Communication without words

Kidnapped, and Penguin

We tend to rely on the written word for a great deal of our modern day communications. But is this as wonderful as we think? Certainly language has its limitations, and is notoriously open to mis-interpretation. Great writers over the centuries have illustrated its power to persuade, confuse, incite and threaten as well as to teach, inspire, inform and entertain. Local and personal idioms render writing less simple than it might at first appear, and we often hear nowadays of the difficulty of reading expression in emails, text and tweets. There are still many cultures around the world that remain entirely oral, whether through their own determination not to write anything down, or because the way they live their lives means they have no need of it – a small tribe, who see each other all the time, and remember their history, might see little need for writing. The Druids, who lived in Iron Age Britain, Ireland and Gaul, are said to have avoided writing down their knowedge in part because they felt such knowledge was powerful and of great importance and should only be passed down to their own, and not spread about the place in the way a written text might be.

What I’m really interested in is the variety of other ways of communicating, from the Victorian language of flowers to much more complex systems. One of my favourites from literature is the wonderful example from Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped. Set not so very long ago, really, and on our own shores, the scene involves David Balfour and Alan Breck hiding out in the woods, and needing money. Alan decides to send a message to his friend John Breck Maccoll, asking for help. He does this by making a cross out of a sprig of pine and a sprig of birch, tied together with a strip of cloth from his coat, and adding a button which once belonged to his father. David, puzzled by this, asks Alan what he thinks his friend will make of finding such a strange thing on his windowsill.

"Well," says Alan, "I wish he was a man of more penetration, for by my troth I am afraid he will make little enough of it! But this is what I have in my mind. This cross is something in the nature of the crosstarrie, or fiery cross, which is the signal of gathering in our clans; yet he will know well enough the clan is not to rise, for there it is standing in his window, and no word with it. So he will say to himsel',The clan is not to rise, but there is something. Then he will see my button, and that was Duncan Stewart's. And then he will say to himsel', The son of Duncan is in the heather, and has need of me."

"Well," said I, "it may be. But even supposing so, there is a good deal of heather between here and the Forth."

"And that is a very true word," says Alan. "But then John Breck will see the sprig of birch and the sprig of pine; and he will say to himsel' (if he is a man of any penetration at all, which I misdoubt), Alan will be lying in a wood which is both of pines and birches. Then he will think to himsel', that is no so very rife hereabout; and then he will come and give us a look up in Corrynakiegh. And if he does not, David, the devil may fly away with him, for what I care; for he will no be worth the salt to his porridge."

"Eh, man," said I, drolling with him a little, "you're very ingenious! But would it not be simpler for you to write him a few words in black and white?"

"And that is an excellent observe, Mr. Balfour of Shaws," says Alan, drolling with me; "and it would certainly be much simpler for me to write to him, but it would be a sore job for John Breck to read it. He would have to go to the school for two-three years; and it's possible we might be wearied waiting on him."

Alan’s hope that John would interpret his twig cross in this manner (which he does, turning up a couple of days later to offer the help they need), is evidence that within his clan this kind of language of symbols was well understood, and a powerful means of communication; David’s incomprehension also demonstrates the usefulness of such symbolic language for keeping secrets - had a Redcoat found it, they would probably have realised that it was a message of some kind, but they would not have been able to interpret it.

And if you haven’t yet read Penguin by Polly Dunbar, please do – it’s a wonderful picture book about a boy who becomes increasingly frustrated by his new friend Penguin’s inability (or refusal!) to talk or communicate with him in any way.

At last, after the (disconcertingly blue) lion eats Ben for being so noisy (a subtle warning to all those of us who talk too much?), the penguin rescues him, and finally tells him what he's thinking:

 

 Who needs words when you can say all that?