British people

Author: Jeremy Paxman
Translator: Yan Weiming
Country: United Kingdom
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2000-12-01
Features: It is not difficult to identify British people; they are one of the most distinctive nations on Earth. They can be distinguished by their language, demeanor, and clothing. The author of this book explores the characteristics of the British people from aspects such as their language, religion, and sports, and analyzes their attitudes toward the countryside and cities, war, the church, family, and the nation, as well as toward foreigners (especially the French) and intellectuals. Churchill said that World War II was his country's "greatest hour." We have ample reason to agree with his words. He was referring to Britain and the British Empire, but the English like to believe that the value of the British Empire was fabricated. Of course, in people's memories, that war and the years that followed were the last time the English had a clear and positive self-perception. They found that films like We Were There reflected this view. In that film, No?l Coward depicted the sinking of the Royal Navy destroyer HMS Kelly in a novelistic style. It was sunk by German dive bombers. The survivors lay in lifeboats, recalling the glorious history of their warship. Yet in their minds, they envisioned a powerful image of England. The captain and sailors might have different accents, but they shared a fundamental belief about what their country stood for. It was an orderly, hierarchical place where war brought only some inconvenience that had to be endured, like rain suddenly falling during a village fair. It was a simple, selfless nation where women knew their place, and children would go to bed obediently at the word. "Don't worry," the wives comforted each other during an air raid, "we'll have tea in a little while." A Petty Officer, as he left home for the war, was asked by his mother-in-law when he would be back ashore. "It depends entirely on Hitler," he said. "Ha! What do he think he is?" his mother-in-law asked. "You're a real character." For a nation whose culture was in danger of being destroyed, We Were There was an unambiguous declaration, making it all the more eye-opening. From it, we learned how the English liked to see themselves. This and many similar films showed that they were a placid, unassuming, silent, disciplined, self-denying, affable, and honorable people; they would rather forever tend to their own gardens than oppose fascist tyranny and defend the world. I spent my whole life in England free from the shadow of Hitler and had to admit that I had great admiration for the place, though it was narrow-minded, hypocritical, and prejudiced. It had plunged into a war that it had been repeatedly assured could be avoided. In the process, it lost its world prominence decades earlier than expected. Revisionist historians tell us that many of Britain's achievements in the war were not as glorious as they seemed at the time. Of course, the English fought desperately to maintain the heroic illusion of the war, among the proudest of which were the "little boats" of Dunkirk, the "few" of the Battle of Britain, and the courage of Londoners and other city residents during the Blitz. Forget it, the role of the "little boats" was exaggerated; the victory in the Battle of Britain was due to both the heroism of the fighter pilots and Hitler's mistakes; the victory in the Blitz was due to the bravery of the Bomber Command and a ruthless retaliatory strike against Germany. It is obviously incorrect to say that the English won the war alone, as evidenced by Churchill's desperate efforts to get the U.S. involved. However, in the summer of 1940, the country did stand alone, and that is an undeniable fact. Otherwise, the rest of Europe would have fallen into Nazi hands. Without its geographical advantages, the country might have found willing executioners to serve the Nazis, just like the other European countries from France to the Baltic Sea. But geography played a significant role; it shaped people's characteristics. For two centuries after James I united England and Scotland, the English seemed to alternate between hating the Scots—because they "betrayed" them in the Civil War—and treating them with indifference. "Scotland is certainly a place of refuge for all the world's vices," wrote an earl after the Battle of Culloden. He received a reply from the Duke of Newcastle, the Prime Minister's brother, saying, "As for Scotland, I am one of the few living who have no prejudice against it. However, we must consider that they live within our island." We cannot help but feel that whether it was hatred or feigned indifference, both expressed the same emotion: deep down, the English had great respect for the Scots. The most famous Englishman to look down on the Scots was Dr. Johnson. He believed, "To see Scotland is to see a worse England." When told that "there are many people in Scotland who have the potential to be noble and extraordinary," Boswell recorded his reply: "I think, sir, you do have many such people," the great man replied. "Norway has them too; Lapland is famous for producing them. But, sir, I must tell you, the Scots have always believed that only those who advance along the highway to England have the hope of becoming noble." Even Johnson himself could not explain his prejudice; yet, the Scots could take some comfort in the fact that at least he had left a deep impression on him. Johnson could only find one sentence to answer Boswell's question about Wales: "Wales is not much different from England; tourists should not expect to see anything new there." Sometimes, the English seem to need to see themselves in this way. This England magazine pretentiously claimed that the enemy "is desperately trying to destroy the way of life that the English have taken a thousand years to perfect"; this enemy was a guilty alliance consisting