Dec '25 • Culture
Journey into Englishness - Early schooling
Much like it is today, the first time I was exposed to influences beyond my family was school, but unlike today there was no nursery or preschool. You were as free as a bird until you achieved the grand old age of 5, then off you went to school. It was here that I recall two images that acted as signposts in my journey towards Englishness.
The first was the picture of the King; King George 6th. His picture, dressed in splendid military uniform, was prominently displayed in the school entrance. So England had a King, and this particular King was apparently held in great affection, as he had led the country through the war. As my grandfather was often pleased to tell me, “you fought for King and country”, and this king lived with his family in a palace in London. I also remember at some time being taken off to a nearby town and standing at the side of the road in quite a large crowd. They started cheering and waving handkerchiefs and flags as a large shining black car flashed by. Apparently the car was carrying the King and Queen, but it went by so quickly the occupants were simply a blur. Still, all the crowd seemed to be well pleased with the experience. They had seen the King and given him a cheer.
The other school memory also hung on a wall in school. It was a large map of the world. There was England, a very small island in the great scheme of things, and it was coloured red. But there were large chunks of this map that were also coloured red. This, we were told, was the British Empire. Places that adventurous Englishmen had discovered while sailing around the world in wooden boats, with nothing but the wind to power them. Places where they has settled, taking with them their culture, beliefs and the wonderful thing that is the English language. All these places, India, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and lots more, were now joined in this collective known as the Empire, with England at its heart. To a small boy this seemed a truly amazing vision. I was part of a nation that was or had been running about a quarter of the globe. Of course I came to know much more about it, good and bad, as I grew older, but this is a six year old boy we are talking about and, let's face it, despite its many shortcomings, the Empire and its successor the Commonwealth, have been extraordinary achievements.
My father and grandfather were both quite sporty, and so, at an early age, I was introduced to two wonderful English inventions, Cricket and Football. My grandfather had been a handy cricketer and, from his tool-bound shed, that smelt of linseed oil, he fashioned a boy-sized cricket bat. The Birch tree at the end of his garden served as a wicket and so my cricket education began. My grandparents had both come from a small Kent village, which like most villages then, boasted a cricket team. Our many visits back there at weekends inevitably involved watching a game of cricket together with the traditional refreshment of tea and sandwiches, and then retirement to the local pub for the post mortem. For me, nothing beats a vision of Englishness more than cricket, being played on a green pitch in glorious sunshine. It's also interesting to note, that wherever the English settled around the world they managed to successfully export the greatest of all ball games, born on English village greens.
My grandfather had also been a talented footballer in his day, with medals to prove it, but when I was a boy, his playing days were gone. But that didn't stop him taking me to watch the local team play, and when I was a bit older the odd professional games at Arsenal and Charlton. My father was a useful goalkeeper and played for his works team well into his forties. His beloved team was Charlton Athletic, as he had grown up near their ground, The Valley. But he also had a soft spot for Tottenham Hotspur, and I ended up with him at White Hart Lane several times. But there was not question where my first loyalty lay when it came to supporting a club. For better or worse it was Charlton Athletic [The Addicks]. They were our biggest local team, and it was in the family genes. Supporting them over the years since has certainly been an emotional roller-coaster, but that's football. Another game, like cricket that is woven into the fabric of being English.
Speaking of ball games invented by the English, Tennis cannot go unmentioned here. although my real involvement in it wasn't until my teenage years. My mother had fancied herself as a bit of a player, until Hitler decided to throw the world into chaos. I inherited her racket, and became pretty good with just a wall as the opposition. But tennis indirectly hints at another childhood English lesson. That was queueing!
It was drummed into me that, whatever you were doing, you waited your turn, there was certainly no pushing, or queue-jumping. Shopping, waiting for a bus or anything, you deferred to those who had got there ahead of you. Why does tennis bring this to mind? Well, as someone recently pointed out; if you want to see a great example of Englishness just look a the queues for the Wimbledon tennis tournament. Ah, Wimbledon. I became aware of this wonderful occasion down the local park. It seemed to engender a belief in many people that, for two weeks every year, they too could be just like Fred Perry, Ken Rosewall or whoever. This was shown most clearly by the fact that you had to form an orderly queue to use the public tennis courts during those weeks. It also took some time for me to realise that "fifteen love" meant the score was fifteen zero, and not a term of endearment addressed to your opponent.
I can't talk about early school days and development without mentioning sense of humour and sarcasm. One of the elements that fed into this mix was surely the ongoing economic circumstances. The years following WWII were hard for most people in England. Feeding, clothing and housing your family and simply making ends meet was no easy task. I cannot claim that, as a child, I was particularly aware of the difficulties the adults around me must have faced, but I did notice one thing they did use to cope with them – humour. Things like holes in your shoes, cutting down your grandads work trousers for school-wear, unpicking old jumpers to knit new ones, having to eat rabbit whether you liked it or not, ice on the inside of the windows because the house was so cold; these were not moaned about but rather joked about. I don't remember hearing any expression of jealousy or resentment against the lot of others. Probably because everyone was in the same boat. However, the jokes and talk could have a real cutting edge; what today might be considered insensitive and even mildly offensive. This too was probably a result of coming out of a war. No time for niceties when bullets and bombs were flying around. “You call a spade a spade” my grandmother would say. Mind you, she would also say “oh Sydney” when my grandfather launched into a take-down of someone or something, and that included me. He was a master of back-handed compliments and ridicule. Echoes of which I see in the current work of Ricky Gervais. He could be scathing about anything, which inevitably employed an element of sarcasm. The highest praise he was capable of was “it's alright”. Ego stroking was certainly not his bag. But joking about anything certainly was, with few if any subject limits and targets included himself. Good old English self-deprecation.
So, what have we covered so far in my journey to Englishness? The Monarchy, the Empire, cricket, football, tennis, queueing, humour, sarcasm, ridicule, and self deprecation. That's enough to be going on with. At my age you can always do with a good lie down. More to come, when the oxygen levels to my brain are restored.
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Journey into Englishness - Early schooling
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