This Pleasant Land
England, after the world
My first proper job - well, almost proper job - was as an office boy on the ‘Youth Training Scheme’, for an institution in the City of London. For this I was paid the princely sum of £30 per week - I think, it was 1984 - plus £5 for travel expenses. So I could give myself a decent pay rise by walking to work.
Which meant a daily walk across London’s iconic Tower Bridge (frequently misunderstood to be London Bridge, which it isn’t). That meant seeing many tourists, from all over the World, as they swarmed all over and around the bridge.
It always amused me that these people had spent thousands to come from places like Japan and the US, but for me it was just the end of the street. To them it was an exotic destination, worthy of a large investment to experience, to me it is this funny looking bridge on the edge of my hood. And, of course, where they might be from would probably have been seen as exotic by me. At the time, just about anywhere but London seemed exotic, or at least attractive, in my eyes. Ah, contempt, that fabled offspring of familiarity…
For the longest time this situation continued for me; travel remained restricted to England and Wales. As ever a late starter, I didn’t get a passport until I was in my late twenties. Having said that, I’ve kind of made up for it since then; I’ve been to dozens of other countries on five different continents.
And I’ve seen many beautiful and interesting sights, and fell in love with many places. “Fell in love”…? Does that seem a little strong…? I don’t think so. Some ChatGPT mediated reflection reveals that in a lot of my writing, place is a central character, be it a back road in Spain, a cottage in Wales, or, just the other day, the road from Lechlade to Burford. Other places I could’ve mentioned would be Zamora, a town in Spain, Lake Naivasha in Kenya, and a remote river, as seen from a dugout canoe, in the deep jungle of Honduras.
Yet all this travel had an unexpected effect; it cured me of the contempt I had developed for my home country.
But wait…
What do we mean by ‘country’…? There is the sense of the word as a political unit, i.e. the ‘countries’ of the United Nations, the UK, the USA, etc etc. Then there is the sense of the country, as in the countryside, as in No Country For Old Men, as in the land upon which we tread. Home, the place, as opposed to home, the social unit.
Well, I hope it’s clear that the sense I mean is that of place, that’s what this article is about.
Yet it’s worth mentioning the symbiosis between place and people that exists. Or should exist. Or could exist. This is something that can be missed, in this age of life via technology, brands, and the human-built environment. The symbiosis is weakened when we don’t feed enough - even just visually - on the natural World we coexist with. Different lands are like different foods, and, with consumption, do become part of us, both as individuals and as peoples.
So this land, this England, this Great Britain, is part of me. And I seem to appreciate it more and more as time goes on.
At the moment, it seems the tourist interest in Great Britain means an interest in London, the Cotswolds, and other high profile parts of the country. But of course I drive all over the island, and there is plenty more to delight in. And sometimes the beautiful views are in parts of the country hardly mentioned. Just this week gone by, I found myself on the A5199 between Welford, Northamptonshire, and Leicester, and it was delightful. Later in the week, the views from the A53 between Buxton and Leek, in the Peak District, on a very clear day, were quite spectacular. And these are my day-to-day views, afforded me through my job, and the elevated driving position it entails.
And, of course, each working week begins and ends in The Cotswolds, the part of England between Oxford and Gloucester, a region that is fast becoming known, throughout the World, as the doyen of English rural beauty.
A reputational dynamic that has started to impart the same vibe as I was getting all those years ago, back when I was crossing Tower Bridge. I’m living cheaply in a place where others are paying handsomely to come live. The list of global superstars that live in these parts is seriously impressive. It’s nice to see how many have sold their mansions in California to come and grace us with their presence. It would be fair to wonder who might be next…
Whoever it might be, all I can say is: welcome! And if you are considering dropping that +£20 million on some delightful place, and need to get to know the area, please do feel free to invite me over…
Or… yes, I was going to end there, but I’ve had another idea… or consider employing me as a driver. Aside from writing full time, chauffeuring is the one occupation I’d consider quitting trucking for. I’d be a good personal driver: I’ve got some experience in a similar thing from years ago, I’m a smooth driver with an excellent track record, I know the country well, and have a military background if security is a concern. Anyway, just a thought…