by Iain Aitch
ST GEORGE
Possibly a Turkish Christian who slew a dragon in Libya, possibly made-up and possibly any number of things; one thing we can be sure of is that St George was not British, English or connected to the UK in any tangible manner. But, that said, St George has come to represent the spirit of the English, be it in battle, in sport or in slaying dragons. These days those dragons are more likely to be metaphorical than actual, largely because dragons are not actually real. St George’s Day celebrations have enjoyed a small resurgence of late, though until it becomes a national holiday it is unlikely to match the scale of festivities around St Patrick’s Day in Ireland, or even in parts of north London. The English are only too happy to spend the day in the pub, but not en masse at the expense of a day’s annual leave on 23 April.
ST GEORGE’S FLAG
This once almost forgotten flag has recently come to symbolise far more than a dedication to all things English or the celebration of England’s patron saint. The red and white flag swept England in 1996 as the Euro 96 football tournament gave a new popularity to the sport, which had hit rock bottom just a decade earlier due to hooliganism and poor performances by the England team. In 1966 England’s players ran out onto the pitch to fans waving Union Flags, but in 1996 there was a sea of red-and-white. By 2002’s World Cup, the idea of flying the flag had really taken off, with plastic versions adorning every white van in the country. By 2006 the Prime Minister was flying the flag over Number 10 when England’s World Cup matches were being played, denoting that he was down with the common man and was not to be disturbed while watching the game on TV, unless it was by someone bringing more lager or crisps. Since 1996, the flag has become seen to be something that denotes the tastes of the lower orders. While The Sun gave away flags and posters featuring the flag, The Guardian carried articles debating whether flying the flag from your car was a bit too chav and what the environmental impact might be.
ST PATRICK
Known to most of the English-speaking world as the patron saint of Irish stout and green lager, St Patrick is the saint for the whole of Ireland, including the North/Ulster, though it is unlikely that you will see Reverend Ian Paisley wearing a giant Guinness hat and singing ‘Danny Boy’ on St Patrick’s Day, which falls on 17 March. Born in the fourth century, St Patrick is best known for banishing the snakes from Ireland, which was actually a fantastic scam, as Ireland didn’t really have any snakes at the time. I myself banished rampaging lions from Dorset, but did anyone appreciate my efforts? Well, no. St Patrick’s Day is thought to celebrate the date of St Patrick’s death. He was born in Scotland, probably to a Roman family, before being taken to Ireland as a slave where he then became a preacher.
SAYING HELLO
In British society there are very strict rules on conduct and, especially, on how and when you should greet your fellow Britons. These rules state that you should not say hello to anyone on the London Underground, even if you know them, though you are permitted to greet all and sundry if you are a Yorkshireman on his annual trip to the big city and are out to prove just how ‘bloody unfriendly’ everyone is. Conversely, you should always say hello to everyone if you are in the countryside. The countryside includes that little bit of scrubland behind the council flats where you walk the dog. On busy weekends in beauty spots this means that you will spend more time greeting fellow walkers than enjoying the view, but you will continue to do so anyway, lest anyone think you rude or foreign.
SCHADENFREUDE
It is said that we use this German word because there is no direct, pithy equivalent in the English language that means ‘taking joy in the misfortune of others’. Obviously we could have thought of such a word by now, but this usage remains to remind us that it is the misfortune of the Germans that we enjoy the most. From economic downturn to car manufacturing errors and footballing setbacks, nothing brightens a Brit’s day like turning on the morning news to be greeted with a story about Germans in distress.
SCONES
These small buns may be the centrepiece of any cream tea, but they are also the item that conjures up most lingual debate within the UK. Arguments rage as to whether you should say scone to rhyme with ‘gone’ or to rhyme with ‘bone’. Those who say it one way will claim that anyone who uses the other is either posh or common, depending on how they identify themselves (see class). ‘Scone’ defies regional accents, unlike obvious north-south divide words such as ‘bath’ and ‘affordable housing’. Scones can come plain or with added fruit and should only be eaten with clotted cream, which is named after the state it leaves your arteries in.
