Reason to Beat Your Missus
What is the purpose of taking a traditional story from one culture and positioning it in another? I have noticed that many storytellers do this and some even claim that the story they are telling is from their own culture. There are a number of issues to explore here, including ethics and professionalism.
When I was a beginner storyteller and had to programme according to the requirements of my employer and I didn't have a broad enough repertoire of stories or the confidence to assert what my repertoire was, I did adapt stories to an Australian setting. The most obvious one I recall was the folktale, Stone Soup, which has provenance in many countries throughout the world but not in Australia. So why did I tell an Australian version with a swagman (an itinerant Australian laborer who carries his personal belongings in a bundle as he travels around in search of work) as the protagonist? To fit in with a programme of stories about the Great Depression in Australia. The story worked because the swagman was of the same ilk as the characters I had encountered in the traditional tellings of the tale, poor soldiers and travellers, and the setting could easily be the bush of Australia. I believe if told by enough people over time this version could well find a home in Australia. Such is the nature of many traditional stories. As Isaac Disraeli said, 'Tales have wings, whether they come from the East or from the North, they soon become denizens wherever they alight.' This is evident in the number of different versions of the same tale told throughout the world. The Jewish Australian folklorist, Joseph Jacobs, explains the evolution of a folktale in the notes of his book, Indian Fairytales.
'This collection is of special interest to us in the present connection, as it has come to Europe in various forms and shapes. I have edited Sir Thomas North’s English version of an Italian adaptation of a Spanish translation of a Latin version of a Hebrew translation of an Arabic adaptation of the Pehlevi version of the Indian original (Fables of Bidpai, London, D. Nutt, “Bibliothèque de Carabas,” 1888).
It is possible to set the tale of Stone Soup anywhere and in any time because of its archetypal nature. However, I don't believe that all folktales adapt to the country to which they have been brought to, and more to the point, I don't think that they should. I like the idea that people can bring their own traditional tales to another country and tell them as they are without having to adapt them to the dominant culture.
For example in Australia we don't have wolves so when telling the European tale of Little Red Riding Hood its not necessary to Australianise it by substituting a dingo for the wolf. We don't have elephants, tigers or monkeys, but we do have a host of indigenous animals that have their own traditional stories told by the original inhabitants of Australia, the Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders. I maintain it is important to learn the traditional stories of the country you live in. It is also important to understand about diversity: there are many different lands, cultures, traditions and eco-systems that make up our world.
As to claiming that a particular story is from your own culture and you know that its not, then this is simply appropriation, or cultural theft; an act that is all too common in the history of many indigenous people's. We now live in a time where we have access to the stories of many cultures and traditions and the internet has made it possible to research story sources hitherto only available through particular libraries. One of the joys of storytelling for me is to discover the provenance of folktales and acknowledge their origins and travels.
Do I still tell tales that I have 'Australianised'? I do tell Stone Soup, but very different versions to my swagmen one, because my philosophy about the role of the trickster has changed. There are two versions that I now tell, and neither is about a swagman or set in Australia. One is in my book, Tell Me: Storytelling as a Global Language and the other is on a previous blog. My trickster is still a teacher and a survivor, but now teaches compassion and community building for survival.
I still tell an Egyptian folktale in an Australian setting and in the dialect I grew up with because I always imagined it as a story from my own family. Unfortunately wife beating knows no national or cultural borders so this tale could easily originate in any culture.
REASON TO BEAT YOUR MISSUS
Theo Thomas was a bad bastard. Every morning he'd get out of bed and give his dogs a hiding. Just to make sure they did as they were told for the rest of the day. Fond of the bottle too, he was, and when he'd had a few, fancied himself a bit of a philosopher. He'd stand at the bar and let fly.
'If you wanna get the best out of 'em, there's three things you gotta beat regular,' and he’d take a swig of beer then continue 'your dog, your missus and your walnut tree'.
And some blokes, they'd laugh and egg him on with another drink, and some, they'd nod their heads and keep drinkin' in silence.
One day, Theo's brother Tommy, joins his brother at the bar for a quiet one. And Theo turns round to him and says,
'You give your missus a good thrashin' yet Tom Tom?'
