This Sceptered Isle
In Richard II (Act II, scene 1), the Bard waxes eloquent about his English homeland, using the above line as one paean. It’s a gushy, emotive, and resonant speech, oft-cited down the years; and one that seems profoundly out of date in the prosaic Britain of Charles III and Keir Starmer. In previous posts, I’ve talked at some length about Britain’s politics and its post-imperial epistemic deflation. Having visited here about ten times over the years, I have some sense of the place and my latest foray was full of surprises and historical echoes.
This time, we spent most of our trip in Cornwall, the proudly distinctive (in terms of culture and climate) southwestern corner of Britain. Lush landscapes, friendly people, and beautiful weather awaited us. Into the 20C, Cornwall was tied to the sea and small fishing ports dot the shoreline all around. Proximity to the Gulf Stream made fishing common work and made the land fecund. These days, fishing has faded and tourism is a major part of the economy. Part is based on the innumerable beaches, part on the unutterably charming port towns, art colonies in St. Ives, and a respectable smattering of ruins provide a nice mix for both domestic and international travelers.
One highlight was a day’s jaunt to Tintagel in the northwest corner of the county. The castle (now in ruins) dates from the 13C, built by a local prince on the site of the (then-recent) account by Geoffrey of Monmouth of the legend of King Arthur (mid-11C). Geoffrey’s account was already suspect by the 12C, but the prince invoked it anyway and built a traditional castle on a promontory which was actively occupied into the 15C, then effectively abandoned. For our own age which often seems fascinated with history and legend, it’s remarkable to think that this 13C noble was as much interested in leveraging a dubious mythos in an era with no prospect of tourism profits. In any event, it’s a dramatic site (and a good hike) with extensive ruins and stories that have accumulated over the centuries.
At the other end of the chronological spectrum, we stopped also at the Eden Project, a 21C botanical garden and environmental education center in the southeast of the county. There are many traditional gardens across Cornwall, but this was more about science than aesthetics.
Cornish place names increasingly gave way to English as we moved east. By the time we got to Bovey Castle in Devon’s Dartmoor National Park, we felt well back in the traditional English culture in a grand pile (originally a country house, built by the retailer W.H. Smith at the end of the 19C) on spectacular grounds; it was all quite “Downton Abbey-esque.” We didn’t participate in the archery, shooting, falconry (or even golf) on the property; opting instead for a genteel walk to a nearby village (highly picturesque) and a drive across the moors.
Thence to Salisbury, with its stunning cathedral (dating from the 13C) and its copy of Magna Carta. Also, lunch with an old English friend from high school who lives nearby.
The next day, nearby, we went to Stonehenge, on a cold and windy plain. A remarkable site, living up to the (considerable) hype. The great thing about pre-history is that the “we-don’t-know, but…” factor goes up by an order of magnitude. Indeed, a history of the theories about Stonehenge provides a fascinating window into the cultures that have tried to suss it out. Even now, much of the interpretation remains “contested.” One amazing fact is that the smaller (2-5 tons) “blue” stones of the inner circle were transported from Wales, about 150 miles away in the middle of the 3d millennium BC—quite an impressive engineering/transport project!
Finally, reaching London, our group went to a variety of places and events. One highlight for me was a visit to the Tower of London, famous for the Crown Jewels and the site of numerous famous imprisonments and executions over the centuries. I was there the week of the 80th anniversary of VE day, marked at the Tower by the replanting of 30,000 of the ceramic poppies originally placed there for the 100th anniversary of the commencement of WWI in 2014. In addition, we stayed right near the British Library, where I had spent many hours doing research for my dissertation. This time, we checked out a second copy of the original Magna Carta (the other two are in Kew and Lincoln).
Magna Carta doesn’t stand so much in the history of democracy, per se. It’s much more about the struggle between the King and the nobles than the rights of ordinary folks, but the outcome of that struggle was the fundamental principle of limitations on monarchical power and the codification of various aspects of the rule of law.
My one theatre experience in London was “Dear England.” It’s nominally about football (soccer) and, in particular, the manager of the English national team during 2016-2024. It was pretty good.
As a historian, however, what struck me about the play and what it crystallized for me about the trip as a whole was how fixed the English are about their history. It weighs on them heavily. There’s a lot of it and they live right in the middle of it in a way quite differently from our US experience. Living up to that history—however polished/mythologized/sanitized—keeps the English overly focused on the past. As Nigel Farage has discovered, it’s fertile ground for his longer-term political angle, now expressed as “Make Britain Great Again.” This weight of the past is at the root of the struggle to get beyond the Empire, the reflexive “Little England” mentality of Brexit, the difficulty of fully integrating an increasingly diverse set of global cultures, and, in general, remembrance of past riches and glory.
The English are ahead of the pack in dealing with national decline and it’s not pretty. It’s also a useful example for the US, even as we enjoy the royal pageantry, the rural charm, the cute towns, and the castle ruins.
