I have never understood why the world had only "7 wonders" or who decided. But the Internet is a marvelous phenomenon and an easy stopping off place for "the facts." So try this web address http://istina.rin.ru/eng/ufo/text/343/html and you will know (if you didn't know already), what I have just discovered. That The Great Wall of China was not one of the original seven great wonders of the world. Not that it matters whether it was or wasn't, because The Great Wall of China is such a unique and mysterious monument to the past, that it has a place in most peoples consciousness.
Just when I first heard about it, I can't say, which in itself is interesting, because as a small boy at school, I was aware of a mysterious and terrible bomb, though I had no facts to go on. Perhaps the difference between the two, was and is, that the Great Wall doesn't pose a threat to our instinct for survival, and that explains why it was not a part of my consciousness in those early days. But when I did find out about it, the idea of a wall climbing through mountains had an obvious fascination.
What is now the Great Wall of China began as a series of walls that were built by separate kingdoms, the oldest of which dates back to 500 BC. And when, in 271 BC, China was united as one kingdom under the Qin dynasty, so too were the walls. But it didn't stop there. What we see today as the Great Wall of China, is the last in a series of reconstructions, work undertaken by the Ming dynasty in the thirteenth century. Originally the enemy against which it was built were the Huns, a nomadic tribe, the Hsing nu, from the northern steppes. And the cost, in human terms, of building it, was terrible. Against the backdrop of imperial power, it was built by conscripts, - hundreds of thousands of them, many of whom died from starvation and exhaustion. As a fortification this Great Wall extends along China's northern borders for 6,700 kilometres, or if you prefer, 4,000 miles, and runs on a line from Jiayuguan Pass in Gansu Province in the west to Shanhaiguan Pass in Hebei Province in the east, a vast distance, that as my guide-book from China points out, takes it "through high mountains, broad grasslands and immense deserts." And most of it, we are told "has remained in good condition."
If you have been there, you will know first hand, what a remarkable construction it is, for your eyes will have followed it twisting and turning, rising and falling through the mountains. And almost certainly, in walking along its ramparts, you will have passed through some of its many watchtowers, climbed its intermittent and sometimes sheer steps and have stopped on its terraces, to look out yet again in wonderment. In the past, some of these terraces were adorned with temples and so were places of worship, and though I did not see them, carved into the blocks of stone at Yuntai are effigies of The Four Heavenly Kings. Rightly my guide-book speaks of the wall's grace and beauty and pictures it in contrasting settings: at sunset and in the depth of winter, and indirectly it points up something else; the contrast between the Great Wall as a monument to a violent past, and that gentleness and reverence for life, that is a feature of Chinese culture, which is why there are watch-towers known variously as, the Sisters Tower, the Black Tower, the Flower Tower and the Fairy Maid Tower.
Be that as it may, I hope that what is ultimately interesting for you, as it is for me, is why this article is called, "Me and The Great Wall of China." - So let me explain.
We arrived at the foot of the Great Wall, in August, in searing heat, and for her part, Jenny, justly proud at getting there, sat down. For that was as far as she was going. For myself and Leo, the choice was which path to take up on to the ramparts, the easy or the more difficult. And something else that I should tell you at this point is, that I have a fondness for steps. Wherever I come across them: in castles or cathedrals, or as I did in the beautiful square in Siena, they are not to be resisted; they are there to be climbed. So here at the foot of the Great Wall and faced with a near sheer flight of stone steps, I was instantly at home. To his credit, Leo came too, and as we climbed by this difficult route, we were forced, (by the heat as much as anything else), to rest, until finally on the ramparts proper we became silly and took pictures of each other lying flat out on the flags feigning exhaustion. Then having gone some way along the ramparts admiring the view and studying the contours of the wall through the gaps in the parapet, Leo, (for reasons almost certainly to do with vertigo), became apprehensive, and decided to return to where his mum was waiting.
Unexpectedly on my own and as if by instinct I had a plan, I would walk as far as possible in the time I had, try to get to a point on the wall where I was truly alone, and could savour the atmosphere of this unique place. And though I did not fully appreciate it at the time, this need met other needs, which explains why, as we say, I had to "get away from it all."
