My home is my castle

Sehr geehrter Herr Stern…,

Or…

Dear Ernst…

May I call you Ernst? No? Ok…

I’m an Englishman, Herr Stern, who loves Germany. I also love the Germans. A marvellous country full of marvellous people. This, as I am sure you will appreciate, is at odds with the more widely received opinion over here; that for us Engländer, there can be greater joy than “Fritz,” “the Hun,” “the Krauts” (it depends on which newspaper you read, Herr Stern) lose at something, and the more humiliating the defeat, the better.

Preferably whilst playing football, of course, but anything will do; anything to “wipe the smug smile off of their sauerkraut-munching gobs.” (A sample quotation lifted from a recent Euro 2004 magazine.)

Even the smallest triumph over you, our beloved teutonic neighbours, and you’ll hear loud chants of “two world wars and one world cup, doo-dah, doo-dah” being slurred all over the streets at closing time.

When it is the English who are the architects of such defeats, the result is quite extraordinary. Strong men will grow misty-eyed, lost in the nostalgia of “5-1 in Munich.” And that, Herr Stern, was just a world cup qualifier.

Now, if you ask these individuals whether they have actually met a German, or whether they’ve ever been to Germany; whether their delight in seeing the Germans lose has any connection to something particularly unpleasant – like a traumatic event in their childhood – they’ll look at you rather strangely. As if you’d asked them to hold the old chap for you whilst you empty your bladder.

I’m sure you’ll understand by this that it’s the feeling of having made a rather inappropriate and irrelevant request.

Now… this interests me considerably, Herr Stern.

Imagine you’re a tabloid journalist. Why is it, do you think, that you’d be allowed, indeed actively encouraged, to churn out this kind of strange nonsense about the Germans, when, if you were chose some other social grouping – say, black people, immigrants, Muslims, Americans – well, just think of it… You’d have to face the moral outrage of the liberal left; you’d have square up to the sanctimonious fury of the reactionary right – that is, if you hadn’t already drowned in a sea of tut-tut-tut-ing as the clucking majority expressed its disapproval… You’d also be unlikely to work for quite some time, of course…

It’s odd, isn’t it? How can it be acceptable to publish such drivel, when we adore driving German cars, cooking in German ovens, refrigerating our imported German lager in German fridges, and cleaning our houses with German vacuum cleaners?

Do you think the reasons are historical? I doubt it. Surely the war’s been over for too many years. In any case, Herr Stern, education in this country has become so breathtakingly poor that it would be a pedagogical triumph of gargantuan proportions to get any young person to acknowledge that there actually was something called World War II.

We’re both part of the same political and economic union. Some innate – and very English, I might add – sense of fair play has been offended here.

That is not to say that I’m losing any sleep. Although I love the Germans, and dislike intensely the maltreatment I am describing to you, I feel it would be a bit… well... “un-English” of me to lay awake all night, full of Weltschmerz and Angst, however ideologically unsound this abuse of our fellow Europeans may be…

It just simply wouldn’t do, would it? When I was at school they taught me to keep a stiff upper lip, hold my chin up, and, when all else fails, to have a nice cup of tea. We’re British, they told me. British! We had an Empire once, they said, on which the sun never set…

But this doesn’t answer my question, does it? Why do we continually treat the Germans so slanderously?

Frankly, Herr Stern, I think it’s because we’re in a bit of a pickle.

On the one hand, we’re afraid, you see. We’re very afraid indeed.

We’re afraid of losing the pound (sterling), we’re afraid of losing the pound (imperial). We feel uneasy with these kilos and euros. Everything dividing into ten is too much for us.

We also don’t like the fact, for example, that the cars we still make in this country – great so-called “British” brands such as Rolls-Royce, Rover, Jaguar – are about as “British” as our favourite foods; fish & chips, we have finally realised, isn’t really very good, and nowadays we prefer Chicken Tikka Masala, or perhaps some Kung-Po prawns, or even a hamburger or two.

It’s all gone rather pear-shaped when it comes to who and what we think we are. Are we pro- or anti-Europe? Pro- or anti-America? Doves or hawks? It’s all very confusing, Herr Stern.

Come to think of it, where’s our Empire gone?

On the other hand, we still like to delude ourselves that things aren’t really so bad. We don’t want to force ourselves into a position where we have to take anything without the proverbial pinch of salt. Unless things change beyond all recognition, Herr Stern, I don’t think we’ll ever find Weltschmerz and Angst in our day-to-day vocabulary; (words, for which, as I’m sure you’re aware, the English language offers no translation.)

And this rather gets to the crux of the matter, doesn’t it? Has this whole sordid affair got something to do with the fact that we want to avoid having to take anything seriously? Perhaps this is the reason for the tabloid editor’s elation; he knows his sales will soar to millions when Germany has lost at something; he’ll be whipping his hacks into this disturbing frenzy of bizarrely outdated propaganda so that we, as a nation, can relax, knowing our blundering and inefficient ways are, for the moment, secure.

The Germans do take things seriously, don’t they? They organise. Plan. Rack their souls for the most efficient answer. Ordnung. So, when the Germans are beaten, we like to prove to ourselves that it’s ok, that it’s going to be all right, that our way still works – we can still muddle through without the foggiest idea of what’s going on.

Amidst all the doubt in what it is to be English, I think a victory over Germany tells us the one thing we need to hear: we don’t have to deal with this shocking mess just yet…

Speaking of which, I’m off for a nice cup of tea myself.

Herr Stern, I would be delighted if you would be so obliging as to publish this letter.

I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,

Rt. Hon. Bernard Cholmondley-Featherstonehaugh