of the metric system, town planners, unelected bureaucrats, squatters, vandals, advocates of abortion, adulterers, offensive advertisements, always-correct politics, modern telephone booths, "the evil trinity of newspapers, radio, and television," multiculturalism, and especially the cowards who wanted to hand the country over to the European Union, traitorous politicians. The traitor was the unfortunate Conservative Prime Minister Edward Heath, who said little about the ambitions of Europe and led Britain into the European Community. It turned out that all his words were lies. The editor of the magazine hoped that Britain would leave the European Community because he believed it was merely a German plot to achieve the same goal they had failed to achieve with the Messerschmitt 109 fighter in 1940. From the hundreds of letters he received every week, most of his readers felt the same way. "This whole thing is a scam; in the end, we will become a colony of Germany. We won the war, but they will win the peace." We are once again in the world of Peter Simple: the barbarians are at the gates, and the English are still sleeping in the city. The English love to see things this way. Others also tried to shape a typical Englishman—Joseph Addison's Worcestershire baronet Roger de Coverley had a brief moment in the spotlight—but none were as enduring as John Bull. It is interesting that this unremarkable figure has endured for so long: after all, he was neither particularly handsome nor especially intelligent. His longevity was due to his robust physique. In cartoons, he was quickly depicted as a bull terrier. The Bull was a cow. Therefore, nearly two centuries after his debut, when facing a naval confrontation with Germany, he could perfectly align with Arthur Ransome's patriotic ballad The Sea's Son, "All Hail to England." The song fabricated the expression "bull terrier lads." By the time of World War II, the country produced one person—Winston Churchill, whose appearance seemed to combine the bull terrier and John Bull. Just as the English insisted that he did not belong to the city he actually lived in but to the countryside he did not, they still believed that the true Englishman was a countryman. A 17th-century writer explained, "If you are skilled at blowing the hunter's horn, have the ability to chase, and are good at training and carrying hawks, you are a gentleman." Lord Burton expressed a similar view in The Anatomy of Melancholy. He wrote about the nobility's enthusiasm for hunting: "They learn to hunt, practice hunting, live for hunting, and talk about hunting." Three centuries later, this principle still applied: in fact, it was only recently that gentry began to value academic certificates; even then, it was not for their own sake but because it was easier for their sons to earn money and maintain their country lives with degrees. The fictional stereotype of the gentry is the solemn western squire in Fielding's novel Tom Jones. He was a keen horseman, a heavy drinker with a red face, cursed the Hanoverian monarchy, and often exclaimed, "Damn it!" He lived a life of mystery no more complex than that of a pack of hounds or a badger in dire straits. However, the western squire was very real. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu wrote about such people, "They spend their mornings with the hounds and their evenings with their ferocious companions—with as much wine as they can get." Jack Mitton was a typical example. Born in 1678, he was said to have inherited an annual legacy of ￡10,000 and ￡60,000 in cash at the age of 21. Mitton lost his father at the age of two and did not receive a good education. He was first expelled from Westminster School and later from Harrow. Mitton knocked his tutor to the ground, who then resigned. Due to his gambling habits, he had to leave the 7th Light Dragoons and interrupt his military career. He served as a Conservative Member of Parliament for Shropshire, where he did nothing notable for a year; after that, his true talent emerged—deliberate destruction for the sake of amusement. Mitton's reckless courage was famous. He rode at full speed over a rabbit warren to see if it could bear his weight. The warren collapsed, the horse fell, and then rolled over him. He once bet someone that he could drive a two-horse carriage through the fields at night, leaping over a ditch, two hedges, and a three-yard-wide dark wall. He fought constantly and once boxed with a Welsh miner for 20 rounds until the man conceded. Another time, he went duck hunting in the depths of winter and, to stay dry, crawled across an icy surface stark naked. He never carried a handkerchief, gloves, or a watch. A passenger who rode with him once told him that he had never been in a car accident. Mitton replied, "You lead a dull life, you fellow," and then drove the carriage into a pile of earth, overturning it. If guests at his house took the favorable position by the fire, he would stuff red-hot coals into their pockets. Then, when they left for home after dinner, he often posed as a highwayman, robbing them of their belongings—even his own butler was among those robbed. A guest who stayed the night found him drunk and passed out. When he woke up, he discovered Mitton had placed a live bear and two bull terriers on his bed. In the end, his extravagant lifestyle ruined him. He drank four to six bottles of port wine every day (one in the morning while shaving), but it did no good. (His beloved monkey was just as energetic and often rode with him on hunts; it also loved wine and later died after drinking a bottle of shoe polish.) According to "Nimrod," he squandered ￡500,000 in the last 15 years of his life. He finally became heavily in debt and had to flee to Calais. One night, he suddenly had difficulty breathing. "Damn this hiccough," he cursed. He lit the back of his cotton nightshirt with a match, trying to scare it away. The nightshirt caught fire like paper.