The Ballad of Mulan, a history girl of note - by Katherine Langrish

I've always liked Arthur Waley's translations of Chinese literature and poetry, and I came across this one recently in an old edition I found in a second-hand bookshop. It was exciting to find a source for the story most of us know only from Disney, and I thought History Girl readers would enjoy it too - especially the unexpected ending as it pokes fun at the notion that men and women are essentially different in their abilities. The rough ballad style Waley has chosen seems well suited to the simplicity of the story, to which he adds the note: 'Written in northern China during the domination of the Wei Tartars, Sixth Century AD'.  You can compare it with a more recent translation here: http://www.chinapage.com/mulan.html

 

Click, click, for ever click, click;

Mulan sits at the door and weaves.

Listen, and you will not hear the shuttle’s sound,

But only hear a girl’s sobs and sighs.

 

 

“Oh tell me, lady, are you thinking of your love,

Oh tell me, lady, are you longing for your dear?”

“Oh no, oh no, I am not thinking of my love,

Oh no, oh no, I am not longing for my dear.

 

 

But last night I read the battle-roll;

The Khan has ordered a great levy of men.

The battle-roll was written in twelve books,

And in each book stood my father’s name.

 

 

My father’s sons are not grown men,

And of my brothers, none is older than me.

Oh let me to the market to buy saddle and horse,

And ride with the soldiers to take my father’s place.”

 

 

In the eastern market she’s bought a gallant horse,

In the western market she’s bought saddle and cloth.

In the southern market she’s bought snaffle and reins,

In the northern market she’s bought a tall whip.

 

 

In the morning she stole from her father’s and mother’s house;

At night she was camping by the Yellow River’s side.

She could not hear her father and mother calling to her by her name,

But only the voice of the Yellow River as its waters swirled through the night.

 

 

At dawn they left the River and went on their way;

At dusk they came to the Black Water’s side.

She could not hear her father and mother calling to her by her name,

She could only hear the muffled voices of foreign horsemen riding on the hills of Yen.

 

 

A thousand leagues she tramped on the errands of war,

Frontiers and hills she crossed like a bird in flight.

Through the northern air echoed the watchman’s tap;

The wintry light gleamed on coats of mail.

 

 

The captain had fought a hundred fights, and died;

The warriors in ten years had won their rest.

They went home, they saw the Emperor’s face;

The Son of Heaven was seated in the Hall of Light.

The deeds of the brave were recorded in twelve books;

In prizes he gave a hundred thousand cash.

 

 

Then spoke the Khan and asked her what she would take.

“Oh, Mulan asks not to be made

A Counsellor at the Khan’s court;

I only beg for a camel that can march

A thousand leagues a day,

To take me back to my home.”

 

 

When her father and mother heard that she had come,

They went out to the wall and led her back to the house.

When her little sister heard that she had come,

She went to the door and rouged her face afresh.

When her little brother heard that his sister had come,

He sharpened his knife and darted like a flash

Towards the pigs and sheep.

 

 

She opened the gate that leads to the eastern tower,

She sat on her bed that stood in the western tower,

She cast aside her heavy soldier’s cloak,

And wore again her old-time dress.

 

 

She stood at the window and bound her cloudy hair;

She went to the mirror and fastened her yellow combs.

She left the house and met her messmates on the road;

Her messmates were startled out of their wits.

 

 

They had marched with her for twelve years of war

And never known that Mulan was a girl.

For the male hare sits with its legs tucked in,

And the female hare is known for her bleary eye;

But set them both scampering side by side,

And who so wise could tell you “This is he”?

 

 

Translated by Arthur Waley, Chinese Poems, George Allen & Unwin 1936

 

 

Picture credits: 

Hua Mulan on white horse: image from http://athenaenoctua2013.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/la-ballata-di-hua-mulan.html

Hua Mulan on bay horse: image from http://www.chinese-swords-guide.com/mulan.html

THE BOOK OF BOSSY GIRLS? By Penny Dolan.

Recently my interest was caught a media discussion: the kind where X says this, so Y spouts up with that, often through tweets and social network sites, and giving both X & Y & also Z material for an article or two.

This controversy was about the use of the word “bossy” to describe girls. It does come across as a word drenched in negativity and rejection. For one thing, “bossy” is what girls aren’t supposed to be, but it is hard to refute without sounding – er, bossy.  

Last year, researching Mary Wollstonecraft for a short story, I read Clare Tomalin’s excellent biography. By the end, I had decided that Mary, though hugely admirable, was probably not a very comfortable person to be around for long. 