In Richard II (Act II, scene 1), the Bard waxes eloquent about his English homeland, using the above line as one paean. It’s a gushy, emotive, and resonant speech, oft-cited down the years; and one that seems profoundly out of date in the prosaic Britain of Charles III and Keir Starmer. In previous posts, I’ve talked at some length about Britain’s politics and its post-imperial epistemic deflation. Having visited here about ten times over the years, I have some sense of the place and my latest foray was full of surprises and historical echoes.
This time, we spent most of our trip in Cornwall, the proudly distinctive (in terms of culture and climate) southwestern corner of Britain. Lush landscapes, friendly people, and beautiful weather awaited us. Into the 20C, Cornwall was tied to the sea and small fishing ports dot the shoreline all around. Proximity to the Gulf Stream made fishing common work and made the land fecund. These days, fishing has faded and tourism is a major part of the economy. Part is based on the innumerable beaches, part on the unutterably charming port towns, art colonies in St. Ives, and a respectable smattering of ruins provide a nice mix for both domestic and international travelers.
One highlight was a day’s jaunt to Tintagel in the northwest corner of the county. The castle (now in ruins) dates from the 13C, built by a local prince on the site of the (then-recent) account by Geoffrey of Monmouth of the legend of King Arthur (mid-11C). Geoffrey’s account was already suspect by the 12C, but the prince invoked it anyway and built a traditional castle on a promontory which was actively occupied into the 15C, then effectively abandoned. For our own age which often seems fascinated with history and legend, it’s remarkable to think that this 13C noble was as much interested in leveraging a dubious mythos in an era with no prospect of tourism profits. In any event, it’s a dramatic site (and a good hike) with extensive ruins and stories that have accumulated over the centuries.
At the other end of the chronological spectrum, we stopped also at the Eden Project, a 21C botanical garden and environmental education center in the southeast of the county. There are many traditional gardens across Cornwall, but this was more about science than aesthetics.
Cornish place names increasingly gave way to English as we moved east. By the time we got to Bovey Castle in Devon’s Dartmoor National Park, we felt well back in the traditional English culture in a grand pile (originally a country house, built by the retailer W.H. Smith at the end of the 19C) on spectacular grounds; it was all quite “Downton Abbey-esque.” We didn’t participate in the archery, shooting, falconry (or even golf) on the property; opting instead for a genteel walk to a nearby village (highly picturesque) and a drive across the moors.
Thence to Salisbury, with its stunning cathedral (dating from the 13C) and its copy of Magna Carta. Also, lunch with an old English friend from high school who lives nearby.
The next day, nearby, we went to Stonehenge, on a cold and windy plain. A remarkable site, living up to the (considerable) hype. The great thing about pre-history is that the “we-don’t-know, but…” factor goes up by an order of magnitude. Indeed, a history of the theories about Stonehenge provides a fascinating window into the cultures that have tried to suss it out. Even now, much of the interpretation remains “contested.” One amazing fact is that the smaller (2-5 tons) “blue” stones of the inner circle were transported from Wales, about 150 miles away in the middle of the 3d millennium BC—quite an impressive engineering/transport project!
Finally, reaching London, our group went to a variety of places and events. One highlight for me was a visit to the Tower of London, famous for the Crown Jewels and the site of numerous famous imprisonments and executions over the centuries. I was there the week of the 80th anniversary of VE day, marked at the Tower by the replanting of 30,000 of the ceramic poppies originally placed there for the 100th anniversary of the commencement of WWI in 2014. In addition, we stayed right near the British Library, where I had spent many hours doing research for my dissertation. This time, we checked out a second copy of the original Magna Carta (the other two are in Kew and Lincoln).
Magna Carta doesn’t stand so much in the history of democracy, per se. It’s much more about the struggle between the King and the nobles than the rights of ordinary folks, but the outcome of that struggle was the fundamental principle of limitations on monarchical power and the codification of various aspects of the rule of law.
My one theatre experience in London was “Dear England.” It’s nominally about football (soccer) and, in particular, the manager of the English national team during 2016-2024. It was pretty good.
As a historian, however, what struck me about the play and what it crystallized for me about the trip as a whole was how fixed the English are about their history. It weighs on them heavily. There’s a lot of it and they live right in the middle of it in a way quite differently from our US experience. Living up to that history—however polished/mythologized/sanitized—keeps the English overly focused on the past. As Nigel Farage has discovered, it’s fertile ground for his longer-term political angle, now expressed as “Make Britain Great Again.” This weight of the past is at the root of the struggle to get beyond the Empire, the reflexive “Little England” mentality of Brexit, the difficulty of fully integrating an increasingly diverse set of global cultures, and, in general, remembrance of past riches and glory.
The English are ahead of the pack in dealing with national decline and it’s not pretty. It’s also a useful example for the US, even as we enjoy the royal pageantry, the rural charm, the cute towns, and the castle ruins.
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