SEASIDE
Being an island nation, we are never more than a short drive from the seaside, which is naturally one of the first places that our leisure industry evolved. We rapidly went from bathing machines to kiss-me-quick hats and saucy postcards, identifying the water’s edge as a place where inhibitions could be cast aside. It may have lost some of its allure in the twenty-first century, but it is still the place we go to make sandcastles, ride donkeys and catch crabs, be it in a bucket, from the bed in a B&B or from a local heroin- addict prostitute.
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM
The Bard, as he is popularly known, was born in Stratford- Upon-Avon in 1564, though not on 23 April as is commonly held to be true. This fallacy was simply a neat way of tying his birth to St George’s Day, which was the date that he died in 1616. No one knows the date that William Shakespeare was born, with doubt even being cast upon whether the man born in Stratford was the man who wrote all those wonderful plays and sonnets. Nevertheless, the work of Shakespeare continues to be regarded as beyond reproach and is taught in schools, often to the exclusion of more modern literature that has less snob value attached to it. The Complete Works of Shakespeare is always given to those who the BBC make virtual castaways on the radio programme Desert Island Discs, though most would probably prefer The Sopranos box set and a DVD player really. Philistines.
SHIPPING FORECAST
This round up of wind speed and weather conditions in our coastal waters is read nightly on Radio 4, informing the middle classes that all is well, even if sailors are enduring a force nine gale in Cromity. Because the forecast is read as a kind of poetry, the words just wash over the non-marine listener, allowing them to ignore the actual weather predictions and just imagine some rustic-looking boats bobbing around in a gentle swell. They are happy to believe that those jolly sailors are probably wearing a striped Breton jumper, perhaps smoking a pipe. In fact, what the average listener half hears as they down their cocoa could probably be summed up as: ‘World not blown up yet. Good’.
SHOCK JOCKS
Although the idea of the combative radio presenter is an import from the US, circumstance has made this medium our own, with presenters like Jon Gaunt and James Whale providing a more down-to-earth alternative to the measured debate of Radio 4. Essentially a modern form of jousting, shock jocks witter on about anything they know will get their listeners riled enough to call in, with the result being that the callers usually engage in battle to see who can shout loudest. The rules of engagement mean that the debate is effectively over as soon as anyone uses the words ‘Nazi’ or ‘politically correct’. The winner in either case is, of course, the shock jock, as well as the radio station, which is making cash on each call. The rise of the shock jock coincided with the introduction of the Mental Health Act 1983, which meant that unstable insomniacs were removed from hospitals and reintegrated into society, providing a steady stream of punters who could scream down the telephone about black helicopters and immigration until the breakfast news teams arrived.
SKIN
We may see ourselves as a vast mix of different races and skin tones in Britain, but the 2001 census showed that 92 per cent of the population is white. This means that we are mostly a pasty collection of potential skin-cancer patients who look ruddy and red-faced in winter and sunburnt red in the summer. Hundreds of years of being invaded by the most pigment-free of races in Europe has
ensured that at least 3 per cent of Britons are now born entirely transparent. We really should have spent more time in bed with the Romans, as at least this would have cut down on the cost of endlessly buying Factor 60 sunscreen the moment that the slightest hint of sun appears. Many Brits are seeking a solution to their freckly, lard-like skin in the instant tanning salons that are springing up in our town centres. Visitors can ask to be Dale Winton Orange, Jordan Tangerine or, bring in some fried chicken or a Scotch egg and ask the assistant to try to match the colour. Britons of Celtic heritage are at most risk of sunburn in the summer months and there are plans to put a retractable roof on Belfast, which can be employed like a giant parasol during July and August.
SMASH
Somewhere on Mars a television advert is screening, which portrays idiot Martians neglecting the health benefits of proper cooking with fresh vegetables and instead making instant mashed potatoes with boiling water while humans look on and laugh. Or at least that is what I like to think. The Smash Martians advert, where the Martians laugh at the humans for making real food and not super-advanced instant mash potato space food, is one of the best-loved British television adverts of all time and heralded the arrival of fast food in the home. Smash also makes a decent wallpaper paste if you get the consistency right, though it should not be used for grouting.
