Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Riding through the Glen . . . .
The latest version of Robin Hood was watched with great interest in our house. Prior to the screening of the series, the children’s interest in the period had been fuelled by the acquisition of a Lego Knight’s Kingdom, visits to various castles, the purchase of a (toy) set of bows and arrows each and by my rendition, in a very loud, semi-operatic voice, of the theme song from the Robin Hood series of my youth. This was evidently so scary that they both immediately dived under the table. For a while, even threatening to sing it again was enough to encourage total compliance.
Owing to the constraints of bedtimes, we recorded each episode of Robin with a Hoodie – as one of the newspaper reviewers so aptly dubbed it. This meant that we were always a little late watching them. Thus it was that it was only the night before Saddam Hussein’s execution that we saw Marian on her deathbed saying that she could never condone the death penalty for anyone – even though it was the wicked Sir Guy of Guisborne who had (albeit unknowingly) stabbed her. Perhaps President Bush should have been compelled to watch the series. He might have learned something.
It is clear that while we never thought that Youngest Son (aged three and a half) would appreciate the subtleties of the stories, we were badly mistaken. Last week, I had an enlightening conversation with him. He had clearly been considering Marian’s ethical dilemma. For those of you who weren’t following the current series, the problem was this: she loved Robin but she had promised to marry Sir Guy and her sense of honour dictated that she must do the right thing: unless, that is, it could be proved that Sir Guy was downright evil and not just a regular bad guy. In the nick of time, Robin manages to prove that Sir Guy has not only plotted to kill King Richard but has also – and this is the clincher – denied it to Marian. Just before the ring goes on to Marian’s finger, she lifts her veil and lands a knock-out punch on Sir Guy. Clearly, the wedding was off.
Youngest Son had watched and learned.
“Why do you think she punched Sir Guy?” I asked him.
Back came the confident, if slightly ungrammatical reply: “Because he had been lying on her . . .”
The latest version of Robin Hood was watched with great interest in our house. Prior to the screening of the series, the children’s interest in the period had been fuelled by the acquisition of a Lego Knight’s Kingdom, visits to various castles, the purchase of a (toy) set of bows and arrows each and by my rendition, in a very loud, semi-operatic voice, of the theme song from the Robin Hood series of my youth. This was evidently so scary that they both immediately dived under the table. For a while, even threatening to sing it again was enough to encourage total compliance.
Owing to the constraints of bedtimes, we recorded each episode of Robin with a Hoodie – as one of the newspaper reviewers so aptly dubbed it. This meant that we were always a little late watching them. Thus it was that it was only the night before Saddam Hussein’s execution that we saw Marian on her deathbed saying that she could never condone the death penalty for anyone – even though it was the wicked Sir Guy of Guisborne who had (albeit unknowingly) stabbed her. Perhaps President Bush should have been compelled to watch the series. He might have learned something.
It is clear that while we never thought that Youngest Son (aged three and a half) would appreciate the subtleties of the stories, we were badly mistaken. Last week, I had an enlightening conversation with him. He had clearly been considering Marian’s ethical dilemma. For those of you who weren’t following the current series, the problem was this: she loved Robin but she had promised to marry Sir Guy and her sense of honour dictated that she must do the right thing: unless, that is, it could be proved that Sir Guy was downright evil and not just a regular bad guy. In the nick of time, Robin manages to prove that Sir Guy has not only plotted to kill King Richard but has also – and this is the clincher – denied it to Marian. Just before the ring goes on to Marian’s finger, she lifts her veil and lands a knock-out punch on Sir Guy. Clearly, the wedding was off.
Youngest Son had watched and learned.
“Why do you think she punched Sir Guy?” I asked him.
Back came the confident, if slightly ungrammatical reply: “Because he had been lying on her . . .”
posted by Susan Darnbrough at
3:13 pm
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