Mary had opinions she wanted to share, better beliefs she thought herself- and others - should live by, and much to feel angry about, at both a personal and general level. She organised her family and friends, who were not always grateful or glad, and she spoke and wrote against what she saw as injustice and inequality. In other words, Mary was probably a bit difficult and, yes, sometimes bossy. 

 

 Do women ever get anything done without being accused of being bossy, I wonder?

What about the women in the past who fought alongside men – Boudicca and her daughters, or maybe Alfred’s daughter Aethefled? Or Mary Seacole, caring for her soldiers even if Florence Nightingale’s hospital rejected her?

What about the girls and women who negotiated their roles among the dangerous men of power: Lady Jane Grey, Elizabeth Stuart, or the remarkable Eleanor of Aquitaine?  

Or women like anchorite Julian of Norwich, playwright Aphra Ben, or even my Mary – women whose writing explains how they see life and their world? Isn’t writing, as authors and journalists know, a way of raising your voice?

Speaking out has often been seen – or heard – as a problem, the ultimate demonstration of bossiness: the women protestors at Greenham Common became the stereo-types of stridency. In contrast, Emily Davison, facing the king’s horse, used her own body as a way of “speaking“ when people in power wouldn’t listen. 

What about those who persisted in their own paths? There is Mary Anning, the self-taught fossil-hunter whose discoveries were subsumed into the collections and reputations of wealthy and aristocratic palaeontologists? Or what about the persistence needed to be Amy Johnson, the first woman to fly solo from Britain to Australia, and who may have been a British spy?  Amazing women, all.

 

As I’m typing this, Woman’s Weekend Hour is airing an item about female “Game Changers” as part of their Power List 2014 campaign:

 

Rachel Short, an organisational psychologist says that the key aspects of “game changers” were their intellectual independence, the fact that they were socially eclectic and that their motivation was guided by initiative, resilience and deep-rooted self-belief. 

Unsurprisingly, the words “difficult” and “bossy” came up again. (Not the word "cranky", though that might fit too.) It seems that bossy girls and women – and you will have your own favourite heroines – are often those who make things happen, however subtly or noticeably they manage it. Perhaps “bossy” is a kind of compliment, after all?

You can read fictional tales about all these historical heroines now in the BOOK OF BOSSY GIRLS - more properly and correctly known as the DAUGHTERS OF TIME anthology, edited by Mary Hoffman. (Templar)

Penny Dolan

Where have all the heroines gone? by Kate Lord Brown

 

Clearing the family bookshelves for the last time at my parents' home in Devon, I found my old 'Girls' Handbook' this summer. Perhaps you had something similar - full of useful tips from mending punctures to taking care of your animals, and always with a section on heroic women from history. At the age I remember devouring the book, I was at the kind of girls' school that put as much emphasis on being able to navigate Dartmoor and change a plug as rustle up a decent meal and walk with a straight back (deportment badges were handed out for good posture). It had a strong spiritual heart, was academically rigorous, and instilled an instinctive sense of sexual equality. At the time that practical, intellectual and liberal foundation seemed completely normal. Only with the benefit of age can I see how incredibly fortunate it is to have an education like that. Also - a sign of the times - that exemplary girls' school has just closed its doors for the last time.

The stories in the handbook - of remarkable women like Joan of Arc, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Amelia Earhart, Amy Johnson, Anne Frank - became a shared history. These women were conjured to life by our teachers and their courageous examples became part of us - they were truly formative. I still remember standing in silence in the Frank house in Amsterdam at roughly the same age Anne was when she lived there. Perhaps you've seen the Hilary Swank film 'Freedom Writers', where the true life story of teacher Erin Gruwell is dramatised? Gruwell used the example of Anne Frank to reach a group of 'unteachables', working several jobs to pay for Miep Gies (who sheltered the Franks), to come and talk to her group. The book speaks across the years, but I wonder if the Diary of Anne Frank is still required reading in schools?

Writing historical fiction I still find myself drawn to these women - Amy Johnson in 'The Beauty Chorus', Gerda Taro in 'The Perfume Garden'. One of the lovely things about being published that I'm still getting used to is how people give you the gift of their stories. At a shwarma party in a desert house the other night, a woman told me a wonderful tale about her grandmother, who was named for British nurse and patriot Edith Cavell. 'I'd love to read a novel about her,' the woman said.

