Winston Churchill had a black dog
his name was written on it
It followed him around from town to town
It’d bring him down
took him for a good long ride
took him for a good look around
Reg Mombassa: Black dog
Black Dog
Depression
“Black dog” is a powerfully expressive metaphor that
appears to require no explanation. The combination of ‘blackness’ with the
negative connotations of ‘dog’, noun and verb, seems an eminently apt description
of depression: an ever-present companion, lurking in the shadows just out of
sight, growling, vaguely menacing, always on the alert; sinister and unpredictable,
capable of overwhelming you at any moment. Further, the ‘dark hound’ is an
archetypal object of fear, with a long tradition in folklore and myth. Black dogs
in dreams are interpreted negatively, often representing death; from all over
the world come tales of nightmares caused by oppressive black dogs crushing the
sleeper’s chest.
Winston Churchill famously referred to his gloomy periods
as his ‘black dog’, and many assume that it was another original contribution
to English by the 1953 literature Nobel Prize laureate, succinctly
characterizing his relationship with depression. But he was, in fact, citing
none other than his beloved childhood nanny, as related by his private secretary,
John Colville:
Of course, we all have moments of depression, especially after
breakfast. It was then that [Lord] Moran [Churchill’s doctor] would sometimes
call to take his patient’s pulse and hope to make a note of what was happening
in the wide world. Churchill, not especially pleased to see any visitor at such
an hour, might excuse a certain early morning surliness by saying, “I have got
a black dog on my back today.” That was an expression much used by old-fashioned
English nannies. Mine used to say to me if I was grumpy, “You have got out of
bed the wrong side” or else “You have got a black dog on your back.” Doubtless,
Nanny Everest was accustomed to say the same to young Winston Churchill. But, I
don’t think Lord Moran ever had a nanny and he wrote pages to explain that
Churchill suffered from periodic bouts of acute depression which, with the
Churchillian gift for apt expression, he called “black dog.” Lady Churchill told
me she thought the doctor’s theory total rubbish…
Come over here
black dog
and I’ll pat you on
your head
you’ve been
following me for a good long time
I guess you must be
my friend
I guess you must be
my good friend
I don’t want you to
be my friend no more black dog:
I don’t want you to
come around.
The Black Dog
(Depression) - Poem by Dallas Nyberg
Author: Dallas Nyberg
There’s a black dog scratching at my door - demanding he
come in
Although I try to ignore him - the black dog always wins.
Once inside he haunts my soul and dictates my thoughts and
deeds
and like a fool I heed him and I pander to his greed.
Those who’ve never met him would doubt his presence here
They scoff his very mention and scold my tears and fears.
Little do they realise that my world is falling down
and they just dismiss my feelings and ignore that I’m
around
Late at night the black dog lurks and hinders me from
rest
depression overwhelms me and my heart sinks in my chest
the tears I cry are done alone - and pray - never in a
crowd
for a man to cry its just not done - such weakness - not
allowed
Get a grip the wise ones cry - grow up and act your age
Only you can fix it – just turn another page!
If was that simple then it would be done and dusted
but the black dog says pay no heed - no ones to be
trusted.
So on it goes each dreary day - this world of pain and
sorrow,
I just wish I could go to sleep and not awake tomorrow
but the black dogs bark will bring me back to endure
another day
where my sun has lost its wondrous shine and my sky is
dank and grey
I have a sinking feeling that the black dog has a plan
that will test the very fibre of this backward sliding
man
he will of course suggest that I just end this stupid
life
and he will then simply wander off and destroy another’s
life
until then I must pay him heed and succumb to his demands
and resign myself to tears and fears and make no
worthwhile plans
and when my time on earth is done and my wasted life’s
gone cold
you’ll have no need to feed my dog - he has feasted on my
soul.
Sources and
Additional Information:
