Ponderings

Author: imagine43

  • The Plastic Population

    The 4th of July is a date of immense significance in the United States of America. It is an annual celebration of American independence, traditionally marked with patriotic displays, fireworks and family gatherings. This year, the national festivities have an element of piquancy, in the wake of the Biden/Harris defeat which was widely perceived to be a universal rejection of globalist and “woke” politics.

    However this situation is not new. The USA has always struggled to define its cultural identity. Competing and often contradictory political ideologies are a perennial feature preventing the nation from fully realising itself. Americans themselves will have different ideas about what it actually means to be American, especially in the modern age.

    The defining picture for those of us who are not American, is totally different. The portrait we are shown of Americans is often unflattering. It is quite apt that this was the nation that popularised animation, as the depiction of the average American is cartoonish. It is sad that this caricature of Americans as coarse, obese, loud and over familiar perpetuates. It is, however, a goldmine for writers, who have rich material to play with these stereotypes. Many of them have a field day.

    The stereotype originates from the post-war period, a time of increased prosperity. Many Americans enjoyed the benefits of material comforts and luxuries, but there was a paucity of spiritual meaning in their lives. Their increased wealth meant that they became detached from their ancestors, who endured many hardships in their quest to build a new nation. Their sense of a shared history did not seem to matter to them anymore, as they looked forward to the promises of the future instead.

    In 1952, Kurt Vonnegut published his debut and prophetic novel “Player Piano” which predicted the emergence of what we now define as the globalist technocracy. It is an America dominated by machines, and Americans are the servants, rather than the masters of them.

    It is a desolate, alien landscape, haunted with ghosts from the ancient past, as he notes,

    “Here in the basin of the river bend, the Mohawks had overpowered the Algonquins, the Dutch the Mohawks, the British the Dutch, the Americans the British. Now, over bones and rotting palings and cannonballs and arrow heads, there lay a triangle of steel and masonry buildings…Where man had once howled and hawked at one another, and fought nip-and-tuck with nature as well, the machines hummed and clicked…the fruits of peace”.

    Vonnegut recognised that the American sensibility was characterised by conflict. Violence was at the core of its creation, it seemed embedded within the psyche.

    American society was admired across the world. Many people left their home countries, driven by the alluring promise of success and wealth to find a new life on this vast new frontier. However cultural and spiritual values were frequently set aside in this quest. It did not seem quite so important to acknowledge the principles of the Founding Fathers, those honourable men who built the foundations of the nation on virtue, civility and divine providence. Maintaining a strong and dynamic economy is not enough, a nation can only survive with a shared vision.

    Consequently, the hope that once inspired people dwindled into despair and cynicism. Cultural misunderstandings spiralled into malevolent sectarianism, and the rise of gangs. Civil society was under threat, but in reality this was always tenuous. The majority were afraid of minorities. Prejudice and discrimination seemed inevitable, and this tribal mentality was reactivated once more. In 1971, E.L Doctorow published “The Book of Daniel”, a work of fiction loosely based on the trial and execution of the Rosenbergs.

    Doctorow alludes to the subtle, and not so subtle undercurrents of antisemitism that coincided with the real fears that the USA could be torn asunder by the “Reds”. The fifties were a decade of real paranoia as Americans had only just defeated another foreign threat. Doctorow reflects,

    “Many historians have noted an interesting phenomenon in American life in the years immediately after a war. In the councils of government fierce partisanship replaces the necessary political conditions of wartime…It is attributed to the continuance beyond the end of the war of the war hysteria. Unfortunately, the necessary emotional fever for fighting a war cannot be turned off like a water faucet..like a fiery furnace at white heat, it takes a considerable time to cool”.

    Now, contemporary chroniclers have noted that President Trump has revived a new kind of fiery rhetoric in an attempt to unify Americans.

    However American civic society has been hanging by a delicate thread, it has been riven with cultural divisions for decades. The so-called culture war was a battle driven by the forces of modernity at the expense of tradition. The intransigence stems from those who remain wedded to the belief that progress is both inevitable and unstoppable.

    Vonnegut’s prescient novel predicted the ennui of twenty-first century America, as one of his protagonists laments,

    “People are finding that, because of the way the machines are changing the world, more and more of their old values don’t apply any more. People have no choice but to become second rate machines themselves, or wards of machines”.

    This brilliantly encapsulates the technocracy, and the consequent withering away of American cultural life.