Well Tommy gives him this puzzled look and he says,
'No Theo. She aint done nothin' wrong.'
So Theo roars laughin' and tells him,
'Whatta ya mean nothin' wrong? You gotta belt a woman so's they know who's wearin' the pants.'
Well Tommy he looks down at his moleskins, all confused like, but promises Theo he'll think about it.
So a few weeks later the pair meets up again. Theo's three sheets in the wind and he says to Tommy,
'Didya give that wife o'yours a hidin' yet?'
And Tommy starts shakin' his head,
'I'll be buggered if I can think of a reason to Theo. She does everythin' right.'
Well Theo nearly falls off his stool, he's laughin' so hard.
'I'll give you a good reason to,' he says, waggin' his finger. 'I got six trout in the Ute. Take 'em home to the missus and tell her I'm comin' for tea, but whatever you do, don't tell her how to cook 'em. An' when teatime comes, tell her you didn' want 'em done like that see. An' there's your reason to give her a hidin'.'
So Tommy goes home and does exactly what his brother tells him to.
'Molly,' he says, throwin' the fish down on the table. 'Theo's comin' for tea tonight, so cook up these fellers will ya?'
And he bolts out the door barely givin' her the time of day.
Now Molly's a decent sort, even if she did marry a Thomas. Mind you, young Tommy's the pick of the bunch by a long shot. More of a silly bastard than a bad bastard, if you take my meanin'. Anyways, Molly's left standin' there, starin' at the trout and not knowin' how her old man wants 'em cooked. Then she gets this idea see. She'll bake two, fry two and whack the other two in a casserole. Molly’s smart. No flies on her. Half the afternoon she spends cookin' tea. Choppin' up onions and tomatoes for the casserole and pickin' fresh herbs and peelin' vegetables. And all the while she's got the little bloke to look after as well. At the crawlin' stage he was, and into everything. Poor little tacker had a terrible bad case a nappy rash. So she lets him get round bare- bummed for a while. It's gettin' on to five and Tommy's comin' in the door any minute. And she twigs. The little bloke's gone real quiet see. So she looks under the table and fetches him outa there quick smart. Before he starts playin' in the mess. She plonks him on the couch and gets a nappy on him. Just about to start on the floor she is, and in they come. Now she knows her old man likes his dinner on the table soon as he's home, so she grabs a pudding bowl, whacks it over the
mess and then goes straight to the stove. Well the men sit down and Theo gives Tommy a wink. Molly brings over the fryin' pan and sets it down in the middle a the table. Tommy's starin' at it and Theo gives him a nudge.
'I wanted 'em baked, not fried,' he says.
Theo gives him the nod and Molly whisks the pan off the table and goes back to the stove. She opens the oven door and brings over the bakin' dish. Well Tommy's eyes nearly pop outa his head. And Theo kicks him under the table.
'I mean...I wanted 'em... in a casserole,' he says, lookin' at his brother.
So Molly, she takes away that dish and puts it on the sink. Then she goes back to the stove and brings the big boiler over. Lifts off the lid she does, and the smell wafts right under their noses. Well, you shoulda seen the look on Tommy's face. And there's Theo's givin' him another boot to the shin and Tommy, poor bugger, doesn't know whether he's Arthur or Martha.
'That's not what I wanted,' he says, all flabbergasted, 'I wanted um... I want... er,' and he's stuck for words so bad, he says, 'I want... shit!'
Talk about quick. That Molly, she dives under the table and scoops up the puddin' bowl and plonks it right down in front a Tommy.
'You want shit for tea,' she says, 'you can have it! But I'm havin' fish.'
And that was the end of that. And you know what? Tommy never did beat his wife. And there wasn’t a happier man ever lived. As for Theo, well that’s a whole different kettle a fish. His dog ran away, his walnut tree died and there never was a woman foolish enough to marry the bastard. Serves him right too.
Sources:
The Second Virago Book of Feminist Fairytales edited by Angela Carter illustrated by Corinna Sargood, Virago Press London 1993.
Angela Carter cited her source as an Egyptian story from Folktales of Egypt by El Shamy, 1980, published by University of Chicago, US.
Indian Fairytales by Joseph Jacobs
Photograph by Roman W. Schatz
