How can you see anything if your nose is right up against it? I know
when we were in England, enveloped in her life at close quarters,
bewildered by the daily din of the newspapers, stunned by the cries of
the politicians, distracted by the denouncements, accusations, revilings
with which the air was convulsed, and acutely aware of the background of
sad drizzling rain on the pavements, and of places like Cromwell Road
and Shaftesbury Avenue and Ashley Gardens being there all the time,
never different, great ugly houses with the rain dripping on them,
gloomy temporary lodgings for successive processions of the noisy
dead,--I know when we were in the middle of all this, right up tight
against it, we couldn't see, and so we forgot the side of England that
was great.
But when she went to war we were not there; we had been out of her for
months, and she had got focussed again patriotically. Again she was the
precious stone set in a silver sea, the other Eden, demi-Paradise, the
England my England, the splendid thing that had made splendid poets, the
hope and heart of the world. Long before she had buckled on her
sword--how easily one drops into the old language!--long before there
was any talk of war, just by sheer being away from her we had
re-acquired that peculiar aggressive strut of the spirit that is
patriotism. We liked the Swiss, we esteemed them; and when we crossed
into Italy we liked the Italians too, though esteeming them less,--I
think because they seemed less thrifty and enjoyed themselves more, and
we were still sealed up in the old opinion that undiscriminating joyless
thrift was virtuous. But though we liked and esteemed these people it
was from a height. At the back of our minds we always felt superior, at
the back of our minds we were strutting. Every day of further absence
from England, our England, increased that delicious sub-conscious
smugness. Then when on the 4th of August she 'came in,' came in
gloriously because of her word to Belgium, really this little house
contained so much enthusiasm and pride that it almost could be heard
cracking.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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