No mini-break to Florence. No lads’ trip to Benidorm. No soul-searching in Southeast Asia. Not even a trip across the channel for cheap cigarettes and copious gooey cheese. Initially, thinking this a terrible tragedy, I quickly came to terms with a ‘holiday’-less British summer, ensuring I had my waterproof jacket ready on hand. But this jet-less and cloudless summer ‘staycation’ turned out to be one of my absolute favourites. I discovered new places and created an even deeper connection and appreciation of the extraordinary culture, heritage and uniquely British beauty which is always lying just under our noses.
Returning home to Wiltshire, I took on my seasonal labouring job for a marquee company based in the neighbouring county of Dorset. Believing that, if I couldn’t drink cocktails on a beach in the Canaries, I might as well earn enough for a few pints of lager in the local pub. The early mornings, six-day weeks and back-breaking work (fuelled by frequent Greggs trips) did not, at first, seem impeccably appealing after the first-year lifestyle of long hangover-inducing nights and recovery mornings.
However, slowly but surely, I began to take recognition of my fortunate circumstances of being in southern England in the summer. First coming in the form of British generosity via endless teas on rainy days and the constant clients’ concerns of “Oh, it is just terribly hot this summer, isn’t it just?” followed by streams of cold drinks and ice. When driving home from yet another tucked-away gorgeous gem of a Dorset village through the flat landscape of the New Forest, whilst simultaneously dodging the freely roaming wild horses, donkeys and cattle, I marvelled at its natural beauty. The large orange sun falling behind the gently billowing chalky mounds of Salisbury Plain always seemed incomparable to my eyes.
To get more of this, I took the plunge and became a member of one of the most elite organisations in the UK (that is ‘elite’ not for its exclusivity but its colloquial version of bloody awesome): the National Trust. I visited many of its incredible protected buildings, including Stourhead House (where I took adequate advantage of recreating Pride and Prejudice scenes), Mottisfont House, Castle Drogo in Cornwall, as well as the 17th-century Godolphin House. These places, built at the height of Britain’s Neoclassical love affair, are truly astonishing pieces of architectural and landscape sculpting achievement.
The large-scale re-evaluation of British history over the past two decades has, rightly so, called into perspective the British role in colonial history and the resulting profit and extraction of wealth from other peoples. And whilst history should, as Sathnam Sanghera argues in Empireland, never be based on aspects of wholly pride and shame, a balancing of imperial beneficiaries vs. atrocities, I believe that there is scope for a level of pride in British history which should be recognised and honoured. This pride in our national historical achievements has taken a hit over the past decade, with a decline from 86% in 2013 to 64% in 2023.
For why does this pride in our nation and its history matter? Having ‘pride’ in Britain can be viewed as extreme, such as the recent far-right ‘Operation Raise the Colours’, and can carry dense connotations of nationalist and ethnocentric sentiment. But pride is far broader, deeper and absolutely vital to any future progress, both economic and social. Celebrating Britain’s versatility, diversity, democracy, inclusivity, and ingenuity is essential to showcasing Britain to the world as a self-believing, worthwhile place to invest. It shows our competitors that Britain is a confident place not to be taken lightly. History is at the heart of allowing a nation to understand itself and how it formed to its present being, and if our history is only perceived as something shameful, despicable and not worth celebrating, then it will only worsen our declining productivity. At the risk of sounding like an enthusiastic personal trainer, ‘If you can’t believe in yourself, you will get nowhere’.
Take the often-criticised stately home as a model. These homes created and sustained entire networks of productive, creative, and interdependent communities, built up of gardeners, farmers, labourers and gamekeepers who were intent on protecting and preserving the British countryside; thatchers, ironmongers and bricklayers sustaining their local designs and customs; and the highly necessary brewers often present in country houses to provide the beer allowance which labourers regularly demanded in the 19th century. My favourite freakishly weird job discovery from the 18th century is the ‘Leech Hunter’ who would wade in ponds and lakes using their own legs as bait to attract leeches to use for medicinal purposes. Whilst no doubt there were some exceptions, it was institutions like these that formed the fabric of much of our culture and our rural environment which we recognise as British, and we should be proud to honour and retain its best traditions.
Visiting Scotland with my family later in the summer, my pride in British landscape, history and culture was confirmed. We went to the Dufftown (not a structural homily to The Simpsons beer brand, to my great disappointment) Highlands Games. Other than the incredible feast of venison burgers and food truck Tikka Masala, the huge Highland band formed from all the local villages, featuring over 100 pipers, bass and snare drummers, was truly a spectacle. In addition, watching a host of burly Scotsmen, whose legs and arms were as thick as the logs that they were throwing, proved a brilliant spectator sport, reminding me of the unique traditions alive and kicking across Britain.
When I visited the Orkneys – the archipelago north of Scotland’s coast – I discovered a moving story and a reminder of our deeply embedded military history. In St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall, I came across the story of HMS Royal Oak, a battleship sunk on 14th October 1939, in Scapa Flow bay, the base of Britain’s home fleet during the two World Wars. Tragically, 834 men died, including over 100 boy seamen under the age of 18. This story, as well as the photos I saw in the Orkney Museum of the entire bay full of Britain’s vast wartime fleet, is a testament to the sacrifice that servicemen and women have made to protect our island nation and its ideals of individual liberty, freedom, and democracy, which hold fast to this day.
Returning to Manchester this September after my ‘staycation’ summer, other than being far less tanned than many of my peers who have spent their summers in Ibiza and Central America, I feel even more connected to my British identity. This island nation is genuinely beautiful, from Dorset’s quaint villages to Scotland’s sublime Highlands to the Fallowfield’s terraced rows, and I feel truly grateful to live in such a magnificent place. Our cultural traditions are fantastically weird and wonderful, not least our highly prestigious culinary palate and unmatched publican house heritage. Our history, though often carrying connotations of a murky and convoluted past, remains something which I believe is deep, rich and fascinating and should be celebrated as well as critiqued. So, if you start thinking about a Christmas present to yourself of a nice sunny trip to the South of Spain, why not become a ‘staycationer’ and a member of the National Trust instead? You won’t miss that trip to Spain.
