.
An argument, well I suppose being a philosophy class I should call it a robust discussion, arose between the men. I must have looked a little alarmed as the woman to my right whispered one man was a Marxist and the other was a Creationist and their clashes were an ongoing feature of most meetings. Eventually our tutor regained his tenuous control of the class.
Although I understood very little of what he was saying I had by now realised he was a man of great patience, stamina and knowledge and felt it was something of a duty to try and stay for at least two more classes.
So rather than endeavour to catch up with a lifetime’s study in a few confusing lessons, I relaxed, sat back and became an observer.
There was uproar with everyone having something to say during one debate when a comment was perceived to be racist. I could not hear what started the furore and was unable to distinguish who was of what opinion, but as an onlooker it was quite entertaining.
Like a sudden tornado arrives out of the plains, another row blew up between the flat earth believer and a climate change exponent when for some reason Darwin was deplored once again.
The old man who leaves early walked in front of the teacher without apologizing and the meeting closed shortly after.
I returned home exhausted but still none the wiser.

The next meeting started well, our worthy instructor spoke about some American fellow he seemed to admire but who to me, just seemed a self important, narcissistic fool who treated his wife and family as his personal slaves and shared little of the money his self glorification brought to him. But what do I know? He must have been a great philosopher to be still spoken about in our times.
So once again we went home shortly after the man walked out in front of the teacher who very briefly, for the first time, glared at him.

The following week the selfish introspective American was still on the agenda. While I was wondering why his family put up with him and didn’t just leave him to starve, an old white haired man quietly slid down off his chair onto the floor in a faint.
Approximately ninety percent of the class leapt to their feet and stood, not to help, but just to look as he lay prone on the floor murmuring he was going to be sick.
Now, I know many people particularly men, find the odour of vomit offensive but after having brought up three children one of whom could regurgitate his food in a half digested state seemingly at will, I felt quite able to deal with the small amount the old man produced.
A few other women rushed to his aid. I grabbed a metal waste bin for him to be sick in and another woman rushed to the kitchen for some water.
The ambulance was called and we made him as comfortable as possible with the cushions from the chair of the woman with the ‘bad back’.
The old man walked in front of the concerned teacher as he watched his pupil being ministered to on the hard and slightly grubby floor. At last his patience gave way and he turned to ask the man why he left early and never ever had the manners to excuse himself?
The man shrugged his bent shoulders, mumbled a reply I couldn’t hear and left. The teacher shook his head slightly and sighed. It struck me as a sigh of great resignation from a very philosophical man.
When our sick gentleman had been removed by the ambulance, I regretfully bid farewell to the teacher telling him I found philosophy to be bad for my blood pressure and would probably join the garden club. I understand gardens and have to admit, I had at times been pondering that it seemed philosophically unfair of me to use a class of such seriously minded people intent on righting the world’s warped and disparate thinking as a form of amusement and high entertainment.
So that brings to an end my foray into philosophy Del. I think you will agree I’m just not cut out for it at all.
I’ll just keep mucking in the garden and struggle on through life without getting any wiser.
Love from your not very philosophical ‘flower child friend’,
Cynthia.