A Giant

• kateshrewsday

Old stones demand an explanation, don’t you find?

You come upon some ancient wall, three times your size, and instantly you start trying to hang a history on it.

How very difficult it would have been to do that, back when the ages were dark and very few people knew diddly about anything: when those who did were generally monks?

Back then it was fashionable to fancy a giant built it. Who else could move the great rocks at Stonehenge, create walls the like of Hadrian’s, build a bathing complex like the one at Bath?

It had to be giants.

The Bulgarians drew the same conclusion. All over Bulgaria there are ancient heaps of stones which defied explanation for centuries. Many of them are the ruins of ancient buildings, magnificent enough to stretch a travelling storyteller’s imagination to its utmost.

Ah, he would tell rapt audiences: these boulder-stacks are the graves of the Ispolin.

Or depending on which Bulgarian dialect you were speaking, you might dub them Hellens, Latins, dog-headed people or -for reasons which will become clear – the blackberry people.

Fearsome creatures, these. Up to ten feet tall, with huge grotesque heads. They would stand on mountain tops and bawl at each other, the sheer brute power of their vocal chords carrying across the vast mountain wastes of Bulgaria.

Meat-eaters, they loved nothing more than to pick a fight with a particularly fierce dragon and wrestle it into submission.

But like all good myths, these creatures had one, fatal flaw.

Blackberry bushes.

When you’re that tall, blackberry bushes can seriously damage your health. Apparently the Ispolin were mightily stupid. They would trip on the tendrils of the blackberry bush, become hopelessly entangled and, in the manner of the fairy tale, perish clean away.

And so it seems we have the humble little berry to thank for ridding us of these tempestuous neighbours.

A giant’s stature means he can throw his weight around. Mythologies from all four corners of the globe style him belligerent and dim-witted: from Goliath who challenged many, being felled by a sling-shot wielded by a clever young boy, to Jack’s giant who met his end on a dodgy beanstalk.

But is it possible that giants have been misjudged? That beneath the gargantuan exterior beats the heart of someone of subtlety and honour?

It is a little known fact that St Christopher, the impossibly tall being martyred under Roman emperor Decius (249-251) is represented in Eastern iconographic images as having the head of a dog.

A wandering Ispolin, perhaps?

He knew he wanted to follow the greatest King. So he went and found him, and the King crossed himself with fear at the mention of the Devil.

Ah, concluded Christopher. The Devil must be a far greater king than this one.

And so naturally he went off looking for him.

And because we are dealing with an ancient religious myth, he found one who purported to be the Devil, and made arrangements to serve him.

But one day, as the two were taking the air, the Devil veered wildly out of the way to avoid a roadside cross:because he feared Christ.

Well, as you may imagine, finding Christ is a much taller order.

Christopher asked around and managed to track down a hermit who said he knew this most powerful of kings. How, the giant persisted, could he serve him?

Well, there’s always fasting and prayer, ventured the hermit. Christopher wasn’t keen. It didn’t sound very appealing.

Reading the new disciple’s demeanour, the Hermit conceded. “I suppose,” he allowed, looking the giant up and down, “you could help travellers ford that terrible river down the road. Someone is drowned there most weeks.”

So Christopher took himself down there to help: and the rest is history. The Christ Child was a heavy burden across the river, but the Saint got him across, to his eternal credit. He has become a giant in mythology, not for his sheer size, but for his honour and steadfast goodness.

Where is all this heading? Why: to a goodly, intellectual giant in human clothing. One whose death, today, has rocked our foundations. One whose words, spoken at an address to Stanford, and aired the day he died, have caused some of us to re-evaluate our future.

This giant led a modern-day corporation: Apple.

This giant had his share of felling. At 30, he was sacked from the firm he had founded. Pancreatic cancer threatened once to claim him, but gave him a reprieve, before returning to collect its final dues.

But for 56 years, a giant lived among us. A man of such energy, vision and stature that one could not help but be in his thrall. He founded an empire, sure: but he did it with uncompromising honesty.

We shall miss his stature. Goodbye, Steve Jobs.

38 thoughts on “A Giant”

  2. Lovely post, not all giants are tall, some just are gigantic in their thoughts

    We will miss the ‘next stage in evolution’ as brought by Steve

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  4. I echo what sideveiW says that indeed some Giants are not huge and I am lucky enough to know a couple of Giants. It is such a shame to loose anyone before their time, especially ones who have done such great things in their lives.

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  11. Two things. 1. Your post makes me proud to admit I spent part of a summer picking 60 pounds of wild blackberries. Before, I just felt like a glutton. 2. You got me at the end. Made me tear up.

    Well done.

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    1. Another fearless blackberry slayer Andra: you go where Ispolin fear to tread….makes jolly good jam, too. And crumble. And I teared up too. Spent yesterday listening to the Stanford address and sniffling into hankies. Now i’m iron resolved: I’m going to love my job. A different one, though…..

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  13. Amazing man and so wise:

    Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma ~ which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary. ~ Steve Jobs

    thanks, kate.

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  15. An empire built on honesty… that’s something we could use a lot more of, it seems to me. He was a man among men, no doubt about it. Great tribute post, Kate.

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  16. Well done, Kate. Thank you. We are apple eaters here and have been from the get-go. It is a sad day for someone who had so much more to give, but, there are always lessons to learn, new innovators, and more days to seize. Than you, again.

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  18. Clever girl – skilled linking of the past and the present, sad loss of a great man! PS I knew those black berries were meant for more than just gorging on 🙂

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