A SYMPTOM of the economic downturn, I've noticed, has been a dramatic increase in the use of that wistful phrase, "halcyon days," writes Frank McNally
For the year 2006, when the economy was still more or less booming, the Irish Timesarchive reports only 14 occurrences of the term in these pages. This climbed to 24 in 2007, as the credit crunch loomed. But already this year there have been a whopping 33 references to "halcyon days", with the Christmas nostalgia rush still to come.
The latter will almost certainly boost the final total. I don't think I'm giving away any secrets when I say that reflections on the passing of the good times will be a big feature of our usual end-of-year supplements. So it will be no surprise if fourth-quarter returns push the annual figure to 40 or beyond.
The trend is unlikely to stop there, either. Latest figures from the ESRI suggest the halcyon-day metaphor could be averaging a mention a week by the second half of 2009.
I suspect the phrase's popularity is in inverse proportion to the understanding of what exactly it means. There would probably be a public consensus on three broad points: that halcyon days are a thing of the past; that whatever they were, they were great while they lasted; and that they reached their all-time high in a place called "Yore".
(Like the lost city of Atlantis, the location of Yore remains a mystery to archaeologists. But the one thing we know is that the Halcyon Days of Yore set the benchmark by which, ever since, all other such days have been measured.)
In fact, contrary to popular belief, the halcyon days are not over at all. If we're being technical about it, they occur annually. Better still, according to the usual calculations, this year's instalment started earlier this week and will continue until about December 29th. So we are living through the halcyon days even as we speak.
The bad news is that there is no rational reason why this should cheer us up, given that the whole concept was invented by the ancient Sicilians based on highly deluded ideas about natural science.
Halcyon is an old name for the kingfisher. And God love them, the ancient Sicilians thought that the kingfisher laid its eggs on the sea at this time of year, and then exerted magical powers to calm the waves for 14 days around the winter solstice while they incubated.
Charming as the notion is, it is now generally accepted that the breeding habits of kingfishers are not a big determinant of marine weather patterns. This may have been obvious if you were travelling anywhere by ferry yesterday. In which case, you may know that Met Éireann celebrated this year's instalment of the halcyon days by issuing a gale warning for all coastal waters and the Irish Sea.
Of course, in modern times, the phrase is only ever used figuratively, usually to mean times of prosperity. In this sense too, the waters are likely to be choppy for the foreseeable future, especially for anyone incubating nest eggs. But the metaphor is also used to describe a mood of carefree indolence; and in that sense, at least, the outlook may not be all bad.
Perhaps the real halcyon days are still ahead of us. Certainly, the slowdown should see a reduction in that well-known phenomenon of the boom years: time poverty. As the frenzy subsides, we may all have more opportunity for doing nothing - a neglected art form described in the poem Pretty Halcyon Days by Odgen Nash:
How pleasant to sit on the
beach,
On the beach, on the sand,
in the sun,
With ocean galore within
reach,
And nothing at all to be done!
No letters to answer,
No bills to be burned,
No work to be shirked,
No cash to be earned,
It is pleasant to sit on the
beach
With nothing at all to be
done!
How pleasant to look at
the ocean,
Democratic and damp;
indiscriminate;
It fills me with noble emotion
To think I am able to
swim in it.
To lave in the wave,
Majestic and chilly,
Tomorrow I crave;
But today it is silly.
It is pleasant to look
at the ocean;
Tomorrow, perhaps,
I shall swim in it.
How pleasant to gaze
at the sailors
As their sailboats they
manfully sail
With the vigour of Vikings
and whalers
In the days of the Vikings
and whale.
They sport on the brink
Of the shad and the shark;
If it's windy they sink;
If it isn't, they park.
It is pleasant to gaze at the
sailors,
To gaze without having to sail.
How pleasant the salt
anaesthetic
Of the air and the sand
and the sun;
Leave the earth to the strong
and athletic,
And the sea to adventure
upon.
But the sun and the sand
No contractor can copy;
We lie in the land
Of the lotus and poppy;
We vegetate, calm and
aesthetic,
On the beach, on the sand,
in the sun.
fmcnally@irishtimes.com