What I needed to escape was the festivity. The hundreds if not thousands of people all wanting to climb to the ramparts against a backdrop of flags and music, Viennese music, that was blaring out across the hillside. Whether I could achieve such a goal was uncertain, but I would try. So for some forty minutes I walked resolutely along the ramparts, climbing and descending its stone steps, passing through watchtower gates, but on occasion stopping to study the contours of the wall and photograph it in brilliant sunlight zigzagging amid the emerald green and purple hew of the mountainside. And as I made my way, in time there were fewer and fewer people, until eventually there were none. But I kept on walking, walking until I could go no further, for I was standing on a terrace and had reached a gap in the wall. From this terrace I took more pictures and for a moment enjoyed the space before retracing my steps back down to the rampart where I still had one more important thing to do.
There, and in a nation of a billion people, I stood for several minutes alone, alone in perfect solitude. Just me, the wall and a mountain wilderness. There was nothing. Not even a gentle breeze to disturb the moment. And in that stillness, I was truly alone.
Now before I conclude my story, and in order to help you put these happenings in their proper psychological perspective, I must tell you this. I am not noted for my dress-sense, or as a rule for being too concerned about being colour coordinated. My main concern when getting dressed is not to appear indecent, so as long as I am covered, the mission has been accomplished. On this day however, it was different. Because I was visiting the Great Wall of China, I consciously dressed in an emerald green shirt, and the reason was both simple and complex.
I come from that part of Ireland known as Northern Ireland, a place that has to be a part of most people's consciousness because of the terrible things that have happened there in these past thirty or more years. When I was a boy it was mostly a peaceful place, but not without its torments. It is that last corner of Ireland still "occupied" by "the British," one of the last vestiges of Empire. And when I was growing up there, that corner of Ireland was unashamedly declared to be "A protestant state for a protestant people." And no less unapologetic were the job advertisements that read, "No Catholic need apply." Happily, though at a terrible cost, things are getting better, but in those early years the overt expression of feelings of patriotism for Ireland were taboo. To be a Catholic was to be a second-class citizen, a situation not helped by the fact that Catholicism and nationalism were almost always inextricably linked. So I came up through the English education system, with its emphasis on British history and British culture, but not quite on British politics, because Northern Ireland had a system of gerrymandering that did not apply in Scotland Wales or England. So given the climate in which we lived, we learned to temper our Nationalist sentiments, and accepted, but inwardly fought against the idea that we were British.
Having said this, I must say something else. I have had a good life in England, and I am at home in the pages of British history. How could it be otherwise, when the Romans were here, followed by the Anglo Saxons, and the Normans? And what about that inextricable link with Ireland, the struggle between the Celtic and Roman Church, to say nothing of Henry V111, who was probably one of the greatest political vandals of all time. Then there is the era of Cromwell and much later the struggle for representation by organised labour, a struggle that lead eventually to universal suffrage in a parliamentary democracy. But despite all my time in England, and my absorption of English culture, at its core I have never ceased to be Irish. I am however a culturally repressed Irishman, someone who by an accident of birth grew up in a society that denied him his rightful place, and told him that he was something that he was not, which is where my emerald green shirt comes in.
As I prepared for the journey to the Great Wall, I knew, as it were, that I was paying homage to a monument that was truly symbolic of a great nation. And somewhere in the idea of the wall, was the notion of captivity, a concept that cut to the quick. So in rebellious mood, I was going to the Great Wall liberated: freed from the shackles of my Brutishness. There was to be no messing. It might be a Great Wall symbolising a great nation, but if I was to go there to pay homage, it would be on my terms. So what the Great Wall needed to know, as I knew in my psyche, was, that I, like it, had stood the test of time and had not been defeated; and that I had come on a long journey from another great nation, Ireland, as an Irishman, hence my emerald green shirt.
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© Cormac McCloskey
Note: "Me And The Great Wall Of China" was first published, on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 15th August 2005
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