England Dreaming, the Break-Up of Britain and What Orson Welles Knew
Cowley, Jason, New Statesman (1996)
What does England want? What kind of country do we who call ourselves English wish to live in and be part of as good citizens, in an age of supranational institutions, of fluid, compound identities and of shared or conflicting sovereignties? Questions of national identity and purpose--especially for England, the dominant nation in these islands--will become even more pressing in 2014 as the September date of the referendum on Scottish independence approaches and we confront what seemed inconceivable only a few years ago, the possible break-up of the Union of Great Britain, with all the ramifications that it would have for the United Kingdom in the world.
Visit Scotland and you know an urgent and vibrantly self-questioning conversation is taking place. The Scottish elites--political, academic, journalistic, artistic, business--are grappling every day with fundamental questions of history, sovereignty, identity and culture. They are turning inwards but also looking outwards, daring to imagine what it might mean for Scotland to go its own way as a small nation in the world, bereft of all the supporting structures of the British state.
In England, by contrast, there is no such comparable conversation. Too many people, it seems to me, are either uninterested in the constitutional question or simply believe, or prefer to believe, that the Scots, when ultimately forced to choose, will opt for what they know. Certainly too many Westminster MPs--including many senior members of the Labour shadow cabinet--are complacent defenders of our existing constitutional settlement, the frustrations and inadequacies of which have left many Scots actively working towards separation and many English feeling disenfranchised and voiceless.
The last of England
As someone who was born in the 1960s, the son of wartime evacuees from London, I had a sense from an early age that England, or Britain (during my childhood the two nouns seemed to be interchangeable), was oppressed by a lost greatness. As my father grew older, he seemed to become ever more nostalgic for an England that no longer existed--or had never existed, except perhaps as a construct of the imagination. He spoke to me often about the war years and what it was like to have lived through the Blitz--his father refused to leave the house during air raids, even though other houses on their road were bomb-ruined and fire-destroyed. My paternal grandfather was a fatalist, and, as it happened, luck was on his side: he lived until he was nearly 90.
A sweeter, purer past
In Jeremy Paxman's latest book, Great Britain's Great War, he writes that the end of the First World War was the point at which "the British decided that what lay ahead of them would never be as grand as their past; the point at which they began to walk backward into the future".
I thought of these words last week when I went to see the Royal Shakespeare Company's production of Richard II, with David Tennant impressively foppish and camp in the title role, at the Barbican in London. …