(Photo opposite: Market in Amersham) This will not be the most popular piece I have ever written. It describes impressions of a visit to England in June 2007. Overall those impressions signalled a profoundly disappointing experience. You have been warned!
OK, so my timing wasn’t brilliant. My visit coincided with floods, a ‘terrorist’ alert and the whole of England becoming a ‘puff where you dare’ zone (the non-smoking rule came into effect on July 1st.) And it is true that my perception may well have been coloured by the purpose of my visit which was for medical checks. Wall to wall procedures like colonoscopies and cystoscopies at one end do not make for rose tinted spectacles at the other.
Inevitably my perception is also coloured by 15 years of living in a developing country – the Dominican Republic. I am now used to strangers greeting me with a smile which I reciprocate. Try that in Chalfont St. Peter High Street! You know your smile is breaking some sort of unwritten taboo when people step backwards, stare fixedly and then mutter something uncomplimentary to their companion. ‘Where are the men in white coats?’ comes to mind. I actually heard a mother say to her offspring ‘Ignore her, Johnny, she’s one of those simple people’. The child’s offence, of course, was to return the smile.
England, my England, what has happened to you?
OK, so I’ve changed but then so has the United Kingdom! I’ll admit some of it is my fault. Prices have gone up since I left and indeed since my last visit 3 years ago: constantly asking ‘how much?’ in tones of incredulity probably wears a bit thin on the recipient. Reactions varied from hostility (the defensive ‘well don’t blame me, I don’t set the prices’) to judgemental amazement (as in ‘you ought to know the prices’) to pity for the penurious woman who obviously had to count every penny. The culture in which I live in the Dominican Republic, on the other hand, exhibits no modesty about checking prices; on the contrary people often look at the amount of money in their hand and then ask for 30 pesos worth of cheese, for example. The parameter is affordability not weight.
Sometimes it is genuine error or lack of knowledge, what I call my ‘ooops’ moments. One such occurred during my 2002 visit to the UK whilst driving in rural Flackwell Heath, Buckinghamshire. I spotted theodolites and men who looked like they could be engineers measuring something or other then FLASH! Some device they had rigged up flashed a blinding light directly into my eyes. Since that would be dangerous for drivers I pulled over and got out to tell them that their device was obviously malfunctioning. From the number of other cars parked in the normally deserted country area and people milling around it looked as if others had had the same experience.
So how many people does it take to get the message across? I explained to the young man with the clipboard about my blinding experience. His eyes widened. I sensed incredulity. Then pity. What I didn’t sense was a willingness to correct the problem.
‘Look I really think you need to do something about this. It’s a safety hazard. I’ll need to report this to the local police’.
‘I am the police, madam’. (Ooops. Uniforms had changed since my last visit).
‘Oh well…….good, you can do something about it then’ (hastily into rapid recovery mode – another attribute learned in the Dominican Republic).
‘Madam, which planet do you live on?’
‘Excuse me?’
And then the penny dropped. They had installed speed cameras since my last visit to England. The other people ‘milling around’ were, apparently drivers who had infracted the restrictions……….
By 2007, you’ll be pleased to know, they have managed to get it right and these devices no longer blind the unsuspecting. In fact they have it so right that they seem to have hidden most cameras behind trees ready to catch you out. Hardly cricket, old boy.
The 2007 visit was not without it ‘ooops’ moments either. I had flown back to the UK on a tourist charter flight – the only direct flight currently available out of the DR bound for the UK. Scheduled flights necessitate a change of aircraft and the most convenient ones from the north coast of the DR mean that change occurs in the US, where for some of us convenience diminishes due to airport routines!
Tourist flights are notorious for arriving at ‘anti-social’ hours and thus it was that I landed at Gatwick airport in the UK at 5.20 am after a 9 hour flight. I contacted the off airport car hire company to collect my pre-arranged vehicle and their transport duly picked me up and gave me an exhilarating tour of Crawley and environs, and particularly the industrial estate where the company was based. Fatigue prevented full appreciation of this tour; it was three weeks later that I realised I should have been noting landmarks with hawk-eyed intensity. Three weeks later I was returning the car to the off-airport site – fate must have taken a hand since by three weeks later there had been a ‘terrorist alert’ at a Scottish airport so returning cars to on-airport sites became fraught. However, the good denizens of Crawley seem blissfully unaware that they have a number of industrial estates in their midst so finding the place to return the car was a bit of an adventure. The problem was eventually solved by chasing a UPS delivery man around the ring road until I could gesticulate wildly enough to get him to pull over. He probably thought I was one of those ‘simple people’ too.
