An Enid Blyton moment
The UK I live in bears little or no resemblance to the UK of the books I've read. I came here expecting the modernity of the US but mixed with lashings of Enid Blyton. So you can guess at my disappointment when I found almost no traces of the life she detailed so enchantingly in her books.
The UK I live in is a wet, grey, miserable world peopled with menacing hoodie-clad youngsters and children you'd rather not come across in a group. It is a UK of rampant, violent, bullying and ASBOs (anti-social behaviour orders given to young offenders). Of the highest teen pregnancies in Europe. Of persistent underachievement in education (you need only 25% marks in math for a C grade in GCSE; to think that in my year in Hyd the PASS mark was 40/100). Of vast numbers of youth not in education, employment or training. Of a growing benefit culture. Of binge drinking and wanton violence. Of racism...
So imagine my delight when I catch a bit of Blyton gleaming through the muck. A few times now over the past two years, I've experienced an Enid Blyton moment in Swansea. The first time was I think on November 08, 2003, barely days after I'd set foot here, when I saw Mumbles. Now Mumbles is this quaint, fashionable part of Swansea seemingly preserved in the pre WW-II era. There's a picturesque section right at the end of the winding road up hill, overlooking the sea, a lighthouse, and a rocky little beach. There is even a little cafe with a marvellous view where it's possible to picture Roger, Diana, Snubby and Barney eating ices and drinking lemonade as Loony and Miranda gamboll around.
In March 2004 I discovered scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. And the next month on a trek up a Brecon hill I saw a family picnicking by a stream. Like the quintessential EB day out, the children wore swimsuits and shorts and towels ran around playing with colourful kites and balls, while the adults sat on rugs and laid out food hampers.
This August, on impulse, we drove down to Llandeilo (khlan-dye-lo) one sunday and made our way to Carreg Cannen Castle. The castle ruins are set up a steep hill dotted with sheep. Once inside you could see simply miles of the countryside. There was even a primitive toilet with a drain intact. Easy to see Julian, Dick, Anne, George and Timmy setting out on an adventure.
And then just last week on a bus to town, I saw a group of youngsters practicing lacrosse! Quite made my day, I can tell you.
The UK I live in is a wet, grey, miserable world peopled with menacing hoodie-clad youngsters and children you'd rather not come across in a group. It is a UK of rampant, violent, bullying and ASBOs (anti-social behaviour orders given to young offenders). Of the highest teen pregnancies in Europe. Of persistent underachievement in education (you need only 25% marks in math for a C grade in GCSE; to think that in my year in Hyd the PASS mark was 40/100). Of vast numbers of youth not in education, employment or training. Of a growing benefit culture. Of binge drinking and wanton violence. Of racism...
So imagine my delight when I catch a bit of Blyton gleaming through the muck. A few times now over the past two years, I've experienced an Enid Blyton moment in Swansea. The first time was I think on November 08, 2003, barely days after I'd set foot here, when I saw Mumbles. Now Mumbles is this quaint, fashionable part of Swansea seemingly preserved in the pre WW-II era. There's a picturesque section right at the end of the winding road up hill, overlooking the sea, a lighthouse, and a rocky little beach. There is even a little cafe with a marvellous view where it's possible to picture Roger, Diana, Snubby and Barney eating ices and drinking lemonade as Loony and Miranda gamboll around.
In March 2004 I discovered scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream. And the next month on a trek up a Brecon hill I saw a family picnicking by a stream. Like the quintessential EB day out, the children wore swimsuits and shorts and towels ran around playing with colourful kites and balls, while the adults sat on rugs and laid out food hampers.
This August, on impulse, we drove down to Llandeilo (khlan-dye-lo) one sunday and made our way to Carreg Cannen Castle. The castle ruins are set up a steep hill dotted with sheep. Once inside you could see simply miles of the countryside. There was even a primitive toilet with a drain intact. Easy to see Julian, Dick, Anne, George and Timmy setting out on an adventure.
And then just last week on a bus to town, I saw a group of youngsters practicing lacrosse! Quite made my day, I can tell you.
posted by Sabiha | 10:07 AM
6 Comments:
Of course, you might have experienced less "racism" if you'd made an effort not to offend the people whose country you settled in.
Do you mean I should try to hide the colour of my skin so that I don't provoke the locals into calling me "Paki" while on my evening walk? Or get my mother-in-law to not wear a salwar kameez on the short walk from our house to the local Co-op because it might intimidate them? Or let colleagues question my English, when theirs is flawed, and not stand up for myself? Or not speak my mind on my own blog for fear of offending people who choose to make anonymous comments?
good for you sabs. enough of this trash!!
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
I have read the blog as well and I don't see how it incites racial hatred!! All of the things mentioned in the blog are true and if you read any national newspaper you would have known this for yourself. Mr/Ms 'anonymous'- you are clearly talking through your hat with your absurd comments. I get the feeling that you are someone who is trying too hard to either improve race relations or have probably experienced some 'racial' trauma yourself. And as someone once said - 'the lady (or you in this instance) protesteth too much'.
p.s. there is nothing wrong in maintaining one's cultural identity and not forgetting your roots.
sabiha, i just read this blog and the idiot's comment. in fact, it was the same sense of betrayal i felt because in india, we grow up with so much english literature and music. i faced two separate racist incidents in a month in london and i don't think i was insulting anyone. however, my english friend, felix, was deeply ashamed because one of them occurred on the tube as i was going to meet him in hampstead. it's true that there are far too many yobs and creeps, and reading your mail makes me even more convinced that we shouldn't send shankar to study in england. it's not that you don't have racist swiss, but they're more restrained on the whole!
Post a Comment
<< Home