Wales: Perception and reality: a rant by an Englishman and Celtic hybrid.
Cenedl heb iaith, cenedl heb galon.
According to this article from the BBC News website, Wales is seen as “slightly old fashioned” by potential visitors to the country. Some people apparently view the Welsh as “unfriendly” whilst others, particularly in England, say they felt or might feel excluded by the Welsh language. My new home city, Cardiff, comes in for a bit of kicking in these research findings too with it being described as: “ a city like any other” and “at worse, a bit rough”. Whilst it is made clear that these findings are the result of research targeting people who “don’t know much about Wales”, one should never underestimate the power of stereotypes. As an Englishman (well, technically speaking, I’m a Celtic/English hybrid) who came to Wales once, left and came back again, I thought I’d give my perspective on the perception of Wales and the reality of Wales.
I used to be a regular on the direct train journey from Bangor, North Wales to Birmingham New Street. From university to my Mum and Dad’s house and back again. I used to joke that you could tell when you got to England when you were on that train journey because everything outside the train window became this mass of concrete nonsense and everybody stopped talking to you like you were a human being. The perception that the Welsh are unfriendly sticks in the throat a bit because, from my experience, I know them to be one of the friendliest peoples in the world.
Ok, ok, so being crammed into Revolution last Saturday night with so many people that bumps and scrapes were an inevitability and a fight for oxygen was sure to break out any minute was an “interesting” experience for someone who is relatively new to the whole clubbing thing in the first place. But even in such a place at such a time of night and under such an influence of alcohol, people were still friendly. Victorious New Zealand fans mixed well with their Welsh counterparts and- though he may well kill me for saying this- one of my friends even got a peck on the cheek in a slightly bizarre incident where he moved back to help someone get passed.
I once reassured an Irish woman that I didn’t think that Ireland was like a Father Ted episode and I’d like to reassure those who read this that I don’t entertain clichés about Wales or any other country. I cannot, of course, speak for every Welsh person in Wales or outside Wales. But, from my personal experience of 3 years in North Wales and nearly 6 months in South Wales, I have to say I am touched by the friendship, compassion, understanding and love shown by the Welsh people to their country, to other people and to other countries.
I am also puzzled as to how anyone could feel excluded by the Welsh language. Oh beautiful tongue that art the song of the dragon’s breath. A lot of people asked me during the language learning challenge why I was bothering to learn Welsh, Scots Gaelic, Irish, Cornish and Manx. Surely French or Spanish would be more useful? And besides, I’m English, why was I bothering to learn any languages at all? My reply is now so well trodden by my pen that I am considering putting it on a T-Shirt: I am English but I do not acknowledge the supremacy of my native tongue.
Thinking that I should automatically be understood as a result of the rise and fall of the British Empire’s influence on the world and the fact that blood has been spilled in the advancement of my language is a foundation stone of racism. There is such danger in such thinking. The number of people who speak Welsh does vary depending upon which part of Wales you happen to be in. But one fact worth considering is that native Welsh speakers also speak English. They are prepared to put in the effort to speak English and yet some of us in England have the audacity to sit there and complain about being excluded by the Welsh language. Here’s an idea if you feel excluded by the Welsh language: go and learn it.
Let’s turn to Cardiff, my beloved new home city. It’s not a city like any other. It’s a capital that can hold it’s own with London, Edinburgh and Belfast. I can remember my rushed exit from the West Midlands. All I had was a suitcase and a laptop bag and a vague idea of where I was headed. Running, yes, running. But running more towards a better future than away from a darkened past. In a way that I’m not sure any of my new friends would grasp if I told them, I’d been renewed as a person before leaving for Cardiff and the whole Cardiff plan was basically a random plan made by my new self. So many changes following on from one another.
I slept on my sister’s floor in Hereford one night and headed to the train station the next morning. Full of excitement and anticipation but also nerves. I looked out the window as soon as the train pulled into the station. My instincts were running the show as I’d handed power to them but I couldn’t hear them at that moment. Too little to go on. All I had to go on as far as Cardiff was concerned was glimpses of visits made as part of a long distance relationship and one hospital visit to see my Uncle. I got off the train and did what I always do. I walked around randomly to get an idea of the place. I had to see the bay. People reading this might think I’m nuts but I had to see the bay. Give me anything with water. So long ago, when bad things surrounded me, I found delight in playing with water and that delight has never left me.
Instead of doing the sensible thing and getting the bus or the train, I decided to hop on the sightseeing bus that happened to be parked outside the castle. So, after an early start and a train journey, I ended up sat on an open top bus in the rain. I can remember sitting on that bus and seeing what was around me as the bus drove along. And I said the word: “home”. Because it felt right to say it there and then.
What’s in Cardiff? Everything’s in Cardiff. Culture, music, art, history, politics, pubs, clubs, restaurants, amazing people, beautiful surroundings, beautiful parks, sporting venues, hidden gems…there’s always something going on.
I might get seriously irritated by the whole “isn’t the Welsh/Scottish accent sexy” business that sometimes goes on in this city because it indirectly implies that there isn’t much sexy about English people and their accents, but I love living in the capital city of a proud, gracious nation that looks forward to the future whilst showing genuine respect, passion and love for its heritage. I mean, for goodness sake, they have Land Of My Fathers whilst England is stuck with a boring expression of archaic subservience to a royalist cause.
Before anyone starts, I know this article is unintentionally ironic. I’m complaining about people criticising Wales whilst throwing pot shots at England. But, if you look closely, I’ve qualified myself. I’ve made it clear that this is just my opinion and worth no more or less than that and, unlike the people asked in the research about Wales, I speak from experience about both England and Wales because I have actually been to those two places. That said, I am- mostly- English. Long may the rose stand with the dragon.