That, however, was all ahead and here I had just arrived and was about to take possession of a shiny new Vauxhall Corsa: I was given a black box device on a key ring.
‘What’s this?’
‘Your key, madam’.
‘Oh. How does it work?’
Silly me. The assistant launched into his patter in a broad Sussex accent which, I have to say, not being tuned into, floored me somewhat. And remember I am a native English speaker. I got as far as ‘Prezz this’ indicating a silver button; out popped a metal object which looked like a cross between a screwdriver and a pipe prodder. H’mmmm………..I have to jemmy my way into this car? But no……..it fitted the ignition so this was obviously the ‘key’. Where I live we have real keys which fit the door lock and ignition.
I must have missed the part of the monologue which addressed how to open the car or perhaps ‘ye be prezzing this yare’ wasn’t terribly explicit. I attempted a few questions: however, all this produced was a repetition of the complete patter from the beginning and with the teeniest hint of impatience. I tried again but it was like I had dropped a coin in the slot. The patter started for the third time. From the beginning.
It occurred to me that ‘learning by doing’ might be the answer. Unlocking the driver’s door by pressing one side of the black box device was relatively simple. Encouraged I moved on to the car boot where they had placed my suitcase and hand luggage. And……..drew a blank. No amount of pressing the black device produced a positive result. I was about to try to climb into the boot from the back seat of the car to the amused but immotile stares of ‘ye be prezzing this yare’ when the transport driver (tours of Crawley all-inclusive) took pity on me. There was a double locking device which controlled the boot, he explained. A light bulb moment! The driver also commented that the assistant had not explained this pertinent feature. I left them arguing as I drove off.
Days later I discovered that my ineptitude with the black box may not have been entirely the result of my own stupidity. My hosts in Buckinghamshire had had similar problems with their ‘keys’. Jim had had his new van some six months and still hadn’t cracked the system, he told me adding ‘Wait till the alarm goes off………….’
Perhaps the most noticeable changes in England were among the population at large. It may not be politically correct to note the ethnic changes in demography. A multicultural population has now infused even the sleepiest of English villages; the fact that many of these people were born and bred in the UK does not seem to be factored into what can only be described as rumbling resentment. But then such resentment stems as much from emotion as from intellect. What is not in doubt is that it is there and not very far from the surface. And that it is nothing to do with terrorism and everything to do with numbers.
And time and again I came across examples which really made me wonder whether the national psyche had changed. Brits used to be famous (nay notorious!) for thinking outside the box, defending their rights against any unthinking one-size-fits-all authority. Now there seems to be compliant yet reluctant acceptance. Is this acquiescence or submission? The British pub, of which there are fewer and fewer ‘real’ ones left, became a non-smoking zone during my visit. Now of course non-smokers should have their health rights protected but seemingly no-one thought about choice. The provision of facilities which would meet the needs of those who don’t and those who do; the understanding that one size doesn’t necessarily fit all.
(Photo opposite: English Pub in Amersham)Step ever so slightly outside the box in England and you become one of those ‘simple people’. From the arrogance of Customer Disservice Departments whose mission, whatever it might be as it is clearly not to serve customers, to police officers more intent on pointing out a possible ‘rule’ you might be breaking than on finding out what information you wanted to give them or question you wanted to ask them, there were signs that Big Brother is taking over and inhabitants were powerless to resist. You don’t need to be a student of history to recall other notable periods when such a national psyche facilitated some of the most far reaching tragedies the world has ever known…………
Certainly some of the incumbents of that great British institution, the Police Force, have changed. One evening after one of the nether region medical procedures referred to at the outset I was sent to find the 24 hour pharmacy to obtain medications. Spotting a police officer I pulled over to ask directions. Before I had the chance to open my mouth his exact words were
‘Did you know you’ve stopped at a junction?’
