An Englishman in Strasbourg

So went the question punted my way by a Frenchman standing in front of a bonfire last Saturday night.

How to answer? At school we’re taught the ‘official’ version of the origins of the celebration, which recounts how a group of bad men plotted to blow up the houses of parliament but failed. However, even when you’re only five years old - you have to ask what on earth the bonfire, effigy burning and fireworks are all about then?

Indeed, there are many theories behind that one, as an Irish friend put to me once “It’s all about burning Catholics”. In Lewes in Surrey they also celebrate the ‘glorious revolution’ on Guy Fawkes night (when William of Orange invaded and sent the last Catholic heir to the English throne packing) by, amongst other things, burning effigies of Pope Paul V. So it would seem that there might be a modicum of truth in the whole anti-catholic thing? And it does seem that many Catholics, and Irish in particular, take offence at the very idea of Guy Fawkes night.

But however offended our Catholic friends might be, their offence should not be based upon the origins of the festival, which was actually created by an Act of Parliament appointing 5 November as a day of thanksgiving for “the joyful day of deliverance”.

The act of course, did not specify just HOW people should celebrate, and so it is not surprising that one or two revellers got over-excited and started chucking anti-catholic sentiment onto the flames … which was somewhat inevitable given that it was a Catholic conspiracy to blow up the protestant King and Parliament!

But in reality, we don’t really celebrate the ‘deliverance’ of the idiot King James and his protestant aristocrats. Why should we? None of them were democratically elected, and it is true that they were probably being a bit ‘down’ on Catholics at the time. So the only moral high-ground I can find, and reason to celebrate, is the sheer bloody luck of catching a terrorist gang moments before they were about to plunge the entire nation into a state of anarchy.

That’s what Guy Fawkes night is really all about in my mind - luck … and baked potatoes.

Every time I take a trip over to the UK I usually take the opportunity to bring myself up to speed with current affairs. After all, what we hear in France of Britain is usually little more than politics or a little bit of European social commentary.

It says a lot about Britain then, when there is war in DR Congo, financial meltdown across the planet, bombings in the middle east and the US presidential election - that the lead story for the entire three days of my visit should be taken up with celebrity scandal.

It was only recently that I noted the home nation’s obsession with celebrity, but nothing demonstrated it more aptly than the events last week. Even the BBC were guilty of giving in to tabloid pressure and saturating their own broadcasts with ‘giving the people what they want’.

In a nutshell this is the story:

Two celebrities are a bit rude to another celebrity on a national radio show. Insulted celebrity complains to radio channel, sparking off a media storm braying for the blood of the guilty parties. As a result one resigns, the other is suspended and the head of the radio channel also resigns.

The disproportionate coverage this story received, and no doubt is still receiving but thankfully we don’t hear about it in France, is insulting. Not just insulting to the victims of the crimes and disasters that are playing out around the world as we speak, but insulting to the British public.

What sort of skewed version of reality would we have if every time a minor celeb was slightly rude to someone it made headline news?

While the French are not free of criticism, at least they know the difference. Rule number one, for any French editor worth his salt, is that any story involving Carla Bruni should be relegated to the end of the news, or preferably ignored entirely.

The French ‘Devise’ is well known to all those who have ever studied any aspect of French history. The three principles upon which the republic are founded are engraved into the very soul of the nation: liberté, égalité, fraternité (Freedom, Equality, Brotherhood). And these three principles are easy to see in action in everyday France:

• Freedom: The French will park wherever they like, let their dogs poop wherever they like and say whatever they like (which we British regard as quite simply rude!).
• Equality: Every Frenchman is born equal, more or less. i.e. there are no lords and ladies here.
• Brotherhood: How else would you explain French protectionism and the socialist model?

The result is a country that has patriot citizens from the wind swept Brittany coast to the sun drenched Cote d’Azur, each and every man easily identifiable by his belief in the founding principles of republic.