    Americans have been accused of being the chief instigators of artificiality and fake sentimentality. This accusation was levelled against the main creator of such a hollow world, Walt Disney. Doctorow recognised this, in the closing chapter of the novel he observes,

    “The ideal Disneyland patron may be said to be one who responds to a process of symbolic manipulation that offers him his culminating and quintessential sentiment at the moment of purchase”.

    Obviously, the USA is not Disneyland. However individuals like Disney have been guilty of perpetuating an entirely false portrayal of America and its people. It is time now, that the true picture of the country must emerge.

  • A Monstrous Melody

    On the 30th June 1685 the English poet and dramatist John Gay was born. He was a renowned and celebrated satirist and a friend and contemporary of Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope. These writers were part of an artistic collective called the Scriblerus Club. The club was an informal gathering of esteemed literary figures dedicated to cultivating and expanding their craft through the mutual exchange of ideas.

    The club shared similarities with other literary salons in continental Europe, where contentious theories of the day were debated at length in coffee houses. However, there was an important cultural distinction which differed from the affairs of the high-minded intelligentsia of Paris or Vienna, in that its primary purpose was to mock the earnestness and pomposity of the self-appointed intellectuals.

    The English have always regarded intellectuals with suspicion, and sometimes with scorn. Continental Europeans, in contrast, have a tendency to place learned people on a pedestal, and would never even consider the prospect of questioning their reputation, let alone make fun of them. In England though, many suspected that there were individuals with affectations and pretensions, but in reality they had no real intellect or literary talent whatsoever.

    While the greatest literary minds on the Continent collaborated to produce work of the utmost profundity, in London the atmosphere was infused with cunning and mischief. The Scriblerians were focused solely upon the art of satire. They invented a character who embodied the shallow cynicism of the eighteenth century intellectual, Martin Scriblerus, and named the club after him.

    Scriblerus is insincere, dull and vapid. His entire personality is fake, designed chiefly to impress the publishing houses, and as a consequence will adopt any fashion or cause for his own gain. He even passes off other people’s work as his own, to acquire personal glory without putting in any thought or effort.

    In the summer of 1716, Swift made a suggestion to Pope about writing a play set in Newgate prison. Gay was inspired by this suggestion, and the result was the tour de force, “The Beggar’s Opera”. This proved to be so influential that it spawned numerous imitations. It is widely considered to be a satire on the corrupting influences of the Whig administration, and the perceived tyranny and thievery of the leader, Sir Robert Walpole.

    The character of Macheath, a devious highway robber, was modelled on Walpole. Audiences loved it, and recognised the allusions. The opera exposes the hypocritical nature of the rich and powerful, who frequently escape punishment while the poor and weak are always condemned for the same crimes.

    It is timely to revisit this, as the current administration of the UK is being accused of enacting two-tier justice, and condemning the poor and weak to their fate. Humour is often the best weapon to attack such regimes. It is much more powerful to wield wit in self-defence, as it is clever and insidious in its methods and execution.

  • The Ghosts of Empire

    On the 18th June, 2010 the exiled Portuguese author Jose Saramago died. He was 87 years old, and had been suffering from leukaemia. He spent his final years on the Spanish island of Lanzarote. This was an important refuge for him, allowing him the space and the freedom to write without the fear of censure.

    Saramago had long been the bugbear of the Portuguese establishment. His work was a great affront to those in power. He wrote from a place of profound conviction, determinedly opposed to authoritarianism in its numerous guises. It did not matter the source, whether it derived from the Catholic Church, the Government or the associated agencies engaged in imperialism or militarism overseas. Enforced conformity had the same effect, whoever enacted it.

    Portugal had an intensely turbulent history, marked by revolution, counter revolution and dictatorship. Saramago’s personal experience of living through this history both informed and inspired him. It provoked an instant and visceral dislike of any regime or institution that attempted to control the population. His approach, however, was characteristically oblique. He preferred to employ allegory and metaphor to draw out uncomfortable truths.

    His novels are part of a tradition of metafiction, an obvious homage to his compatriot Fernando Pessoa who cultivated elaborate literary personas, or heteronyms to reveal alternate realities. These characters are created to provide a mirror of society. It is pertinent to note that every authoritarian regime in history has deliberately manipulated the population to maintain their control. It is psychological gaslighting on a grand scale.

