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"Originality is the fine art of remembering what you hear,
but forgetting where you heard it."
-Laurence J. Peter
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"Read not to contradict and confute,
nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider."
-Francis Bacon
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When I was about nineteen, I had the feeling the world was waiting for me to step out and see it. And so I did.
Well, not the whole world. Just the United Kingdom. It was just a short trip across the North Sea, but it felt like
a lot to someone who was young and hadnīt seen much yet. And the fact that I went by ancient airplane, to a postage
stamp size airport, made it even more of an adventure. Add to that the idea that I wasnīt going back for a few years,
and the excitement I felt must be quite understandable.
I entered a world of driving or being driven on the left, which in itself is fine, until youīre a pedestrian and find
out the wrong way that before crossing the street, you have to look to your right first, instead of to your left.
I didnīt get a real accident, but I came close. And Iīve had a heart condition ever since.
Or at least thatīs how it feels.
Also, I entered a world where people had kippers for breakfast. Mint sauce with their meat.
Sugarless cream on their cakes. And where the word milkshake at the time was often - and in many places still is -
taken literally.
And I entered a world where motorists flashed their headlights to indicate they were giving you right of way, instead of
doing it to get you out of the way. Where there were, and still are, roads with a "suicide lane". Where people could
actually be extremely polite. Where they donīt say much when someone jumps a queue, but where, in such cases,
looks can kill. Where you will find the only chance in the world of seeing policemen driving around in
the smallest cars ever made. Where those same policemen are not armed.
Where many pubs serve better food than the average fast food establishment.
It was a world with varying landscapes, from flat lands in East Anglia to high mountains in Scotland and Wales.
With rolling hills in one place, and steep ravines in another. With English as the official language, but with Celtic
alternatives in various parts.
I loved it. I became an absolute anglophile. When I went back after several years, my love for the U.K. stayed with me.
And, as poor as I was initially, every time I managed to get a bit of money by the time it was summer, Iīd be off to
Britain. Even if it was just for a few days.
When I got married, it stayed the same. I had tried to be economical, save on ferries etcetera by simply not crossing
the North Sea, and we had spent our honeymoon in Germany.
But we didnīt feel at home there. And when I took my wife to Britain, she was completely sold on
the country - thereby instantly confirming this anglophile had chosen the right wife! (I later realized with horror
that I could have married someone who, like many other fellow countrymen of ours, would have preferred to spend her summer
holidays in France. It felt like a close escape!) She even took the initiative in suggesting Welsh names for our sons.
(No, not "English" names, itīs not the same!)
The trouble with someone who takes a holiday to a country where he used to live, a country he loves, is that his
holidays are not just for relaxation. His holidays become trips down memory lane. Thatīs not something he
likes to advertise. If he is clever, he will enthuse his family members about going to that country without using
his memories as a reason for choosing that particular destination. And so an anglophile might breed a whole family
of anglophiles, thereby spreading Anglophilia like a hereditary disease. (Although that just might be a really pleasant
disease to have.)
Iīve done that, I have to confess. Although it sort of happened automatically, not completely on purpose.
I like to think it was more like infectious enthusiasm, than cunning and craftiness. And my family members very
naturally took a liking to the United Kingdom. So that went very well. Since they became infected,
I have been back to almost every place I stayed in while I was living in the U.K., with
the exception of Plymouth. But Plymouthīs time will come...
The only cloud on the horizon is that my wife is steadily developing an ever increasing love for sunshine. And,
although we have had our fair share of sunshine on our holidays to Britain, the British Tourist Authority cannot
give any guarantees in that direction. So weīve tried France as well. Twice. Once with the whole family, and it
rained cats and dogs all week. French cats and dogs, that is. Our sons think it always rains in France. And I
didnīt even have to indoctrinate them to get them thinking this way! But my wife and I also spent a very pleasant
long weekend in Nice once, thanks to the very attractive fares of
EasyJet. It was mid October, we only had one short spell of rain,
and the remainder of the time it was around eighteen degrees Celsius, and nice and sunny.
So there is a definite risk my wife might want to go back to the Mediterranean coast again!
Thatīs O.K., though. I enjoyed Nice in many ways - the sunshine, the beautiful architecture, the omnipresent Italian
restaurants (Nice used to be a part of Italy), the beach, the sea, the beautiful Provence, the sunny Rivičra. I suppose
France is fine, even for an anglophile like me. (A city that names its main boulevard "Boulevard des Anglais" canīt be
all that bad, can it?) I just think itīs a pity that itīs the French who live there. Thatīs
the thing about Britain: you can say what you want about it, but the people who live there, are British. A tradition,
no doubt, but like many other British traditions, a good one!
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Disclaimer
This column is only for the purpose of entertaining, educating or
giving food for thought. Any persons, characters, countries, institutions or groups
mentioned are - as a matter of principle - fictional: any resemblance to existing ones is
purely by chance. ;-)
If the content of this column offends anyone, please accept the
columnist's apologies: no offense was intended.
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column noun
1a: a vertical arrangement of items on a page
b: a vertical section of a printed page
c: an accumulation arranged vertically
d: a department or feature (as of humor, sports,
literary reviewing, or gossip) in a newspaper or periodical, under a permanent
title and generally reflecting the writer's individual tastes and point of view.
2: a supporting pillar
3: a form, structure, or formation shaped like a column
(Webster's Dictionary.)
Relevant reads:
Beyond Charles and Diana: an Anglophile's Guide to Baby Naming
Eyewitness Travel Guide to Britain
Fodor's Great Britain
Southern France
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