Britain's Alter Ego
Pierce Brosnan's 'honourary OBE' reveals a deep-seated cultural envy. Most people have another self they dream of being. Few offices get through the year without a leaving party for someone making a late career-switch or going to find themselves on a world tour. Brilliant novelists have spent years scratching out unspeakable plays.
Most people have another self they dream of being. Few offices get through the year without a leaving party for someone making a late career-switch or going to find themselves on a world tour. Brilliant novelists have spent years scratching out unspeakable plays.
Do countries have alter egos - a place they secretly crave to be? New Zealand, despite the efforts of recent politicians, still seems to need to be Britain more than to copy Singapore, which its position suggests as a better model. Australia - also historically willed to ape the UK - shows welcome signs of wanting to be Australia.
And what about us? Tony Blair - like Margaret Thatcher before him - would say that we are secretly American. But hidden in the Foreign Office files is strong evidence that our other self is French or Irish. This week Pierce Brosnan was appointed an "honorary OBE", following similar recent awards to the French-born Premiership managers Arsène Wenger and Gerard Houllier.
The honorary honours system has always been a strange part of British culture. They have traditionally been used as back-scratchers: thank-yous for military or diplomatic assistance. After the Falklands and Gulf conflicts, large numbers of Americans, led by Ronald Reagan and General Norman Schwarzkopf, tramped through the palace to accept one of the more antiquated spoils of war: a title you can have but not attach to your name.
A variation of this gratitude which dangles from a ribbon or is conferred by a sword is the back-pat. Bob Geldof and Rudy Giuliani became inverted-commas sirs for doing things which made the British wish their passports had been black or burgundy. But it can be argued that Geldof was admired for showing an attribute of which these shores are short - bloody-minded gobbiness - while Giuliani was honoured for demonstrating, during those New York days, a quality which we like to think is stamped with an English patent - stiff upper-lip. In fact, "Sir" Bob and "Sir" Rudy belong in a special sub-set of the back-pat category - secular saints - which distinguishes them from, say, Spike Milligan, who got his for making the Prince of Wales laugh.
Fine screen actor as Pierce Brosnan is, the award to him hints at a James Bond fan somewhere in the establishment and probably among the espionage elite. The official citation suggests that Brosnan has brought "style and glamour" to Britain's image, but we can probably take that as code for making our spies feel good about themselves. So, a back-pat honour, then. But possibly also something else. For Brosnan - like previous Irish recipients, Spike Milligan and Bob Geldof - may represent cultural envy as well.
The English have long suffered from propriety towards the Irish. From either colonial nostalgia - or jealousy of the literary instinct and social ease which seems to run in Dublin water - we have always tended towards a bit of patriotic shoplifting when an Emerald celebrity appears in the window.
Most of us will remember English lessons - and numerous mentions in the press - in which Oscar Wilde became an "English wit" and Samuel Beckett "Anglo-French". Seamus Heaney, born in Northern Ireland but naturalised to the south, has observed that he curiously became a "British poet" at the moment he won the Nobel Prize.
You can go further and observe that the English establishment, though nominally Protestant, has tended to have more cultural affinity with the citizens of Catholic Ireland than with those of Ulster. Those articles which have described Wilde, Beckett, Heaney and Geldof as "British" are not just misprints but Freudian slips.
Perhaps more historically surprising is the recent fondness of the honours system towards the French. The citations for the managers of Liverpool and Arsenal did suggest a certain cross-channel jealousy - hinting at the new sophistication that Wenger and Houllier have brought to English football - although they were also praised for improving Anglo-French relations. This suggests that these gongs to Euro-soccer were the opposite of the ones handed out to Yanks in the past: a friendly gesture towards a nation from which Britain had been alienated by conflict.
There's also perhaps a different game of national catch-up going on. The French system has long had honours which it gives to those from other countries whose style they like. Many English writers have become chevaliers of the order of arts and letters. It's nice to think that we might be using our own OBEs in the same way, although conclusions might be drawn from the fact the French government honours English novelists and poets, while our reciprocal hall of fame includes foreigners who run good teams in the Premiership.
Do countries have alter egos - a place they secretly crave to be? New Zealand, despite the efforts of recent politicians, still seems to need to be Britain more than to copy Singapore, which its position suggests as a better model. Australia - also historically willed to ape the UK - shows welcome signs of wanting to be Australia.
And what about us? Tony Blair - like Margaret Thatcher before him - would say that we are secretly American. But hidden in the Foreign Office files is strong evidence that our other self is French or Irish. This week Pierce Brosnan was appointed an "honorary OBE", following similar recent awards to the French-born Premiership managers Arsène Wenger and Gerard Houllier.
The honorary honours system has always been a strange part of British culture. They have traditionally been used as back-scratchers: thank-yous for military or diplomatic assistance. After the Falklands and Gulf conflicts, large numbers of Americans, led by Ronald Reagan and General Norman Schwarzkopf, tramped through the palace to accept one of the more antiquated spoils of war: a title you can have but not attach to your name.
A variation of this gratitude which dangles from a ribbon or is conferred by a sword is the back-pat. Bob Geldof and Rudy Giuliani became inverted-commas sirs for doing things which made the British wish their passports had been black or burgundy. But it can be argued that Geldof was admired for showing an attribute of which these shores are short - bloody-minded gobbiness - while Giuliani was honoured for demonstrating, during those New York days, a quality which we like to think is stamped with an English patent - stiff upper-lip. In fact, "Sir" Bob and "Sir" Rudy belong in a special sub-set of the back-pat category - secular saints - which distinguishes them from, say, Spike Milligan, who got his for making the Prince of Wales laugh.
Fine screen actor as Pierce Brosnan is, the award to him hints at a James Bond fan somewhere in the establishment and probably among the espionage elite. The official citation suggests that Brosnan has brought "style and glamour" to Britain's image, but we can probably take that as code for making our spies feel good about themselves. So, a back-pat honour, then. But possibly also something else. For Brosnan - like previous Irish recipients, Spike Milligan and Bob Geldof - may represent cultural envy as well.
The English have long suffered from propriety towards the Irish. From either colonial nostalgia - or jealousy of the literary instinct and social ease which seems to run in Dublin water - we have always tended towards a bit of patriotic shoplifting when an Emerald celebrity appears in the window.
Most of us will remember English lessons - and numerous mentions in the press - in which Oscar Wilde became an "English wit" and Samuel Beckett "Anglo-French". Seamus Heaney, born in Northern Ireland but naturalised to the south, has observed that he curiously became a "British poet" at the moment he won the Nobel Prize.
You can go further and observe that the English establishment, though nominally Protestant, has tended to have more cultural affinity with the citizens of Catholic Ireland than with those of Ulster. Those articles which have described Wilde, Beckett, Heaney and Geldof as "British" are not just misprints but Freudian slips.
Perhaps more historically surprising is the recent fondness of the honours system towards the French. The citations for the managers of Liverpool and Arsenal did suggest a certain cross-channel jealousy - hinting at the new sophistication that Wenger and Houllier have brought to English football - although they were also praised for improving Anglo-French relations. This suggests that these gongs to Euro-soccer were the opposite of the ones handed out to Yanks in the past: a friendly gesture towards a nation from which Britain had been alienated by conflict.
There's also perhaps a different game of national catch-up going on. The French system has long had honours which it gives to those from other countries whose style they like. Many English writers have become chevaliers of the order of arts and letters. It's nice to think that we might be using our own OBEs in the same way, although conclusions might be drawn from the fact the French government honours English novelists and poets, while our reciprocal hall of fame includes foreigners who run good teams in the Premiership.
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