But what does Britain have? The Magna Carta. That’s it. A crusty old document that says the King (of England) will mind his own business. Hardly a rallying point for the common man now is it? No wonder the break up of the UK is fast approaching.

So, if we had to create our own British ‘Devise’ or motto if you will, what three words would sum up the British? Here’s a suggestion:

• Property: From the national obsession with owning a little patch of the planet to youth ‘Bling’ culture, Britain cannot hide it’s love affair with money
• Celebrity: The middle classes aspire to become Lords and Ladies, the working classes aspire to become Big Brother contestants, and the British press would not survive otherwise.
• Nostalgia: As a nation we are are haunted by the past; by the 1966 football World Cup; by the Empire; by Churchill, Nelson, Brunel, Newton, Darwin, Logie-Baird; by the Act of Union. And we’ll whinge and whine, until the cows come home, about just how good things used to be.

Okay, I’ll admit it’s a bit damning, and to be honest I wasn’t entirely sure whether ‘Humour’ should have been the third word; but when you think about it, the cornerstone of British humour is satire. Which is to say, our entire sense of humour is based on our own failings as a nation, which is just another way of whinging if you ask me.

So there you have it: your average Brit (as far as I’m concerned) will be a home-owning, Daily Mail-reading, whinger. Am I wrong?

…is that there are many problems. Many of which are neatly encapsulated in my former home town of Frome in Somerset. With a population of around 25,000; it is not dissimilar to many other small towns up and down the country that together share many, yet quintessentially British, problems*.

On the plus side - Frome is now hailed as a cultural gold-mine by publications such as The Times, partly because it has retained many of it’s older buildings and therefore retained much of it’s olde worlde charm. Surrounded too by some pretty villages, scenery and attractions also makes it’s location hard to beat, certainly if you’re after a break from the city. But for me that’s where the positives end.

The sad fact is that Frome has been mismanaged for decades. Rarely has anything been done, built or planned for the public good; residential property development, commercial interests and a general NIMBY attitude by those in a position to solve issues have perpetually taken precedence over the actual needs of the town.

These are the things that upset me most about Frome:

• The town’s railway station is a joke. The overgrown platform is too short to accommodate trains of more than six coaches. There are only two direct services to London per day (five days a week) even though Frome is on the mainline into Paddington. The local service to the nearest interchange at Westbury (smaller than Frome!) runs once an hour - with no evening service to speak of. The ticket office has been replaced by a machine. A single taxi firm has a monopoly over the non-existent Taxi rank outside, and they are based out of a neighbouring town - so start walking!
• Frome’s dying town centre is congested, dirty and a nightmare for pedestrians. Attempts to solve this issue have included moving the town’s only source of commerce, it’s farmers market, to an out of town location six miles away; discouraging car use by charging for parking; allowing the construction of two large out-of-town supermarkets out on the by-pass; oh yes - and closing the central Post Office. Recently, a golden opportunity to create a relief road, via Welshmill, when the Singers factory closed, was ignored in favour of a (fast buck) large residential property development. Because of this, the town’s most picturesque street is still not yet pedestrianised.
• Frome used to be able to boast about being home to the biggest one-day farmers show in Britain. The Cheese Show, due to it’s importance to the local community at one time it had it’s own set-aside land near the middle of the town which although standing empty most of the year, was also a great open space facility to the locals. Now of course - a large (fast buck) residential development sits where the show once took place, and the Show itself now takes place in a field four miles out of town - and is now probably the country’s smallest one-day show.

Frome is now simply a large suburb (and property ‘hotspot’ (YAWN!)) serving as a commuter belt to far better managed towns in the vicinity. If the town’s (and Britain’s) masters had ever taken a vaguely socialist leaning towards transport, infrastructure and public facilities - then I might have been tempted back by now.

The contrary is what I love about living in France. All these things are placed above personal ambition and money-making because ultimately what the French value most is, not property or money, but quality of life.

*note to Management consultants - a ‘problem’ is like an ‘issue’ only harder to spell