    The 1997 novel, “Blindness” illustrates this, in graphic detail. An entire nation has been cursed with the affliction of blindness, and is left wholly dependent upon the authorities. A helpless population is easy to control, and is easily manipulated. The state of blindness is a metaphor, an allusion to historical regimes which utilised indoctrination to keep people unenlightened to the truth. In the book, people are literally living in darkness.

    However Saramago’s most controversial work was the novel published six years earlier, “The Gospel According to Jesus Christ”. This was regarded as objectionable and offended a deeply pious Portuguese elite. Saramago was reimagining the Gospel in his own inimitable way, and attempting to expose both religious hypocrisy and the abuse of a divine office like the Catholic Church.

    Saramago was a staunch defender of the powerless, and he devoted his life and work to express his distaste of the exploitation and abuse of the powerful. Throughout history, those invested with power and influence have used their might to crush dissent. It is a strange paradox that Saramago is regarded as essentially Portuguese, and still bound up with the culture and the history that shaped him, but also the fiercest critic of Portugal as a political entity. He learned to live with the ghosts of his previous existence, and his legacy remains with a body of work that champions the courage of the individual amidst oppression.

  • The Patriarch

    On the 10th June, 1921 Prince Philip was born on the island of Corfu, Greece. His birth, and his long and eventful life are well documented. He became the consort of the British Queen, and the father of the future King. It was a remarkable story. Indeed, the whole history of the Royal Houses of Europe was remarkable, and turbulent. These Houses constitute different branches of an illustrious family tree, who have consistently consolidated power and influence across the continent.

    The legacy of the remaining Royal Families in Europe is assured through essential ancestral links. However Philip’s connection to Greece was only tenuous. The Greek Monarch was never ethnically Greek but in fact a Prussian-Danish hybrid. The Greek Monarchy was created as a necessary bulwark against hostile forces in the wake of independence from the Ottomans.

    The first Greek King was a Bavarian Prince called Otto. His apparent reluctance to integrate himself into Greek culture and society failed to redeem his reputation. His inability to produce any heirs also caused deep consternation. Fearing a possible coup, he went into exile in 1862. A year later, the Greek National Assembly sent an invitation to Prince William of Denmark, requesting whether he was willing to become the new King of Hellenes. He accepted, and ascended to the throne as King George I. George was assassinated in 1913 by a socialist agitator, and his son Constantine became King. One year later, World War One broke out, and Constantine’s supposed neutrality proved to be too controversial and he resigned. His son Alexander succeeded him.

    The German connection had been noted by the Greek people, and there was a great suspicion that the King had deeper family loyalties. The Greek public felt threatened and the Family were banished, including Prince Andrew, Philip’s father. Philip’s parents were exiled to “Mon Repos” on Corfu, the summer retreat of the Greek Royals.

    Princess Alice, Philip’s mother was 36 when Philip was born. His imminent arrival was the cause of great anxiety, so her doctor decided that she should give birth in the dining room. In the first few months of his life, a series of English nannies looked after him.

    Royal childcare in the nineteen twenties was laissez faire. An alarming anecdote reveals that when the young Prince was just six months old he was left unsupervised with the nanny’s pin cushion, and enjoyed playing with the pins. This somewhat reckless disregard for health and safety, and the implication that children are harmed if they are mollycoddled left a distinct impression upon him and even influenced his own parenting.

    Alice, however, was fragile. When Philip was just nine years old Alice suffered a mental collapse and she was sent to an institution in Switzerland. At the time of her crisis her husband was living with his mistress in the South of France. The shocking lack of empathy for her plight was characteristic of this family, who chose repression and coldness over openness and warmth.

    The apparent insensitivity was a damning charge that would be continuously redirected against the British Royal Family. In 2012, Alice’s niece Lady Pamela Hicks confessed that, “it was difficult to talk to other people about it because they were embarrassed or ashamed…In those days it was something to be kept quiet about”. A frank and blunt confession like that looks, to an outsider, rather selfish and callous. However Philip, along with the rest of the family learned to suppress emotion as a kind of crude survival tactic.

    Philip had to adapt to an itinerant life from the age of 9 until his marriage to the young Princess Elizabeth at the age of 28. One of his acquaintances, Lady Myra Butter observed, “the effect of not having a home is imponderable. You didn’t go into those things then, but now people like Philip would be counselled all the time”. Philip himself remarked upon this with his infamous bluffness, “I just had to get on with it. You do. One does”. Again, this typically crass, basic and clumsy language seems rather hollow and thoughtless, but it was a philosophy of sorts that he depended upon.

