Grumpy Old Men Songs #22: What The Dickens?

When I was in high school, I hated The Smiths. I didn’t properly embrace the band until I was at university, when I came to them on my own terms rather than being forced to listen to them by the high school taste-makers. I similarly rebelled against a number of other “cool” bands in the 80s, most of which I’ve made my peace with in the intervening years, many of which I’ve come to cherish. (The one exception is a band beloved by many of my blogging peers, who I never got then and still don’t get now… though there was also a particularly hurtful incident involving a friend’s betrayal that is inextricably linked to said band… and even after 35 years, I’m not sure I can write about that.)

Anyway, the ironic thing about my hatred of The Smiths is the reason I gave for not liking them. “They’re so miserable!” I would cry, before leaping into my clichéd Morrissey impression, which was the same as every other clichéd Morrissey impression you’ve ever heard: moany voice, lyrics about stubbing your toe or missing the bus or your toast going cold, capped off by repeated use of that word most associated with The Smiths, because Heaven Knows they are…

The irony mentioned above is that most of my schoolmates thought I was pretty miserable and that I should love The Smiths because of that. When I wasn’t playing the clown, I was moping around. Although I might have been laughing loud and hearty, deep inside I was blue.

I have very similar feelings about Charles Dickens. He’s a right miserable sod too. I remember having to read Hard Times in university, and it was the hardest time I had there. It made my Uni a Bleak House. It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… 

I managed to avoid having to deal with much Dickens for the first ten years of my teaching life, because I only taught English Language at The Bad Place, and when I did encounter him, it was usually only a page and a half of him wittering on about how terrible Victorian society was: the poor people, the poor prisoners, The Poor Law. But since starting my new job, I’m teaching more Literature, and one of the key texts still forced upon poor, poor teenagers is A Christmas Carol… a text I genuinely believe should only be taught during one month of the year, and mostly through watching the version featuring Michael Caine and The Muppets. But since when has anyone ever listened to my opinion on anything? (I also have a serious problem with the way Dickens tries to lighten the mood in his books through the use of comedy names like Bumblesnot and Pooptwizzle: that’s about as funny as Mrs. Brown’s Boys, Chuck – knock it off!)

I’ve yet to have an epiphany about Charles Dickens in the same way I did with The Smiths. And after all this time, I think a Road To Damascus moment is highly unlikely. However, my heart did warm to the following song from The Horrible Histories team when I stumbled across it for the first time earlier this week… 

I lived a happy life ‘til I was ten years old
When debt landed dad in prison and our country house was sold
Lodged with a lady in her London flat so cold
Worked at a boot polish factory, labelling jars quite dull be told
Goodness only knows
I was a miserable soul

In my life, felt ashamed about poverty in childhood
Wrote about sadness, suffering, and fears
Also wrote about people with funny names
Bumble, Smallweed, Scrooge, Uriah Heep
And Wackford Squeers