Reaching Albion: a few first impressions

Why did I come to England? Twenty years on and counting, I can’t put my finger on an exact reason; fate has certainly played a part. After applying for a place at London University I was given an interview in early May and when the time came I started getting organised for my British adventure. Britain is known to be a cold country, no matter the season, so I packed a suitcase full of woollies and took off on a warm Spring morning, in my thickest winter coat.

I’ve always been of a pragmatic nature which is mirrored in my love of action and organising anything I come across such as my day, my husband, my friends, my work, life in general, and occasionally the world. A sort of practical Midas touch – which admittedly can result a little overwhelming and I’m trying to devise a strategy to be a little more disorganised.

As we landed in London, the pilot announced with glee that the temperature outside was 20 degrees, but I was determined not to alter my plans. As I boarded the tube, tugging my huge luggage along, I started nevertheless to feel the heat. A bottle of wine had been broken in the carriage, and my vapours (by then the carriage had turned into a Turkish Bath) mingled with the alcohol ones, put me into a state of sleepy stupor. So, I stepped into the Shepherds Bush pavement and noises in a haze, but still refused to take my coat off. You must be prepared for life’s occurrences and once you’ve made up your mind you shouldn’t budge – even if you are sizzling like a haddock in a frying-pan.

On the subject of pragmatism, the British too strike me as a pretty organised and methodical people. It’s not a mere coincidence that empirical thought played such an important part in the philosophical life of the nation with thinkers such as Locke and Hume. I wonder why Britain is so practical. A German scholar of Greek philosophy once wrote that according to him Greek thought is so clear and harmonious because of the bright, clean light pouring over the island. I wonder if the foggy, cloudy British weather has led the Brits to feel a particular need to hang on tightly to reality.

Being pragmatic the British often adopt a systematic approach to things. For example, a few years ago I was having a stroll in Regent’s Park on a very cold August morning. In front of me a young father was walking holding his small son’s hand. At some point the child, who was wearing a light T-shirt, complained that he was cold. ‘Of course you’re not cold, this is Summer, and Summer is a warm season’ came the matter-of-fact reply.

The British weather has always provided endless fascination to the island’s inhabitants. I remember my school teacher of French literature and language (I attended a French Lycée in Milan) explaining to us this typically British past-time as we were reading Orson Well’s The Invisible Man in translation. I found this odd; in Milan the weather is on the whole good or bad without much left to add. Now that I’ve lived in Britain for several years, I know that the four seasons can appear in one day and such meteorological volubility gives scope for much speculation.

Another aspect of British pragmatism which follows partly from the country’s stable history, probably instrumental in developing a sense of social belonging and responsibility, is the Brits’ love of precision mirrored in the importance given to detail (by contrast Italy became a united country only in 1861). When I started living in London, I was surprised to hear my acquaintances describing the journey from the tube to their homes as ‘seven-minutes-long’. In Italy, the same journey would have taken ‘around ten minutes’. A dear friend was once commenting on the cherry tree in his Surrey garden saying that it usually flowered about 35%. In Italy this tree simply wouldn’t have flowered much.

British precision also manifests itself is the importance traditionally given by the Brits to the spoken word and ‘commitment’. If Margaret Thatcher made a promise, she kept it – whatever you thought about her politics. If Bettino Craxi, Italy’s Prime Minister during the 80s, made a promise, you knew that, as the Italian saying goes, it was made of dung. Of course, you can’t tar all Italian politicians with the same brush, and in this misty political landscape a few bright lights shine through.

I must add that today’s British politicians – left, right and centre – are unfortunately not made of Thatcher’s mettle…

And finally a few considerations about Britain’s love for teddy-bears. In my travels through the country’s towns and villages, I’ve often noticed some windows behind which small gatherings of teddies stare at passers-by. They come in all shapes and sizes, and sometime other soft toys join the furry party to create a strikingly incoherent little community. This unusual passion for teddies makes me wonder. Does it originate in an education system which probably went on until the 1950s and used to be particularly strict? Does it manifest a need for some warmth and affection?

I used to rent a room with a sophisticated family in London Chelsea. The husband had a rather military demeanour and would drown any unfortunate squirrel who’d dare trespass into his garden. But at the ripe age of sixty he owned several teddies, all with their own names. If there was some slight tension between us, the stern authoritarian would often set up a ‘teddy show’ for my own enjoyment.

As I’m finishing to write this post the phone rings; it’s my mum from Milan. She’s very happy and explains that she’s just bought a key-ring decorated by two minute teddies hugging each other. I puzzle a moment and then the Italian saying comes to mind: ‘all the world is a country’.

The End