    Philip was educated at Gordonstoun School, an institution inspired by the principles of Ancient Sparta, a militaristic, warrior culture. He thrived under the regime, and it honed vital skills which were invaluable in his future career as a Naval Officer. Courage, resilience and indefatigability served him well. His war record revealed his heroism on HMS Valiant where he bravely intercepted and destroyed enemy vessels on the battlefront of the Mediterranean Sea. After the war, Philip was posted to Malta, where he served as first lieutenant. In 1952, he was promoted to the rank of commander. When King George VI died, he was forced to relinquish his career in the Royal Navy, as his wife, Queen Elizabeth II ascended to the throne.

    Philip’s experiences undoubtedly shaped his personality. He was not just a bluff person, he was unflappable, often irascible and sometimes just a bit rude. One of his greatest achievements in this country was to establish the Duke of Edinburgh Award, which encouraged resilience in generations of young people. The downside to his life derived from his unswerving belief that feelings must be bottled up, and this belief was something that his eldest son railed against, not to mention the wider British public who reacted strongly against his apparent indifference to the tragic death of his daughter-in-law.

    However his position as the strong, paternalistic presence in the twentieth century British Monarchy remains in the memory. As the Poet Laureate, Simon Armitage notes in his closing stanzas of “The Patriarchs”,

    “Last of the great avuncular magicians,

    they kept their best tricks for the grand finale:

    Disproving Immortality and Disappearing Entirely.

    The major oaks in the wood start tuning up,

    and skies to come will deliver their tributes.

    But for now, a cold April’s closing moments

    parachute slowly home, so by mid-afternoon

    snow is recast as seed heads and thistledown”.

    This poem, composed on the event of his death on the 9th April 2021 is the perfect tribute to this unique figure in British cultural history.

  • The Traitor King

    On the 28th May 1972, the exiled and disgraced Duke of Windsor and former King, Edward VIII died. He ascended to the throne in 1936, but abdicated within the same year. His rapid accession, abdication and banishment was just a misfortune in a series of misfortunes which almost threatened to topple the British Monarchy itself. Within four decades the status of the Crown appeared to be diminishing into insignificance.

    At the turn of the twentieth century, the United Kingdom made a decision to forge alliances with European powers. However the result of this was far from inconsequential. Unwittingly, this decision plunged the Kingdom into the First World War. It fought a bitter, bloody and protracted campaign against Germany. The once close cultural connection between these two countries was severed, and the warmth, affinity and familial affection that the British public felt for the partly German Royal Family waned to an alarming degree.

    In 1917, at the height of war, the Kingdom was in a fragile state, it was far from united. It was in a frayed position, riddled with strikes, mutiny and increasing political radicalisation. King George V was forced to divest the Family of its foreign associations, and he decided to rebrand it for a more modern and progressive age. His first decision was to anglicise the Royal Family. He renamed the Royal Dynasty “The House of Windsor”. His German relations who still resided in the Kingdom were no longer Battenbergs, but became Mountbattens instead.

    Although George had foreign ancestry, he remained culturally English, despite the leftist author H.G Wells’ complaints about “an alien and uninspiring court”. However these words were brushed off by an unruffled King.

    Wells’ strident admonitions seemed harsh and unfair but were met with the King’s firm and witty riposte, “I may be uninspiring but I’ll be damned if I am an alien!”. George’s second decision was to reform the honours system, which was regarded as elitist and undemocratic.

    He established the Order of the British Empire, which acknowledged the achievements of both women and men from across the social classes. In an astounding break from tradition, he arranged his first investiture within the grounds of Ibrox stadium in Glasgow, the home of Rangers football club. The first recipient of the award was the humble khaki clad Lizzie Robertson, who was rewarded by the King “for devotion to duty in a national projectile factory”. He also established the Companions of Honour, which paid tribute to those who worked hard to protect the rights of ordinary British workers.

    It seemed for a time that the Crown was secure. With these new measures, he managed to stave off the dangers of socialist revolution which had cost the lives of his cousins in Russia. King George V was truly the “people’s King”. The silver jubilee celebrations brought a feeling of national unity while the continent was tearing itself apart. However six months later, on the 20th January, 1936, the beloved King died.