I began to wonder who today's girls admire and look up to. A quick survey at home came up with two names:

J K Rowling

and

Hermione Granger

I'll be putting a copy of the 'Girls' Handbook' or its modern equivalent under the Christmas tree for my daughter this year in the hope we can add a few more to this list - it would be interesting to know which names you can come up with from your daughters or young friends. Which heroines had an impact on you as a youthful history girl? Or perhaps you've also had the experience of being 'given' a story? 

Who will be the modern day heroines, the examples from our own era? If there is one contemporary candidate, it's Malala Yousafzai, whose biography has just been published. Her bravery fighting for the education so many of us take for granted, and her message of peaceful resistance is truly inspiring. If you haven't seen this clip, it's well worth watching - 4.40 onwards takes your breath away and just goes to show that heroism is alive and well today:

OUR ISLAND STORY by Adèle Geras

My copy of this book is sixty years old. It was given to me as a leaving present by my teacher when I left my school in Lagos to go to Jesselton, North Borneo. I covered it back then in brown paper to preserve it and the paper has weathered the years very well.



The inscription inside the front cover reads: Adele weston June 1st 1951. Lagos.
I wasn't as fussy then as I am now about the accent on my first name and I'm not a hundred percent sure of my capital letters either.



Our Island Story is written by a woman, Henrietta Elizabeth Marshall. It was first published in 1905 and in 2005, after having been out of print for ages, it reappeared in a centenary edition. If any of you was a teacher at that time, you might remember your free copy of this book appearing in the post. It was distributed, apparently, to every school in the country as a kind of present and I have no idea of the way it was received when it arrived, nor what the children who read it in the 21st century thought of it. Marshall mixes legends in with 'proper history' and that might have made it seem a little more 'fictional' than your average history book.

I'm certain that the kind of history purveyed in its pages is full of dreadfully old-fashioned things: Colonial not to say Imperialist views and a storytelling style that was common in the kind of book read by children in the Enid Blyton days: bland and cosy to say the least. There are clear villains and heroes. The British are always the best, it goes without saying, but one thing can be said for Our Island Story: it had lots of great women in it: Elizabeth, Queen Victoria and Flora Macdonald, not to mention Florence Nightingale and the wonderful (no Boudicca nonsense here!) Boadicea.



Just get a load of that hair! This picture accounts for my passion for red-headed heroines. They feature in a great many of my books. Okay, Rita Hayworth and Anne of Green Gables can take their share of the blame, but Boadicea was the start of it. The caption under the picture reads: "Will you follow me, men?" - a feminist call to arms if ever there was one. I fell in love with the romance of history through pictures like these and the stories which accompanied them.

Look at this illustration showing the two Princes in the Tower. Was there ever a more heart-rending caption than the one under this picture? It reads: The days seemed very long and dreary to the two little boys.



And now see this. Look at the dresses accompanying the story of the Pipes at Lucknow. In the text, one of the women is described as being in a fever and crying out deliriously: "Dinna ye hear them? Dinna ye hear them?" and those are the words under this picture:



Well, if that was what one looked like while waiting in agonies of fever for the relief of Lucknow, it didn't seem to be such a terrible fate after all. The illustration led directly to years and years of very inadequate crinoline-drawing on my part. My rough book at school was covered in dresses just like these and these two outfits, the purple and the blue are what come into my mind when I think of someone in Victorian costume.

Here is Richard Coeur de Lion...oh, I loved his story! The caption reads. "Richard went away to Palestine."



Here, another favourite of mine to this day, is the tragic Mary, Queen of Scots. Her caption says: "For nineteen years, this poor queen was kept in prison." I found it heart-rending and cried whenever I read her story.



And here was a tale that bred in me a continuing love of romance. It's the story of Flora Macdonald and Bonnie Prince Charlie and the words under the picture say: "They took a sad farewell of each other." To me, when I was seven, it was total bliss, imagining that farewell. You can't see it very well in my photo, but that white blob at the lovers' feet is a pretty little sheep.



These photos were taken with my very low-tech camera and my non-existent photographic skills but I hope they've shown a little of the magic of this book. Almost every history book I've read since is 'better' in the sense of being more accurate or better-written or illluminating, but this will always be the enchanting one, the one that told me, loud and clear: There are brilliant stories in these pages of gallantry and tragedy and love. Come in, don't be scared you won't understand this thing called History. You will, and you'll love it.

PS Since I wrote the first draft of this post, it's emerged that fewer and fewer pupils are opting to study History for GCSE. Eve Edwards argued recently on this blog that historical novels should be used to enthuse children about history and she's right. She says, also, that History is being studied in all sorts of interesting ways today, when it IS studied. But I think there's also room for presenting it as a series of thrilling stories, just as H. E.Marshall did in her book.