I’ve lived in Cornwall, England, for the last six years, but I’m really a Yorkshireman. Born in East Yorkshire, I moved to West Yorkshire with my parents at the age of seven and lived there for the next 45 years, apart from three years away at university in Bristol.
People sometimes say to me, ‘I bet you’re proud to be a Yorkshireman.’ But I’m not. That doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of it, of course. It’s just that I don’t think ‘proud’ is the right word. I’m certainly content to be a Yorkshireman. I love the county, especially the Yorkshire Dales. I sing On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘At with gusto. I’m partial to Yorkshire puddings with my meat and veg, I throw in the odd ‘Eee, by gum!’ when chatting, and even though I’ve travelled the world and lived in other places, my Yorkshire accent still gives me away.
But I can’t really be ‘proud’ of something over which I had no choice. I didn’t ask to be born and raised in Yorkshire; it just happened to me. A few circumstantial blips, and I could have been born instead in Mongolia or Stoke-on-Trent, in Italy or Peru.
My concern about being ‘proud’ of such things, I suppose, is because of its inherent danger: this kind of ‘pride’ can so quickly slide into partisan-spirit, animosity towards outsiders and a general increase in hate and isolation. The situation in Northern Ireland is a perfect example.
Here in Cornwall, I come across locals who trumpet their pride in being Cornish. With most of them, it’s harmless enough. There are many aspects of Cornish life and history to rejoice in: pasties, glorious scenery, the Cornish language (which I’m loving learning), and much more. I have been warmly welcomed by all the Cornish people I’ve met, and I feel very much at home among them.
But there are a few whose ‘pride’ in being Cornish approaches what, to me, are the dodgy fringes. One chap refuses ever to sing ‘God save the queen’ because the queen is English and he isn’t: he’s Cornish. If you’re unaware of Cornish sentiments, I need to explain that people here who have been away for the weekend, may reply, when asked where they’ve been: ‘I went to England.’ Yes, seriously.
I sing with a local male voice choir, and some of us also do a bit of social singing at local events. One of the favourites in our repertoire extols the virtues of all things Cornish, and the last verse goes as follows:
And when you cross the Tamar
Into this promised land,
There’s one thing to remember,
One thing to understand:
That Cornwall’s not a county
Just sited in the west,
But Cornwall is a country.
It’s the land we love the best.
Fair enough. There is a Celtic heritage in Cornwall, of which the Cornish make much, and I’ve no problem with that, provided it doesn’t slide into animosity towards anything non-Cornish. In most cases it doesn’t. Yes, when England are playing Wales at rugby, some will cheer for Wales because of the shared Celtic heritage, but it’s mostly done with a smile and no real ill-feeling towards the English.
In other cases it comes close to the danger-zone. The unofficial Cornish anthem, Trelawney, can skirt the rabble-rousing boundaries when sung in certain settings, followed, as it often is, by the shout, ‘Come on, Cornwall. Give ’em hell!’ And the other anthem-contender, Hail to the homeland, gets a bit sentimental and silly when it declares:
Hail to the homeland!
Of thee we are a part.
Great pulse of freedom
In every Cornish heart.
Prompt us and guide us,
Endow us with thy power.
Lace us with liberty
To face this changing hour.
Just how a ‘homeland’ can do such metaphysical things is beyond me, and most who sing it, I’m sure, don’t give such questions a moment’s thought. They just sing it, feel a warm sentimental fuzz, and have no thoughts at all of crushing the English or resorting to a punch-up. ‘It makes you,’ they would say, ‘proud to be Cornish.’
All I’m arguing for here is the need for awareness and caution, lest a natural and harmless enjoyment of one’s heritage—or sexual orientation, or religion, colour, class, race or whatever—crosses the line to become a ‘pride’ that leads to animosity, division and potential violence.
Diversity is to be recognised, accepted and maybe even celebrated. But ‘proud to be…’? Let’s be careful. In the meantime, I’m a happy Yorkshireman, delighted to be accepted in Cornwall (where my wife’s roots are), and rejoicing in both Yorkshire puddings and Cornish pasties, a pint of John Smith’s or a pint of Tribute. Can’t be bad!