On Being English

Somewhat, sometimes...

I have spent much of my life in a condition of puzzlement over what it means to be English. Although I doubt other people verbalise it as much - I’ve written about the subject repeatedly - I suspect it is something that itches at most people who live in this small country, at some level, particularly those whose ancestry has deep roots here ( as does mine).

This perplexity about Englishness is never so apparent at times of national sporting events. This week we have two big ones - the World Cup and Wimbledon. Most Brits have given up on having a decent British Wimbledon player years ago, but many still entertain a few frayed hopes for our historically disappointing football team. The point is not whether such hopes are valid or not, the point is that at these times, we feel our nationality most acutely, even those who deny it means anything to them in particular. James Graham’s play about the England team, ‘Dear England’ ( and his short film out this week with Ian. McKellen, ‘Love Letter To England’) speaks to this very real feeling, as does David Baddiel’s recent radio series on the interaction between the England football team and ideas of Englishness.

I tend to use the terms English and British interchangeably, although I have always seen myself as English, for some reason ( perhaps it needs no more explanation than people seeing themselves as Scottish or Welsh). But when I think about what this Englishness constitutes, I immediately run into trouble. Drinking tea instead of coffee? But the English drink more coffee than tea nowadays. Queing? Most countries in my experience respect the queue. Politeness? It seems to me we are no more or less polite than most places.