If I’d have been born in Pakistan I’d probably be a practising Muslim; if in India a devout Hindu; in the Southern States a Christian.
We tend to take on the beliefs, culture, attitudes and way of life of the time and culture we find ourselves immersed in. It dictates our lives.
I was lucky. I was brought up in a home, in a loving family, without religion, politics or strong cultural practices. When I grew up I could investigate, think, explore and decide. I could discover what I believed in.
My family brought me up with the idea of fairness and justice, of love and tolerance. That gave me a good grounding to enable me to have a bigger prison than many.
I think that breaking out of one’s bubble is nigh on impossible.
We had two days chugging through the sea a long way off the coast of Africa. There was a distinct feeling that I was leaving all the exotic stuff behind. We only had two stops ahead and they were both easily accessible from home and distinctly European. They did not have quite the same cache as Brazil or the Falklands. But I was determined to squeeze every last drop out of the experience.
I was making the most of the sun. It was cooler and had lost that tropical rawness but there were still plenty of UV rays to transform into Vitamin D. Sunlight is very bad for the skin but it does have a way of lifting the spirit. To get up, thrown on a T-shirt and shorts and step out into the warmth is a pleasant experience. In another week I would be disembarking into the winter chill of England. I was hoping for a miracle. Perhaps March would have an unprecedented tropical heatwave. It was a forlorn hope. I knew that we were more likely to be suffering cold and drizzle for the next couple of months. There could even be snow!
I sat around on deck reading or writing. I took my customary position at the bows, camera in hand, watching for a few last whales or dolphins. Not one showed their face. It seemed to me that the only time dolphins showed up was when I wasn’t around. They then delighted in bouncing out of the water, spinning around and grinning, just to mock me – the bastards.
Madeira loomed out of the sea bathed in sun with bright blue skies. I quite like Madeira but I prefer a shiraz. At least we were lucky with the weather. We were being chased by a big storm and reputedly Madeira has suffered fourteen days of miserable rain. We were hitting a magic window of opportunity.
Funchal looked good. The town nestled under snow-capped mountains. To have snow on those mountains was unusual. It added a bit to it.
They chose nice places to build ports. I suppose there is a reason for that. All these ports, cosied up in bays under the protection of a circle of mountains, had been established there for a reason. It wasn’t because they thought it might look attractive to pasty tourists. Those ports were set up in the days of those big wooden sailing boats. The bays were selected merely because they afforded a place to berth that was protected from the elements.
Funchal was one of those. It was a good place for Portuguese ships to pop into on their way to more exotic regions. Madeira was a way off from Portugal but was part of Portugal. It was renowned for four things – the brilliant temperature that endured all year through, the picturesque cliffs, the cable car that took you up into the mountains and to the Botanical Gardens, and this weird toboggan ride down the mountain in wicker-basket toboggans. That sounded fun.
Madeira was another of those volcanic islands. You could see that from the rocks and soil. It had that reddish brown volcanic colour. I suppose that all land is really the result of volcanoes or at least tectonic uplifts. It certainly made for interesting landscape and fertile gardens.
We headed off to investigate.
There was a nice promenade with Palm trees and lots of statues and artwork. There was one of Christiano Ronaldo! The sun was very pleasant!
We arrived at the cable car and headed up into the rarified atmosphere of the mountains. It was a great ride up with views over the city, cliffs and tropical plants. It was awash with colour. There was a great café at the top with a view over the bay and city below. There were no coconuts to drink but they did a smashing frozen yoghurt with nuts and honey.
Refreshed with set off to discover the delights of Monte. Up on the hill was a beautiful little chapel with typical Portuguese tilework and painted ceilings.
Further along we ran into the toboggan rides. A gang of guys all with a studied Portuguese swagger, wearing white shirts and trousers topped off with boater hats, were carelessly unloading the wicker toboggans off a lorry, standing around posing and smoking before launching tourists off down the street. I watched. We’d been considering having a go but on inspection it looked pretty tame and we decided against. It was an interesting tradition and we ought to support it. But it looked a bit naff. I have an aversion to touristy things.
Up the steps was the cathedral. At least that’s what I suspected it was. I don’t know the difference between a big church and a cathedral. If ‘Our Mother of Monte’ wasn’t a cathedral it ought to be. It was beautiful. If the blue tile-work and painted ceilings of the chapel were delightful the quality of the art in that cathedral was in another dimension. Being an antitheist I often despair at the rituals and superstition of religions but even I have to admit that some of the greatest creative minds have poured their talents into religious buildings around the world. Or is it merely that the churches, mosques and temples had the power and money to employ the best?
Having filled our spirits with beauty we headed back down to do a hop-on hop-off around the city and up into the mountains. It was a pretty place.