SOCKS WITH SANDALS
This wonderful confusion about continental footwear has been perfectly captured by photographer Martin Parr, portraying the British male’s unease about public nudity, even if it is just the toes. Usually seen on middle class, middle-aged men in the height of summer, the socks and sandals combination is a look that says: ‘Yes, it is very warm, but I am not a savage’. The natural habitat of this kind of gent is in the car park of a beach or beauty spot, looking in the opposite direction from the main attraction. As this look becomes increasingly rare (largely due to the free-love laxness of the Birkenstock), spotting it in the street is becoming a nostalgic delight, like spying a Morris Traveller or a child with rickets.
SOUNDS OF BRITAIN
We are not a nation that likes to get het up and run around shouting too much, so the sounds that sum up our isle are those that come between moments of pure peace, or those that don’t interfere with it too much. So, the sound of a lawnmower being pushed across grass, the thwack of leather on willow (see cricket) and the snatch of evensong as a late arrival opens the church door are all sounds that swell our hearts. The dawn chorus is another sound that can stop us for a moment and make us consider our place in the world as can the distant sound of an ice-cream van or even the singing of ‘Abide With Me’ at an FA Cup Final. Obviously not all British sounds are desirable ones, for example, the approaching boom of a car almost entirely constructed of bass speakers, the clang of the bell for last orders at the bar or the sound of our neighbours having noisy, energetic sex as we lie in bed with a snoring partner.
SOVEREIGN RINGS
Though the wearer may believe that their wearing of the sovereign or half-sovereign ring marks them out as a man or woman of means and sophistication, the rest of us simply assume that they are displaying some kind of pride in catalogue shopping. Ubiquitous among the underclass (see chav), the sovereign ring does mark out status in this group. The ring informs fellow members that this person currently has the financial wherewithal to not to have to pawn it at Cash Converters and is also probably quite handy in a fight. Multiple rings can also be seen as battle medals, denoting that the owner has possibly had the fortitude to queue in Argos on more than one occasion.
SPARROWS
We are not alone in being able to spy these cheery brown birds in our gardens, but our love for the sparrow has seen us christen it the ‘Cockney sparrow’ as well as follow with concern its lessening numbers in our cities. No one quite knows the full story of how the birds came to be known as Cockney sparrows, but it may have something to do with them being short, cocky fellows who like a singsong, stick their chest out and are fond of a dust-up. In recent years the sparrows have been following the old cockneys from the east end of London and are now more likely to be found in Essex, where they nest in imitation designer handbags and have adapted to survive on a foraged diet of discarded hair extensions and a kind of lichen only found on gatepost lions.
SPITFIRE
Star of the Battle of Britain (see world war ii) and recurring symbol of British defiance, the Supermarine Spitfire is a single-seater fighter plane whose elliptical wing design has been imitated by the outstretched arms of small boys throughout the nation since it first appeared in the skies in 1936. Designed by R J Mitchell, the Spitfire was the scourge of Nazi Germany’s Messerschmitt 109 and a true icon of hope in World War II. Sadly, our skies are now defended by far less romantically named aircraft, such as the Eurofighter, which is made entirely from recycled staples that were once used to bind EU treaties together.
SPOTTERS
Whether you look at the end of railway station platforms, the perimeter of airfields or the outer reaches of bus stations you will find that most British of hobbyists, the spotter. Armed with notebook and pencil, these teams of numerical obsessives spend most of their spare time in the pursuit of numbers, be it noting down the figures on the side of a diesel engine or trying to catch them on the underside of an F-15. Spotting does go on in other countries, though not to the extent that it does on our shores, and it fulfills our quiet need for order. In Greece, the idea that grown men would travel across Europe to write down aircraft numbers seemed so alien that a judge incarcerated one group of British spotters as spies. Spotter spotting is becoming an increasingly popular hobby among train spotters or bus spotters who have spotted all there is to spot.