    The old continental alliances were fracturing once more. An embattled and humiliated Germany was on a dark path towards totalitarianism. The British Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin believed that the political and religious settlement encapsulated by the presence of the constitutional monarchy was an essential bulwark against dictatorship in this country.

    Baldwin paid tribute to the late King, commending his legacy. He said that he was responsible for “bringing in the moral authority, honour and dignity of the throne”. Edward’s accession did nothing to allay the fears of a population that had barely recovered from the last war.

    Unlike his father, Edward revealed a shocking lack of empathy for the poor and the unemployed. While on an official engagement to the poverty stricken villages of South Wales, he uttered with spectacular insensitivity that “something must be done” but offered no words of comfort to those without work. His affair with the American socialite Wallis Simpson was common knowledge, but despite protestations he refused to relinquish it. One year after his abdication they married.

    Edward’s actions looked increasingly selfish, arrogant and disloyal. He alienated himself from his family, who were appalled that he put his own feelings first, rather than serve the interests of his country. He was marooned in self-imposed exile in France. In October 1937, he added insult to injury when he toured Nazi Germany with the Duchess. His visit was promoted and published as vital propaganda by the German media. He was filmed meeting Hitler at his Bavarian retreat, and Edward performed a Nazi salute. Edward made no secret of the fact that he favoured Nazism as a political ideology, which he perceived as preferable to Communism.

    Edward’s blatant admission made him a profound liability to the British state at the height of the Second World War. There were rumours swirling around that he was a spy and leaking secrets to the German military. There were even suggestions that he was about to revive the days of imperial Prussia and was about to be parachuted in as the new Kaiser. In 1940 he was appointed governor of the Bahamas, but he disliked the role and resigned after five years.

    At the end of the war, the Duke and Duchess returned to France. They were feted as a celebrity couple by the French, but the British public never forgave their treachery. The duke died from complications following heart surgery at his home in France. His legacy as the traitor King has never been forgotten.

  • Irish Blood, English Heart

    Next week, the singer-songwriter Morrissey will celebrate his 66th birthday. He has enjoyed a long and fruitful career in music, but at the same time his name has become synonymous with “controversy”. He is the bete noire in an increasingly bland, anodyne and conformist industry.

    The music industry is dominated by big and powerful corporations. Consequently, the link between pop music and art has weakened. The record labels are solely motivated by commercial concerns, and this is the reason why he is currently without a recording contract.

    He has deliberately cultivated his outsider status, not in a spirit of cynicism or contrarianism, but as a purely artistic principle. Freedom of speech, and freedom of expression includes, as the saying goes, the freedom to say things that others do not want to hear. He makes other people feel uncomfortable, and that is the point. Art exists to challenge. Individuality is scorned in music, and groupthink perpetuates.

    It is bizarre to reflect on the amount of abuse and vitriol heaped upon just one artist for daring to express an opinion. It is considered acceptable to share mainstream opinions on political and cultural issues, but it is regarded as unacceptable to deviate or disagree. Modern pop stars resemble clones rather than real people with authentic voices. They are all marketed to fit into narrow boxes.

    It is an abhorrent situation which reveals a distinct absence of imagination. The end result is equally distasteful. The product churned out from the record labels does not sound like music at all, rather it is rendered an audible “mush”. These are identical, soulless creations made by computers rather than human beings.

    It is obvious that if an industry attempts to create flawless musicians, then the human connection is severed. The whole process is fake and artificial, and alienates the listener. On the other hand, if the industry allows its artists to reveal their human side then the listener can relate and empathise, and the link is strengthened. Morrissey has not deliberately “courted controversy” as the media like to claim, he has just been honest about how he feels about the world. His feelings are shared by many people.

    The media are not representative of society, they are not the spokespeople. Sometimes they convince themselves that they understand, and suggest that they reflect our views. However, like the music industry, they are simply a corporate business. They do not exist to enhance our wellbeing, only to make a profit from their product. They are not creative or imaginative people either, most journalists write basic, formulaic pieces. Again, it is purely a commercial, rather than an artistic product.

    Dull, unimaginative people lack the intelligence to understand the unique importance of art. It is tragic, but it is also comical to read the levels of ignorance that emanate from the critics. Unfortunately narrow minded people are very fond of stereotypes, and are perplexed when there are individuals who do not fit their ideas of how certain people should express themselves. They have a peculiar fixation on group identities, which are inventions themselves.

