Down Under, Down Under 1: Under Pressure Over Pressure

Artist's Impression of how I felt

Of the handful of "O" levels I notched up back in 1982, the one I was proudest of was my "C" (bare pass) in Physics.  During two years in the classroom laboratory, volumes, weights, density and velocity had never clicked, and I put my eventual pass down to sheer rote learning of laws with which my arts loving brain had simply refused to engage.

So it was with some alarm that I recently found myself struggling to answer my Fijian dive-master as he coaxed me towards an understanding of the volume of water that might be exerted upon a scuba diver when at a certain depth.  We'd watched the video and read the text book that morning.  Henry had sailed through his multiple guess test that by law had to precede a scuba dive, but I sat numbed by this weighty issue.  And the more the gentle instructor tried to explain these laws of pressure, the greater pressure I felt.

It was all fine in the end: I feigned a sudden understanding, relief all round followed, and we headed for the pool where much fun was had learning how to use masks and cannisters of compressed air.  I had, after all, answered most of the questions correctly, so there'd be no risk of lung collapse on our first (accompanied) dive the following day.  But that fake understanding smile of mine about water pressure jolted me back to the understanding smiles of one or two Laotian monks back in February, suddenly grasping (or so it had seemed) my explanation of the pluperfect passive.

Perhaps I hadn't been such a splendid teacher after all.  Deep, deep down, perhaps they just felt a touch sorry for me, drowning in their incomprehension.  But they were by then able to speak passable English, and the following morning I did indeed find myself communing with the coral.

John