In the afternoon we wandered up into the old town, had a look round the fort and through the narrow streets. All of the doors had been painted with different artwork that reflected the personality of the owners. They were extremely colourful and amusing. The whole area was a maze of restaurants all touting delicious foods with enticing smells leaking out into the alleyways. There were art and craft shops and an atmosphere of a bohemian culture. The sort of place I would have liked to have dallied in and investigated more.
We had a beer and sat around and watched life go by then we bought a couple of bottles of Madeira and headed off.
In the town square there was another fort. The whole world is covered in them. Human beings are a war-like species. We love violence and cruelty and seem to operate on the philosophy that instead of growing and making goods it is far easier to wait until somebody else has done all the hard work and then wade in and take it off them. At the same time you can have fun chopping people to bits, raping all the women and burning everything down.
We have a long despicable history behind us. I wonder what lies ahead?
We settled ourselves in a suitable café lavishly decorated with characteristic blue Portuguese tilework depicting Madeira in the past when it was a small town in the midst of tropical paradise and a few sailing boats in the bay – a bit different to the sprawling city that now exists and the stream of cruise-liners that were constantly passing through. I found myself thinking that I would have loved it even more back in those times – before the world was flooded with the hordes of humanity. Those tiles depicted an ideal looking scene. I also noticed that someone had smashed all the faces in one of the scenes. Was that some demented, intolerant Muslim who had desecrated the faces in the name of Islam?
We ordered a beer and listened to the excellent guitarist who was entertaining us. The temperature was still nice and warm. The beer was cool. The guitarist was brilliant. I discovered that I had enjoyed Madeira much more than I had anticipated. It was a place I wouldn’t mind coming back to for a longer visit. It had a nice feel to it.
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The society we live in did not come about by chance; it was fought for every inch of the way by people with vision and aspiration. The peasants and serfs were kept in poverty but they were not stupid. The robber barons stole the land from under their feet and they were powerless. The wealthy businessmen stole their products through guile. The State enacted laws to protect the establishment and keep the poor in their place.
With the coming of the industrial revolution ordinary people were kept down. They were paid a pittance in order to keep the profits high. The bosses creamed off huge wealth while the workers slaved. The owners and aristocrats lived in mansions and palaces with servants while the producers of the wealth lived in poverty and working conditions that were scandalous.
Gradually the ordinary people fought for representation, fair reward for labour given and justice. Ever so gradually the work conditions improved and the wages rose. Each step on the way was met with bleating and violence. The establishment was loath to give up its luxury; they feared the result of suffrage for ordinary people. They believed we might change the laws to create fairness.
They give us as little as they think they can buy us off with. Only through the unions was a living wage grudgingly conceded. Their fear is revolution.
This society we live in is the result of struggle. The freedoms we have are tenuous. The establishment claw back all they can. The wealth still sticks with the elite. The trickle down is as meagre as required to keep us docile. Zero hours contracts, austerity, unemployment and pay freezes are deployed while the rich get richer. We are all in it together is a lie. Information is biased and distorted – the Daily Mail and the rest of the press, even the BBC are all part of an establishment. He who tells the story controls the minds. The media moguls have a vested interest.
Democracy is a fragile thing and bought with blood – lots of blood.
My Culture
This is my culture – the wisdom of my ways.
Suppression and oppression – the order of past days.
Freed into the sunlight – on a democratic wave.
Released from penury – and the status of a slave.
The blood of my forebears sinks heavy in this soil
They paid dear for a share of the profits from their toil.
They fought for their rights and freedoms against a selfish few
Who garnered all the wealth away and propped up many a pew.
This is my culture – the result of battles fought.
Standing up for rights – against a great onslaught.
Liberty and equality – to stand tall and not in fear.
Freedom from King and God – is a right that we hold dear.
From the wealthy, the bishops and the kings
We wrested back our freedoms, among a host of things.
They grudgingly relented to give the very least
And we seized the goods on offer from the Baron and the Priest.
This is now my culture – value it we must!
If once our eyes do stray away – they’ll fling it in the dust.
Rights and freedoms – are febrile in the light.
They’ll rip them away – they have the power and the might.
I give thanks to the Levellers, the Chartists and rebels all,
Without all their struggles we would not have a life at all.
The suffragettes and Wilberforce struck blows for equality.
They chipped away at oppression and left us democracy.
This is that culture – worthy of a fight!
Free of church and monarchy – valiant and bright!
A culture to be proud of in which I take delight.
Proud to be an Englishman and put the world to right!
Not as an exploiter, a victor or an owner with his fee
But as a friend, a fellow traveller, a champion of the free.
Together we could stand to create justice without tyranny
Take the best from all our cultures and live in harmony.
Poetry – My Culture – a poem about the struggle for freedom and equality.