    The criticism has just provided Morrissey with yet more material to base songs around, like his hero Oscar Wilde he uses wit and subversion in his writing. However this just goes over the heads of the literal minded who fail to recognise irony. Wilde, the Irish born outsider who charmed the English intelligentsia was ultimately scorned by the very people who made his literary career. The British Establishment did not realise at the time that his apparent polite drawing room comedies were actually satirical dramas in disguise. Hopefully Morrissey, rather than the behemoth enterprise that calls itself the recording industry will have the last laugh.

  • Burnt Roses

    May 8th is the 80th anniversary of V.E day. In this country this is widely viewed as a cause for celebration, but as so few of the survivors remain it feels a little uncomfortable and disconcerting to mark an occasion that most of us have not experienced. The dark truths of 1945 have been sublimated into myth, and this episode in our history has been heavily romanticised.

    However it isn’t literal history that is revived, but folk history. Tales of heroic soldiers and airmen fighting evil abroad mingle with the stories of stoic and indomitable women enduring hardship on the homefront. It is considered taboo to question if this is pure and unadulterated truth, as it is believed that to do such a thing dishonours the memory of our ancestors.

    Nobody denies that the people of this country were immensely courageous in the face of such aggression and brutality, but it would be equally naive to claim that nobody felt any fear while under such bombardment and assault. After all, it is only human to feel terrified. The Times journalist Max Hastings has alluded to the real fears of young conscripted soldiers posted in unfamiliar and hostile surroundings.

    Hastings explains that these were ordinary men, many just boys in their late teens, called up to serve in a war that they did not choose. They were far from the superhuman caricatures painted by the propagandists, instead, “they had been plucked from mostly humdrum but at least sheltered lives, jobs and families to experience sun, rain, snow and mud in hutted encampments or on wasteland training areas, often in the company of men with whom they had little sympathy”. Stating this fact is not to denigrate their bravery and sacrifice, but to show that the very concept of war is inherently monstrous and unnatural.

    In the period before 1939, this country was at relative peace with itself, and society was harmonious. With the benefit of hindsight we now understand that the fight against the evils of Nazism was a righteous war, but at that time these soldiers had very little understanding of what was demanded of them. Eventually through sheer tenacity and determination they became brave defenders of this nation, but this was only achieved through a relentless, austere and demanding training regimen. I believe that it is dishonest, and it is more of an insult to our forefathers to claim that these young recruits were blessed with an almost inhuman fearlessness.

    Unfortunately this dishonesty is continually perpetuated year after year. I think that it is truly obscene that the myth of the invincible British soldier, who never allowed himself to reveal his emotional vulnerability is invoked whenever a national crisis emerges. This crass stereotype is also alluded to if a famous person in this country admits a personal crisis of some kind.

    I must admit that although I love the culture, history and traditions of this country, I find that this enforced emotional coldness is an alien concept to me. As Tim Stanley opines in his book “Tradition”,

    “When a Briton behaves in a way that is deemed “UnBritish”, they are judged not only to betray themselves and the country, but the millions who came before us and made Britain what it is…we use this conflict as a textbook on how to behave”.

    Obviously, there were people who lived through the war who did not “behave” in an exemplary fashion, but that is also part of the myth that surrounds it.

    It is absurd to claim that the people of this nation did not experience any mental or emotional distress during the war. Again, this is insulting. It would be perfectly understandable for individuals to succumb to anxiety and depression, or worse. Emotional repression is not healthy, it is extremely damaging. It is also abnormal to not express any feelings after loved ones die. Suppressing these feelings is yet another British trait which I cannot comprehend or accept. Death is never even discussed in our culture. The actor Martin Clunes lost his father when he was just eight years old, and he remembered very clearly being told not to cry. He said,

    “Culturally, we’re very stiff about death-it’s slightly embarrassing. You have a private ambulance come and hurry the thing away, let’s all keep hush, hush, stiff upper lip…the expectation was, “Oh come on, let’s not cry. Let’s be grown-up” How grown-up can you be at eight?”

    Clunes illustrates this unnatural and forced cultural expectation, which is inhumane and the cause of so much unhappiness within this nation. It is the reason why mental illness in this country is the worst in Europe.

    Italian and French culture is suffused with feeling, the music and paintings reveal open and unashamed levels of emotion. In contrast, British, but especially English people feel embarrassed and awkward. Artistic expression is discouraged, mocked and derided. There is a deep seated suspicion of creative people, they are considered fake or pretentious. It is a society dominated by cynicism and philistinism, where earnestness is routinely destroyed. Our country also has a streak of cruel humour, often utilised to prevent excess sentimentality.

