By Julia Moore

I never thought I’d be able to out-think Shakespeare, but I think he missed a trick. The ‘7-ages of man’ speech (As You Like It...Act 2,  vii), one of the many, definitive pieces of The Bard’s writing, omitted a neat, rounding-off-the-concept item. Falling down - generally, as in the Buster Keaton sense and, specifically, down the stairs.

Observing from a distance, our human existence seems peppered, not only by the traditional rites of passage - baptism/naming ceremonies/walking-talking/egocentric thinking/decentralized thinking (Piaget, what a delightful man, Swiss, you know)... but also marked by how, and why, we frequently fall down the stairs. We do it early on, as babies, (when we try to rewrite the laws of physics,) in middle-age (when late for work) and, rather poignantly, when we are aged (the world generally becomes more confused, where down often mistaken for up).

Early memories of my inherited family life was watching my step-sons hurtling down the family stairs in sleeping-bags, which, I now understand, make wonderful substitute sledges. I recall staring at this scene of unbridled mayhem accompanied by our newly adopted greyhound, the sweetest, most nervous creature ever encountered. It was her first full weekend at the house, straight from the rescue shelter. We both stood very close to each other, as if for comfort, both seemingly sharing the same thought, ‘have we done the right thing, it was bonding across the species.

The best body-lurching example, to date, was executed by a dearest, oldest pal. Not wanting to disturb anyone in the dead of night, he crept across the attic floor like a mouse, only to launch himself, head-first,down our very steep stairs. I woke, thinking an earthquake had struck. When slight moaning could be heard, I asked if all was ok…’I’m fine, sorry, please go back to sleep’, came the reply. So I did. Next morning, in the cold light of day, dear pal explained that he continued to lay in his crumpled state for some time, checking if any blood had, thoughtlessly, splashed onto our white walls….nobody came to his help, nobody cared. A lesson there, boys and girls, in assertion. Say what you mean.  Just to note, no alcohol was involved in this incident. Had it been, it may have cushioned the pain, methinks.

Recently, as if to pay-back my cold-hearted approach above, I found myself flying through the air of our external step (we have many steps in and around our house, thus increasing the chances of injury, manyfold). In an affort to maintain dignity in a public area, I threw on a wrap, over my PJs, and proceeded to the cellar with a huge laundry-basket (crucial to what follows)....the wrap conspired to trip me up whereupon I, thankfully, landed onto said basket, before contact with the cold, cruel ground. One very swollen ankle and a lot of swearing later (apparently, this was all the fault of my husband, but neither of us could fathom why), I spent the next 2 days in the company of an ice-pack, trying to recover before a walking tour around Athens…..??????

Once again, life conspires that we find ourselves with young children in the house….surely a recipe for disaster and many hours in a hospital waiting room. Husband’s famous saying ‘children only fall down the stairs once’ is both comforting, yet chilling. In ‘husband world’, the phrase relates to the fact that, as with his sons, all 3 took the lesson that falling resulted in hurt and displeasure. In our, current world, where the kind carpet of a British house is replaced by the unforgiving tiles of a French, warm house... the once would related to, probably, death, if we are being honest….?

‘Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history,..
is second childishness and mere oblivion
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything
(Do not ye, plummet forth down the slope, for thy bones are fragile…..)..

The moral of this tale…? ...a simple one, almost a euphemism for life in general - whatever you do, wherever you go….hold onto the rail.