One of the pleasures of parenthood is the opportunity to rediscover children's books. Apart from being fun to read, children's stories, from fairy tales to Roald Dahl to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, are often a potent vehicle for writers to make us think about how we live.

An adult borrower from a child's bookshelf readily discerns parables. And, although children tend to be literal in their interpretation, I am sure the nuances eventually catch up with them too.

I recall an episode in the confessional during my childhood when I confessed to disliking God and loving Aslan (the lion-god of C.S. Lewis's Narnian chronicles). The beleaguered priest, who had not benefited from having children in his household, missed the opportunity to explain that the Narnian books were written by a theologian who intended to make God real to children. His cautious response was charitable but disappointingly evasive. I imagine now that I had dimly understood Lewis's intent and was seeking an adult to confirm that God might indeed be as enticing as Aslan.

As an adult reader now, it's been rewarding to discover whole generations of books written during my years divorced from children's reading. Most intriguing is how the themes of the parables have changed to reflect society's changing concerns. Whereas, in the 1950s, Christianity and world war were themes, in the 1990s parallel universes and quantum physics appear; and, in the 1970s in Germany, at issue was the disappearance of time, a concern that resonates in Ireland today.

Time begins to disappear in Momo, written by Michael Ende, the German who also wrote the captivating Neverending Story. Momo is a small girl, a city waif, who is magically impervious to the wiles of The Men in Grey, who are stealing people's time. The grey men argue with simple dream logic: save a few hours every day and you will eventually save years, you will add to your allotted life span. So they counsel a barber, Mr Figaro, on how to save time:

"Work faster. Spend only 15 minutes on each customer and avoid time-wasting conversations. Reduce the hour you spend with your mother by half. Better still, put her in a nice, cheap, old folks' home where someone else can look after her - that'll save a whole hour a day. Give up your 15-minute review of the day's events (spent sitting looking out the window and musing). Above all, don't squander so much of your precious time on singing, reading and hobnobbing with your so-called friends."

Mr Figaro follows this advice, but mysteriously finds that, no matter how much time he saves, he never has any to spare. He has forgotten the man in grey who is stealing his time. All he knows is that his days are growing shorter and shorter.

IN this invaded city, children are bereft. "The grown-ups dish out money to get rid of us. They don't like us any more - they don't even like themselves. If you ask me, they don't like anything any more," observes one child.

"That's not true," responds another. "My parents like me a lot. It's not their fault, not having any time to spare, its just the way things are."

This is a children's book, so Momo eventually defeats the men in grey, and time returns in abundance. This book, published in Germany in 1973, has contemporary relevance in Ireland because we now face the same decisions about how we live that the Germans addressed when they modernised their economy. The Germans took the decision foreshadowed in Ende's parable. They opted for more time. Today Germans produce as much as Americans in each hour they work, but they work fewer hours. Less "wealthy", they have opted to remunerate themselves in leisure - in time - rather than goods. They have chosen a different definition of wealth.

Last week on this page, an Irish time management expert (neither man, nor grey) advised on how to "save time". It might be necessary to choose friendship before work or vice versa, she was reported to advise. And perceptions matter. "If you want to get on, it is better not to be seen wasting time," she was reported to advise. "Don't walk down a corridor with nothing in your hand. Bring a file or document with you." And don't open the door in your dressing gown.

There are aspects of our feckless Irish heritage which are worth preserving: room in life for both work and friendship, the belief that perceptions don't matter and liberty to answer the door in your dressing-gown must be way up the list. The world of judging by appearance, of winning in the optics game, is an enslaved world, the world of The Men in Grey, of people who make sure to be last to leave the office, arrive just before the boss and disappear (with file in hand) the minute his back is turned.

One of the best pieces of advice I received as a student was to shut the books and think sometimes. This might even necessitate looking out the window. More valuable still, and harder-earned, has been the lesson that to be is as important as to do.

I wonder if a whole generation of German children read Momo and learned how to identify and thwart The Men in Grey?

mawren@irish-times.ie