    Inevitably, nobody feels confident enough to admit their true thoughts and feelings. The author Harry Mount puts this across succinctly,

    “We have a terrible fear of intimacy or socialising-thus our endless jokes, catchphrases, sarcasm, irony, understatement and banter, all conversational devices that keep intimacy and the serious exchange of private information at bay”.

    I have found these conversational tactics frustrating, it has stopped me from connecting with others in a meaningful way, and it is an affront to my core personality which is deeply sensitive. My fellow compatriots are often abrasive, and I find this offensive.

    T.S Eliot lived through the devastation of the Second World War, and the bleakness he witnessed inspired the meditative cycle of poems “Four Quartets”. In “Little Gidding”, he reflects on loss stating,

    “Ash on and old man’s sleeve

    Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.

    Dust in the air suspended

    Marks the place where a story ended”.

    These stark images provide a clearer picture of war and its aftermath, and linger far longer in the memory. I would rather read Eliot’s reflective verse than indulge in an empty and meaningless ritual.

  • Shame On Evil Thinkers

    St. George has been an integral part of English identity since the fourteenth century. The adoption of George as England’s patron saint has helped to bring new meaning and insight into our native culture and traditions. The legends that surround him remain a source of pride, in spite of the detractors.

    It is lamentable that in our postmodern society many people have chosen to forget this essential part of our foundation story. Every nation is founded on a series of myths and legends. These intricate and elaborate tales of heroes and villains are symbolic manifestations of the nation’s character and sensibility. King Edward III recognised this, and he found inspiration in the mythology of a legendary Knight

    Edward cultivated an idiosyncratic and aristocratic culture at court. The King and the nobles were brought together in a complex system based on chivalric custom, including honours, arms and pageantry. Chivalry originated from a military culture, and described the strict codes of behaviour mandated on the battlefield. War was deeply embedded within the culture of this country. However, warfare was not just about consolidating the power and influence of the Crown. The nation as a whole depended upon military strength to enable it to survive.

    St. George was the patron saint of soldiers and nobles, and the epitome of a chevalier. The tale of his Knightly conduct was appropriated by the King and woven into an earlier legend surrounding King Arthur and his court. The legend states that the King was in attendance at a court ball when a lady accidentally dropped her garter. When everyone except the King erupted into laughter, he admonished the crowd. He retrieved the garter and said, “shame to him who thinks evil of it”. Henceforth Edward established the Order of the Garter and dedicated it to St George.

    It is a strange paradox that the profoundly Christian order of Knights was nonetheless perennially engaged in war. It is difficult to reconcile a sense of righteousness with the eternal compulsion for battle. However it is justified as the moral aspect is entwined with the notion of defending the honour of a nation from evil. Medieval England, and Europe as a whole faced the imminent threat from violent and hostile outsiders who sought to usurp Christianity with a contrary religion and set of values that were in direct opposition. The story of St George slaying the dragon is a metaphorical depiction of this righteous battle, and it has been revived throughout the centuries.

    The warrior spirit of the English has never truly died, even in times of relative peace. This is something which we must always hold on to, despite the evil thinkers who continue to project their shame upon us.

  • A Ceremony Of Riches

    Maundy Thursday is a significant date. It precedes Good Friday, the most solemn occasion in the Christian calendar. It commemorates Jesus washing His disciples feet in a simple act of devotion and humble piety. In many churches all over the world, similar rituals are repeated to honour Christ’s example.

    In this country, during the Middle Ages the Monarch washed the feet of his poorest subjects. It was the purest demonstration of obeisance, an integral part of noblesse oblige. In our modern and increasingly cynical secular society, such rituals are now sneered at, as it is fashionable to undermine the sacred and to diminish people with status and authority, particularly those with hereditary power.

    However this interpretation is naive and shallow. It must be emphasised that traditions matter because they are a fundamental part of who we are as people. Our shared history strengthens the bond that ties us to our ancestors, and this allows us to pass on something meaningful to those who are yet to be born.

    Unfortunately, as our society became wealthier, it moved further and further away from religion. Material concerns were the primary focus, matters of the soul were only secondary. The notion that the greatest treasure lies within the cultivation of the life of the spirit was lost, because the riches on earth provided so much joy, however temporary.

