I awoke on Monday morning after sleeping fitfully, switched on my computer and was greeted once again by images of terror, grief and despair. A van had ploughed into innocent Muslims as they were leaving the Mosque, having finished their midnight prayers as part of Ramadan. I sat watching those all too familiar scenes and a question began to form in my mind, what does it mean to be British?
I was born in rural middle England, surrounded by rolling hills and hedgerows. My formative years were spent in a quintessential English village, where the highlight of the calendar was the annual Maypole dance and mobile signals were honours only afforded to “Townies”. We had all the amenities you could wish for - a pub opposite the church - evidently all human needs were met. My regular alarm clock was the neighbouring Rooster, although his time keeping was always a few hours out. Summer Sundays consisted of leisurely strolls along with the occasional barbecue, weather permitting. I am the eldest of three boys, brothers that I am extremely proud of, who have become well rounded open minded young men. The village’s population is almost solely Caucasian, with a minute number of BME residents.
Travel thirty miles south and you arrive in a vibrant bustling city, overflowing with vitality and diversity. Every street is peppered with a vast variety of restaurants, offering cuisines from all four corners of the globe. The very fabric of the city is an enormous melting pot of cultures, influences and religions, creating a living embodiment of Britain today. People coexisting alongside one another in harmony, integrating seamlessly with all backgrounds dissolving into a wondrous rainbow of identity.
These two destinations, though very different are both distinctly British. We are an island nation with a strong maritime heritage, sailing the waves absorbing a magnificent array of peoples. Adventure and discovery are written into our DNA, mixed with tolerance, openness and humility. Throughout the centuries Britain has been at the forefront of innovation and technology, magnetically attracting the world’s brightest brains to our shores. Our stoic resilience and intrinsic sense of fairness has seen us punching above our weight in two world wars, silently doing our duty with quiet patriotism.
The reaction to the tragic events of the last three months demonstrates that British altruism is alive and kicking, we keep calm and carry on. In the wake of the horrendous Grenfell tower block fire, entire communities mobilised to create a homegrown organic relief effort, meanwhile the local authorities dithered in the background. We should be immensely proud of the heroism shown by emergency services, when responding to the barbaric acts of terror that we have experienced recently, they fly head long into danger with no regard for their own lives.
I passionately believe that my British identity is a beautifully delicate concoction of Churchillian resolve coupled with an ever burning need to “do the right thing”, something I will always be proud of until the end of my days.
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