An inevitable consequence of exile, self-imposed or otherwise, is the occasional twitch of what I think is best to describe as 'pro-patria-ism'.
In my case it manifests as, 'it's nice, but it's better in England.'
Which is odd - because there isn't an ounce of serious nationalism in my bones (maybe it's hidden in the blood?).
But then - musing further, I am aware of a distinction between patriotism and Nationalism ... but, until today, I wouldn't like to distinguish between the two - even though I knew the difference - one I had, one I didn't.
Today I have had a gleam.
I was sat by the Bega (doing a lot of that recently) sunning myself and listening to a string quartet - by Bliss. It was English. I could never in a month of Sundays tell you why - but that piece of music could not be anything other than the product of someone breed in England (birth is not a pre-requisite). Around the same time, a bird 'gave-it-gip' - and that was English too.
The doves on my window-sill billing and cooing in the morning are nice - but distinctly not (my) English - the bloody blackbird who dawn-choruses at some unearthly hour, is; the sparrows here are not quite urban enough to be English: The Scots pine in the park is - the oak, not quite - it's not English oak, its leaf is not quite right (it is actually a Turkish oak), its acorn perverse in shape.
Around this time it dawned - patriotism is about place - it is the place where you grew, the place which supported; the resources and riches; the shelters and the exposures: Patria is the environment your brain processes and patterns in the same way (and at the same time) as it processes and patterns your home language.
You have as much chance of escaping your patriotism as you have your mother tongue.
Shakespeare tapped in to this in Richard II - The John of Gaunt speech ... he lists the physical. Maybe my performance of this earlier this week at the British Library lay dormant 'til the combined forces of birdsong and music released it; maybe the poem itself has added the glue which cements the connections.
And it's to Shakespeare I first turn for the second half of the 'understanding': Henry V.
As it was St George's Day, and as I was in the mood for fireworks, I included both the 'patriotic' speeches Henry gives - but they are not, I now realise, patriotic - they are Nationalistic.
They are 'band of brother', all together now, we're a special 'breed' speeches - they appeal to the unity of men (and it is a masculine thing). It is an appeal to work together, to hunt, to co-operate; the team spirit. The nation as social unit.
As such, I suspect it has its roots far less deep in our psyche - maybe less deep, but still remarkably powerful.
There is a strong element of attack and challenge in it - of beat down the other. It is an instinct which you find both on the football pitch, and in the crowd watching the game - and in the pubs on the Costa del ... whatever.
It is a transferable instinct though - you can change allegiance: A necessary thing I suspect when groups of hunter-gatherers had to split and separate, to move for mating purposes, to join for the big hunt, but stick to a smaller family group in winter with resources scarce.
I can't avoid my patriotism - the sight of a cloud's shadow passing a patch of green is going to spark memories of the moors of the Peak District - and the chill that goes with it, or the sky lark high above; a sparkle on the Bega will re-awaken smells and sounds of a much dirtier, industrial Manchester ship canal; a glass of cold beer cannot but result in a dull ache - a longing for a firm hand around a cool glass of
Boddington's.
I can transfer my football team allegiance - Poli-Timisoara's results are far more important to me than any English team (although 'the blues' do retain an allegiance - but that I suspect is linked to the Manchester-patriotic in me).
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