    The Reformation was a double edged sword, it brought a necessary and democratic change to our culture but ultimately it severed the most important connections. It weakened the spiritual power of the Monarch, and the most profound religious rites that they enacted were stripped of their meaning.

    Tudor and Stuart Monarchs did not inspire as much awe in the populace as their medieval forebears but they still managed to maintain a semblance of piety. The Cromwell regime divested itself of Monarchical influence altogether, along with its ceremonial trappings and perceived superstitions. After the Restoration many of the religious ceremonies were revived, including the Maundy Thursday rite of foot washing. The King’s subjects also believed that one touch from the King could cure them of their iniquities.

    In the wake of the Glorious Revolution, however, the dour Protestant King William revealed his disdain for “foolish old Popish ceremonies”, a shocking outburst reflecting his prejudices, and deep seated arrogance. When told of the power of the King’s touch he sneered, “Well, God give you better health and more sense!”. Since his accession, the Monarch’s only role on Maundy Thursday has been to distribute money to the poor. The sacred rites have disappeared.

    It is sad that these rites have been abandoned, and it is indeed telling that a practical, purposeful and material act has replaced the traditional ceremony. The Victorians, with all of their numerous faults and failings, still recognised the importance of noblesse oblige. The wealthiest members of society were often the greatest philanthropists.

    However there were still pockets of greed and selfishness which rapidly became a source of great shame. Disraeli bemoaned those with wealth who continued to ignore the plight of the poor and described this noticeable gap in society as, “between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy…who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws”. This was part of his infamous speech about the Kingdom, which far from being united, was in fact two nations separated by different values and priorities.

    The reason for disunity was the decline of the Established Church and its influence in society. During the Middle Ages the Kingdom was happy and stable. It was a rich tapestry of social classes held together by numerous threads of rights and responsibilities that maintained peace and helped to preserve people’s sense of wellbeing. As soon as the Church lost its power and influence, the poor lost their education, the land was usurped by the nobles and the Crown was blackmailed into giving up its rights of succession in favour of their own rulers. In turn, these rulers controlled the masses, with mixed success over the years.

    Disraeli saw a parallel with the medieval barons, as the country was under the yoke of a new kind of tyranny. The factory owner operating in an industrialised England was an entirely new innovation, but he was nonetheless imbued with the same avaricious intent. His only motive was profit, and he disregarded the moral values and traditions of the nation state. Disraeli’s social reforms were his attempt to revive the concept of noblesse oblige in a modern, capitalist society.

    Today should be the one day that we reflect upon the greatest gift that has been given to us, our spiritual inheritance as a Christian nation. It is worth more than gold, and we must never forget that.

  • In Praise of Cats

    The English poet, Christopher Smart was born on the 11th April, 1722. He is chiefly remembered for his startling and innovative religious poetry. However he was misunderstood in his lifetime. He was part of the tradition of fragile genius, epitomised by other original and solitary poets like John Clare. Clare was declared mad and confined to an asylum, an unhappy experience which nonetheless allowed him free rein to develop his poetic sensibility.

    It is a fine line to tread, as the division between truly original thought and madness is tenuous. Conventional society is suspicious of free thinkers, and those who are blessed with the gift of imagination often find the business of ordinary living stifling. It is hard to feel confined by the everyday restrictions of life, and authority figures always attempt to undermine anyone who dares to be creative. It is therefore inevitable that artistic and creative people are prone to mental illness as they are overwhelmed by prejudices and philistinism.

    In 1757, Smart was committed to St Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics. He was isolated in this bleak, forbidding asylum with only his beloved cat Jeoffry for company. While interned at St Luke’s he composed a moving paean to Jeoffry. In “My Cat Jeoffry”, Smart pays tribute to a creature who, in his mind, embodies godly virtues. According to the poet, every action, no matter how banal, is Jeoffry’s way of communing with God.

    However the poem is much more than an outpouring of love for a cherished pet, it is actually an important lesson in humility. This is something that humanity rarely takes heed, as it is a species in which the ego is paramount. As Smart acknowledges,

    “For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.”

    The poem is reminiscent of St Francis’ profound eulogies to animals. The animals are holy and noble, and part of the wonder and beauty of God’s creation.

    Smart’s verse resonates with anyone who has ever had the privilege of owning a cat. It is not far-fetched to state that they are imbued with a distinct quality of magic wisdom. Jeoffry was just one remarkable cat among a magnificent species.