STAG NIGHTS
While America has the more sedate-sounding bachelor party, we give a more accurate name to the festivities that the groom enjoys in the run-up to his wedding. Traditionally held on the condemned man’s last night of freedom, stag nights have now moved to the weekend before the actual wedding, which reduces the likelihood that the groom will throw up on the bridesmaids or have to call in his excuses from a police cell. The ‘stag’ name refers to the rutting, fighting and stumbling around that the night entails. It is not clear whether actual stags can drink 12 pints of strong lager, all of which have been spiked with vodka by their mates, though that may actually make an interesting experiment, or even a half-decent reality TV show. A ‘good’ stag night will involve the SAS being called out to deal with your out-of-control party, and the groom winding up tied naked to the masthead of a trawler heading for Norway is also acceptable. Death of the groom is frowned upon, though a broken nose or STD is a badge of honour for the stag.
STIFF UPPER LIP
One of the great British characteristics, the stiff upper lip refers to the un-trembling reaction to any number of misfortunes or disasters that may befall us, individually or collectively. ‘Yes, my house burnt down last night, but of course I will be going into work today. Obviously my wife would have gone in to work too, had she not perished in the blaze.’ During times of war or economic strife, the stiff upper lip has held us together as a nation where other lip-flapping nationalities would panic and run around screaming. Some may say that ulcers, irritable bowel syndrome and post-traumatic stress disorder are all side effects of this unflinching outlook, but they should really stop being so emotive.
STONEHENGE
This crumbling ancient monument is one of the must- see sites for any tourist visiting Britain from overseas, as it is the most celebrated of our island’s many stone circles. Much speculation is made by historians and religious groups as to how and why it was built, but the fact remains that this national treasure is broken and badly needs replacing, perhaps in a location that is more easily accessible or has a need for extra tourists. As it is, the tumbledown circle is not fully open to the public apart from during the summer solstice, when it crawls with hippies, crusty punks and soap-dodging Special Brew drinkers who imbue it with a spiritual significance not too d
issimilar from that of its other big fans, the Druids. A new Stonehenge, complete with intact lintels and no toppled stones, could be used to enliven the economy in one of our fading seaside towns; Weston-Super-Mare is one likely candidate for monolithic regeneration.
STRIPPERS
Before pole dancing and lap dancing clubs became upmarket venues to which it is acceptable to take business contacts or to tell friends you spent your Friday night at, there was the strip pub. This was a uniquely British venue where you could have a pint, some pork scratchings and watch an eczema-suffering mother of three remove her clothes in a manner that managed to be both perfunctory and mildly threatening. Entry to most of these venues was free, though you were encouraged to drop a 20p coin into a pint glass as the stripper went around the room before she started the performance. Presumably this was because you probably wouldn’t be willing to pay afterwards, as you would then know her torso was covered by a bad prison tattoo of an eagle fighting Bart Simpson above the crossed-out name of a former boyfriend. On the up side, some of these venues do offer free roast potatoes on Sundays.
SUET
This dried beef or mutton fat is an essential staple of British cooking and has been furring up the arteries of the nation since time immemorial. It is used with a mixture of dried fruit in Christmas pudding and forms the basis for other hefty desserts, such as spotted dick and treacle pudding, but it is in its various savoury applications that the saturated fat is at its most resplendent. Mixed with flour and steamed, it forms the outer casing of steak and kidney pudding and, most importantly, it is also an ingredient in dumplings. No stew from any corner of the British Isles is complete without these fluffy, doughy balls to soak up the gravy and its flavours. A suet-based main course should always be followed by a suet-based desert, which should be followed by a long lie down and/or a trip to the cardiac unit at the local hospital. Lower fat vegetarian suet is available for those who wish to draw out the process of dying slowly from coronary heart disease, though some claim that the extra years of life do not compensate for the lack of a beefy jam roly-poly on a winter's evening.