Where 007 is really buried

It's 2nd April this year, and I'm on the north Cornwall coast at Boscastle. I'm in the churchyard. And a gravestone catches my eye: James Bond. 

So this is where the famous secret agent, aka 007, the man licenced to kill, has ended up! 

Not really, of course. It's another chap named James Bond, a local man I'm guessing, and the gravestone says he was a devoted husband and father, not a spy. Born in 1915, died in 1981. 

The James Bond of the books by author Ian Fleming was, in World War II, a very young commander in the Royal Navy (which is why he is sometimes referred to as 'Commander Bond' in both the books and the early films starring Sean Connery). I have a book published in 1964 by O F Snelling called 007 James Bond - a Report, a very good read if you can find a copy, in which the writer analyses the appeal of the man by looking at his predecessors, his image, his women, his adversaries, and his future (Mr Snelling couldn't of course possibly have guessed what was in store, and would - like Ian Fleming - be utterly astonished how 'James Bond' has become a worldwide myth, the universal symbol of the sophisticated man of action, even today). 

Mr Snelling made a very close study of what Ian Fleming wrote, and deduced that in 1945, when the War ended, the James Bond of the books must have been in his mid twenties, which put him in his early thirties for the first book, Casino Royale, published in 1953. (Which makes the James Bond of Boscastle too old to fit the fictional Bond's shoes, as he would have been forty-two in 1953)

Snelling himself was an interesting man. You can look him up in Wikipedia, and discover that he actually had connections with the spying world. He also knew Ian Fleming. 

My Dad was an avid reader of the Bond books from 1962, when Dr No, the first Bond film appeared and the whole country suddenly took an interest. I too quickly became enthralled by them, as they offered a glimpse of a glamorous world hitherto unknown to me, including exotic ladies like Pussy Galore in Goldfinger. It's no great exaggeration to say that I went from Beatrix Potter to Ian Fleming in almost one leap. In between were insipid school stories that bored me. I remember receiving a school prize around 1960, a book for young girls called The Mad Martins, unbelievably juvenile and dull. It was so bad I thought they must have handed me the wrong prize by mistake. But Bond was not juvenile, nor dull. Bond was grown up, a state I yearned for with all my heart in 1962, when unfortunately I was only ten. I had a long wait ahead. I speak from my personal experience and nothing more, but childhood for me was a long and mostly boring wait until I could escape into the adult world. It was something to endure, like time in prison, with not a lot to cherish.

Do I regret having an unsuccessful childhood? Yes, of course. It was a pity I couldn't get more out of it. But I didn't know how. I can say with conviction that I've never regretted stepping into the wider world and discovering so many things that were hidden from children of my generation. 

I do wish the Internet was around when I was young. It's core value as a giant ocean of knowledge that one can dive into is still there, with rapid, focused access now greatly improved by AI. But there is still the question of whether unrestricted access to the Internet is detrimental to a child's mind. Would I have been misled or corrupted or brainwashed?

Well, I can only say that I would have avoided so many worries and misunderstandings if I could have found proper answers online. So many subjects were taboo when I was young. I remained in ignorance. But given the Internet I would have discreetly looked up all the many things that puzzled me, and the knowledge and know-how gained would have quelled unnecessary fears and anxieties and boosted my self-confidence. I would surely have aimed much higher than I did. I would have been stronger, more assertive, and not so compliant with the expectations of my parents, nor so easily persuaded into decisions that weren't right for me. 

Could I have become a social media victim? I don't think so. I have always been stubborn in the face of peer pressure, and have never been a slave to trends or fashions. I follow my instincts: as soon as I feel I am being got at or coerced, my defences are up. And being a naturally solitary person, neither needy nor too trusting, and inclined to be suspicious, I surely wouldn't have become a social media addict. As now, I'd be careful to stay under the radar of influencers and scammers. I'd only want facts, not opinions or dubious statistics. Nor enticements to believe in some attractive but empty philosophy. 

Anything that seems odd, ridiculous or involves an unusual personal act at another's request, and I'm out. I'm sure that even when young this is how I would have been. 

Of course, there was no Internet in 1960, nor for the best part of forty years to come. I had to rely on what I was told. That didn't turn out happily. 

So I believe you can't have enough knowledge. Ignorance is not bliss. It's a trap.