Back in the dimly lit days of the early 1980’s, I happened upon a quote from Kevin Marron, who at the time was editor of an Irish Sunday newspaper. He was discussing some friends of his who were English and said that “English people on their own or in small groups are the nicest people you will ever meet. It’s only when they are in large groups at Football matches or on ships on the way to the Falklands that they are a problem.”
I remembered this because it slipped smoothly
into my world view at the time. I liked individual English people such as Alan
Sunderland at Arsenal or various pop singers. My comedy heroes were on Spitting
Image or Not the Nine O’Clock news and I had an unhealthy obsession with dead
World War One poets. At the same time, I could tut tut at the antics of England
Football fans or the actions of their Army in Northern Ireland.
But if truth be told, I had an inferiority
complex when it came to our neighbours across the Irish Sea. I grew up watching
their telly, reading their Sunday newspapers and devouring their literature. I
remember in particular sitting up late to watch their election results and
marvelling how they had a proper left/right split and could get their results
out within two hours of the polls closing.
Everything England did seemed better than we
could manage in Ireland. They had a professional football league, well funded
and adventurous TV, an alternative comedy scene and a liberal attitude to sex,
divorce and abortion. The England I watched on TV every night was a confident,
modern and sophisticated democracy. A vibrant, multi-cultural nation with
wonderful food and lots of money.
The country I lived in was poor and was controlled
by a medley of corrupt politicians and conservative bishops. We had mass
unemployment, pot-holed roads and the threat of eternal damnation if you even
thought about sex, never mind partook in it.
When my opportunity came to leave Ireland, I
didn’t let the door hit my arse on the way out. I arrived in London in February
1988 and it was like I had been re-born. I fell in love with Indian food, pizza
and kebabs. I marvelled at the Underground system, night buses and the motorway
network. I walked around the West End every weekend, dipping into book shops on
Charring Cross Road, wolfing down dumplings in China Town and drinking in pubs
in Covent Garden with new found friends from Australia and New Zealand. I spent
five wonderful years there, gulping in the fresh air of opportunity.
Having watched and admired England from afar
for so many years, I was nervous when I arrived in London. I was from a small
town in Ireland, suddenly finding myself at the centre of the World. I quickly
learned that I needn’t be afraid. The England I arrived in was welcoming to
newcomers. They had a genuine interest in my background and found me funny. I
made English friends then that I still have to this day.
In the years since, I have kept up my interest
in England. I gravitate towards English media on-line, love the output from the
BBC and make a point of visiting London whenever I’m in that neck of the world.
But something has changed since I left England
in 1993. Ireland became a lot richer. One of the reasons we emigrants departed
en mass in the eighties was because of the riches you could earn in England.
Now, the average salary in Ireland is higher than the UK. Ireland has also
become more liberal, abandoning the church and becoming the first country in
the World to legalise Gay Marriage by referendum. The Irish Motorway system is
the greatest legacy of the Celtic Tiger years and there is now a greater
percentage of overseas born people in Ireland than there are in the UK.
I look on England now from New Zealand and I
see a small minded, bigoted country, cutting its own nose off to spite its
face. It is no longer a place welcoming to strangers, the far right stalk the
land and dominate the government. And then, of course, there is Brexit. The English
colonised much of the world, promoting English exceptionalism to the far flung
corners of the globe. But they think having rules set in Brussels is an
abomination.
In my lifetime, England has gone from a country
that I looked up to and admired to one that I pity. When it comes to managing
Covid, most countries make a choice between health and the ecomony, pretending
that they care about both, while in practice leaning towards one or the other.
England is unique in that they are worst in class for both health and economy.
They have also managed to elect a leader who
makes Donald Trump look like a serious politician. And strangely enough, Boris Johnson
is not even the biggest idiot in the British government. It would be funny if
it wasn’t so dangerous. Brexit is heading towards a no deal scenario which will
do more harm to Ireland than the Black and Tans.
I was last in London in July 2019. I noticed
that the trains were decrepit, pound shops were more common than boutiques and
the buildings looked like they had been rebuilt after the blitz in World War
Two and not touched since. I still loved it but it’s not the city I remember
from thirty years ago. The English flag flew on many lamp-posts, posters for right
wing groups adorned the walls and a cynical undercurrent of racism could be
felt on the streets. Brexit allowed the monsters who were always there to
breathe in the open air. It makes me feel sad. Despite the history between
Britain and Ireland, it’s a country I still have a lot of affection for. But at least, I no longer have an inferiority
complex.