My Culture
The society we live in did not come about by chance; it was fought for every inch of the way by people with vision and aspiration. The peasants and serfs were kept in poverty but they were not stupid. The robber barons stole the land from under their feet and they were powerless. The wealthy businessmen stole their products through guile. The State enacted laws to protect the establishment and keep the poor in their place.
With the coming of the industrial revolution ordinary people were kept down. They were paid a pittance in order to keep the profits high. The bosses creamed off huge wealth while the workers slaved. The owners and aristocrats lived in mansions and palaces with servants while the producers of the wealth lived in poverty and working conditions that were scandalous.
Gradually the ordinary people fought for representation, fair reward for labour given and justice. Ever so gradually the work conditions improved and the wages rose. Each step on the way was met with bleating and violence. The establishment was loath to give up its luxury; they feared the result of suffrage for ordinary people. They believed we might change the laws to create fairness.
They give us as little as they think they can buy us off with. Only through the unions was a living wage grudgingly conceded. Their fear is revolution.
This society we live in is the result of struggle. The freedoms we have are tenuous. The establishment claw back all they can. The wealth still sticks with the elite. The trickle down is as meagre as required to keep us docile. Zero hours contracts, austerity, unemployment and pay freezes are deployed while the rich get richer. We are all in it together is a lie. Information is biased and distorted – the Daily Mail and the rest of the press, even the BBC are all part of an establishment. He who tells the story controls the minds. The media moguls have a vested interest.
Democracy is a fragile thing and bought with blood – lots of blood.
My Culture
This is my culture – the wisdom of my ways.
Suppression and oppression – the order of past days.
Freed into the sunlight – on a democratic wave.
Released from penury – and the status of a slave.
The blood of my forebears sinks heavy in this soil
They paid dear for a share of the profits from their toil.
They fought for their rights and freedoms against a selfish few
Who garnered all the wealth away and propped up many a pew.
This is my culture – the result of battles fought.
Standing up for rights – against a great onslaught.
Liberty and equality – to stand tall and not in fear.
Freedom from King and God – is a right that we hold dear.
From the wealthy, the bishops and the kings
We wrested back our freedoms, among a host of things.
They grudgingly relented to give the very least
And we seized the goods on offer from the Baron and the Priest.
This is now my culture – value it we must!
If once our eyes do stray away – they’ll fling it in the dust.
Rights and freedoms – are febrile in the light.
They’ll rip them away – they have the power and the might.
I give thanks to the Levellers, the Chartists and rebels all,
Without all their struggles we would not have a life at all.
The suffragettes and Wilberforce struck blows for equality.
They chipped away at oppression and left us democracy.
This is that culture – worthy of a fight!
Free of church and monarchy – valiant and bright!
A culture to be proud of in which I take delight.
Proud to be an Englishman and put the world to right!
Not as an exploiter, a victor or an owner with his fee
But as a friend, a fellow traveller, a champion of the free.
Together we could stand to create justice without tyranny
Take the best from all our cultures and live in harmony.
There is something great about walking around a new city, particularly if it’s warm. Stopping for a beer and local delicacy. Watching the people. Everything is interesting – the art, history, culture and architecture. Love it.
It is fascinating to see a place from the river. You get a totally different impression. It is different, exotic at times, revealing poverty at others.
Walking through a city centre on a Saturday night with all the lads leering around with their shirts hanging out and the girls, made up to the nines in their tight micro-skirts, tottering around on high heels, on the pull in a world of drunken mindlessness, it is hard to find the pride in your culture. Sex, booze and incessant back-ground pop. It doesn’t add up to much.
Turning on the telly to the endless stream of game shows and competitions with their ubiquitous squeals, (an import from America where squealing is the norm), it is hard to find anything of substance.
Looking back through history with the ruthlessness of the British Empire, it’s suppression of the ‘natives’, the genocide on the non-compliant, the in-built superiority emanating from Rugby and Eton but infiltrating down to the most base and uncouth soldier, and the invention of the concentration camp as a weapon of war, it is hard to feel satisfaction.
Looking back at our past with its religious orthodoxy, intolerance, oppression, vile class system, terrible inequality, cruel torturing, war-like disposition and social injustice, it is hard to feel a sense of belonging.
Yet in between the shallowness, arrogance, stupidity, unfairness, victimisation, mindlessness, inequality and brutality, there are the glimmers of hope.
There is a spirit in the British that is proud and free. They reach out a hand to the underdog and find a way to respect those who are different. There is compassion and a history of standing up for justice. This was the country that abolished slavery that brought in trade unions that fought for democracy and social justice. This is a country that has produced more than its share of artists, writers, scientists, engineers, musicians and social reformers.
That is where I can take my pride. There is an in-between culture that has substance and worth that underlies the squeals, the drink and mindless garbage, the arrogance and superiority. That is my Britain.
