St George's Day- William Shakespeare's birthday.

 St George's Day- William Shakespeare's birthday

Mention St George's Day and your thoughts turn to idyllic England, chocolate box England, the England of symmetrical rows of hedgerows, charming forests and Stonehenge, mystical as ever. It should be the ultimate celebration of everything that is quintessentially English, its patchwork quilt of well manicured meadows, rolling fields, village post offices, homely bakers, butchers, farmers and blacksmiths, people wandering down heavenly country lanes, winding, twisting roads, the picturesque beauty of its glorious landscape. 

Then you think of England at it's most nostalgic, its most sentimental and a country that continues to be self critical, modest about its achievements without gloating about anything in particular. There is still something of the buttoned up reserve about the country, a stubborn refusal to be proud of itself , a sometimes endearing shyness and nervous reticence. But then England harks back to its golden age of steam trains, gorgeous country railway stations with hanging baskets of flowers and all of those historical traditions. But of course it should but there are no fanfares, festivities and frivolities to welcome in the day. 

So why is that that Ireland can indulge themselves in endless Guinness drinking in cosy, low beamed timber pubs and England has only Maypole Dancing accompanied by some rousing renditions of Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory  to show for years and centuries. It almost feels like a pitiful oversight, a sense that England is utterly ashamed of what it may have contributed to what should be a proper recognition of its astonishing multi culturalism, the vibrant summer fetes and mouth watering picnics. 

For England has given literary luminaries such as the poetic genius of Thomas Hardy, the incomparable Charles Dickens, the outstanding social observer, essayist and novelist who broke down so many boundaries in English story telling that it hardly seems possible in hindsight. There was the realistic and earthy authenticity of George Orwell, the controversial, so called morally questionable works of DH Lawrence. But rather than praise the astonishing feats of our greatest writers we choose to think of such gifted men as just passing strangers in the night, important spokesmen but little more. 

And then we think of that turbulent political landscape and how England may have criminally overlooked its most dominant statesmen and particularly one who simply led us to victory and salvation during the Second World War. For most of those miserable and horrendous years of death and destruction, Winston Churchill stood firm, dependable, commanding, loyal to the cause, never beaten or defeated, a man fiercely committed to overcome every single obstacle. 

Churchill was the one man who convinced England that its identity and heritage would never be destroyed by the Nazi stormtroopers. Of course he could be grumpy and cantankerous, a crabby and crotchety politician who must have smoked a thousand cigars for the better part of six years. But for all England's struggles and battles throughout its illustrious and eventful history, England has never given up when all seemed lost. 

Now of course the political scenery at Westminster has turned a rather darker and more worrying shade of rampant patriotism. The Reform UK party have made their considerable presence felt now and there is something very dubious about the intentions of their leader Nigel Farage. Then there are the fiercely nationalistic noises being made by the Green Party. Given half the chance Zak Polansky would probably drive out of England every person who doesn't meet his party's criteria. 

The England of today is one of desolate shopping centres in the hardest hit areas of Northern England, chronic poverty and deprivation in decaying inner city council estates and much more. It is an England tormented by rising unemployment in some areas but not quite so in others. It is a land of colourful and imaginative graffiti on imposing buildings and brick walls. The commercial heartbeat can now be found in its fragrant cafes such as Costa, Nero and Pret A Manger with its wonderful varieties of coffee, tea, latte and cappuccino.  Sadly, the cheap bargain basement goodies to be found in Poundlands are not the prosperous havens they might have been hoping for. 

Still, England will always have its medieval castles nestling comfortably on ancient hilltops, those soaring towers, such stunning chapels and churches that it should take every opportunity to boast about but often can't be bothered to do so. England has its age old bed and breakfast hotels by seaside resorts that have been there since time immemorial, Blackpool, Bournemouth, Brighton, Scarborough, Skegness and Margate to name but a few. England loves its to prove a point, a case to state, forthright opinions from all four corners of the land.

Maybe one day England will once again pay tribute and glowing homages to its most classical music, its precious inventors and creators. It should shout from the rooftops its John Logie Baird and Alexander Graham Bell but rarely does, although from time to time extolling the virtues and inventions of radio and TV with gushing words and fulsome flattery. St George's Day has to be that special day of rejoicing. And perhaps it'll be acknowledged as such.