Roots: That's what life is about

A few years ago, here, in the outback of Spain,  I met an English person from my neck of the woods and my whole being changed.  My childhood accent returned, one that I had tried so hard to eliminate, yet there it was, waiting to come out of that timeless cupboard. Did I know I was doing it?  No, I didn’t.  After my first encounter with someone who lived very close to me in England, I was taken aback by how my pronunciation had changed in that conversation.  In a way, I felt that I must have been putting it on, yet I hadn’t.  It just came, naturally.  Roots: I will always be an English person at heart.

But was does being English mean?  How can Spanish people single us out as English and not German or French?  Well, my pale skin was the first indicator but then there was the way I walk, the rhythm of my voice and many other little quirks that I don’t notice in myself.  Yet, strangely enough, English abroad don’t necessarily recognise other English, though we may be able to single out Germans or Americans from a distance.

Last week, we were in the South of Spain.  In November, there were no tourists yet the sun was still shining.  Students of Spanish got the chance to practise on the less-harassed Spanish staff and the few English people there were mostly expats.  The ‘fix’ of what I would refer to as a ‘Little Britain’ was welcome though, on this occasion, I didn’t meet any accents similar to mine.  But ‘English’ness was evident.  Shops were ready for English customers, fish and chip shops could be found and Yorkshire puddings were there to be enjoyed.  I suppose that goes to show that there are different kinds of English people.  Some want the sun but with an English lifestyle. Others, like my husband and I, wanted to experience a different lifestyle and, in those first months, wow, was it different.

In Galicia, entertainment as we knew it doesn’t exist, understanding how to approach roundabouts now has to be approached with uncanny care and there doesn’t seem to be such a thing as a takeaway, other than the restaurant will make it for you if you come and pick it up.  Carpets can’t be found, rugs are few and far between (we’re ordering one from Amazon!) and I should imagine there never was a milkman service!  These are the tings that make us English.

I had always been proud to be English but somewhere along the line, at round about forty eight years of age, I became disillusioned.  The years spent in Spain have been wonderful but, at the end of the day, roots really do count.  Being away has helped me be proud again!  Though I wouldn’t want to live in the South of Spain, the box of twelve mince pies that we picked up in an Andalusian supermarket were to die for.  So, what you lose on the roundabouts, you definitely gain on the swings!

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