‘Good gracious! Have I? Really? Where’s Tesco’s?’ I was tempted to add ‘So you don’t want to know about the bank robbery happening just down the street then?’ but I forbore. My hosts later told me I could have been arrested for stopping at the wrong place. I reflected that the police in the Dominican Republic might tap you for 20 pesos and some are extremely corrupt but at least they do it with charm and a smile……….
Big Brother is also, for some in England, the national entertainment pastime. This is one of those reality TV shows which throws a motley assortment of people together who want their 15 weeks of ‘fame’ and waits to see the sparks fly. Cheap entertainment in every sense of the word but it has a plethora of spin offs. Not only can you watch Big Brother ‘Live’ (slight misuse of the term), Big Brother Highlights (large misuse of the term!), discussions with a studio audience as to what is going on or likely to and the final betrayal ‘Big Brother On The Couch’ where allegedly qualified psychiatrists and psychoanalysts ‘analyse’ the group dynamics. Dynamic it isn’t, anal………..is another story. The sheer banality left me………..well, speechless! And it probably didn’t do too much for the psychiatrists’ professional reputations either.
At least the weather reminded me of home in the Dominican Republic. During my stay there were some downpours of tropical intensity. British drivers, to me, drive at fast speeds; they are, however, predictable. Dominican drivers drive slowly, in the main, but are totally unpredictable. On the M40 one evening driving from Oxford to Buckinghamshire I encountered torrential ran with forked lightening appearing to hit the road. The visibility was minimal. In the DR we also get torrential rain but driving ceases in such conditions. On the M40 everyone continued driving AND at the same speed. If I had not had to get to where I was staying and take medicine for the following day’s colonoscopy (the details of which will be left to the reader’s imagination) I too would have pulled over and stopped. As it was I continued albeit at a speed which I deemed safe approximately 30 mph. And got noisily hooted by the impatient drivers behind me who clearly had a death wish. And OK I was in the middle lane but only because the slow lane was completely waterlogged and I had no wish to test the aquaplaning capabilities of the hire car. Later my hosts told me it was a good thing I hadn’t pulled over to the hard shoulder and stopped because someone had got arrested for doing just that………….
Of course it is always a pleasure to visit friends; my hosts could not have made me more welcome even though they were inconvenienced by a medical emergency of mine whereby they seriously thought I was going to croak! And I met some delightful new friends whose generosity at allowing a stranger into their home to use their computer reminded me of the way England used to be. But my overall impression of England was of a country more hidebound by petty bureaucracy than it had been 15 years earlier and a population without sufficient time or energy to combat this. Indeed the only active group of combatants were some 77 year old pensioners who were refusing to pay an increase in their community tax which had not been matched by an increase in their old age pensions.
I took a tourist flight back to Puerto Plata three weeks later having survived ‘heightened security’ at Gatwick airport. I won’t elaborate on the details; suffice to say that a more appropriate description might be ‘heightened panic’. When I deplaned at Puerto Plata the tourists all stood in line to pay their entry visa. I stepped out of line because as a resident it does not apply to me & the immigration hall official seeing a gringa suggested I get back in line. So I explained in Spanish that I was a returning resident and showed my residencia. And then I knew I was home. The man’s face changed, beaming smiles, ‘Welcome home Doña! I’m very happy for you’, personal escort to the immigration desk marked ‘Returning Dominicans’, more beaming smiles, through the procedures in about one minute and an escort to the Chief Immigration Officer of the day for the final passport check ‘I’m really happy you’ve come home, Doña’. And he was! But not half as happy as me!
Oh and the medical checks? I’ll live to write another article! Hopefully even another book……………
Ginnie Bedggood’s story of relocating to the Dominican Republic in 1992 Quisqueya: Mad Dogs and English Couple is published as an ebook on Offshore Wave. To buy the ebook click here:
Quisqueya: Mad dogs and English couple by Ginnie Bedggood
For more information visit her website at www.ginniebedggood.com
For more information on the rural, historic area of England where Ginnie stayed, Amersham, Buckinghamshire, please visit
Places To Visit Around Amersham
Amersham News Views & Information
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