Class conscious - Andrew Martin dares to fly the cross of Saint George
Published 21 June 2004
What social statement are you making when you fly the cross of St George?
Five years ago, I used to see the cross of St George flying outside paradoxically American-looking houses as I drove through Essex on my way to Suffolk. The flag seemed to come as part of a kit along with a large four-wheel-drive car, one other car of optional make, and a satellite TV dish. I would experience a slight frisson as I drove past, always suspecting there might be a gun on the property.
Now the flag is fashionable - and, a few days before the start of Euro 2004, the cross of St George was being flown from the first three cars in a line that had stopped for me at a zebra crossing. I took up the subject in the pub with my friend the classical pianist. "It's just a sudden outbreak of nationalism," he said with a shrug. "It means: we don't want any Polish plumbers here." I asked for his further thoughts on the subject, fascinated that he did not seem to know what had brought this nationalism on. "Is it something to do with football, possibly?" he asked.
One thing that bugged me about the flags was that I didn't know where people bought them. I became a bit paranoid about this. It was another area of British popular culture which was hidden from me, like text-messaging. In fact, that was a thought: maybe people told each other by text message where to buy the flags. At about the same time, I read a vox pop in the Independent in which somebody said that, although flying an England flag had once seemed a bit "oikish", it was quite acceptable now.
That is surely true - or is it? On the same day, a letter appeared in the Daily Telegraph from a man who wrote: "I saw a scaffolding lorry today without an England flag. Is that a record?" Anyway, when I asked about the car flags at my local post office-cum-general store, I couldn't bring myself to say that I wanted one for myself. Instead, I added, ". . . My sons want me to buy one." The postmistress, who is quite genteel, said: "I'm afraid we don't sell them. I think you can buy them at souvenir stalls in places like Trafalgar Square." I thanked her for the thought, even though it was obviously mad.
I then walked to another general goods shop near me, which has a slightly more working-class proprietor. "We don't sell them," said the woman behind the counter when I asked about the flags. "Actually, I've been looking out for one for myself. I think you can get them down the market." "Oh, thanks," I said, but when I walked out of the shop I thought: what market? I raised the subject with the wife and she said: "What flags?" I explained about the flags that were flying on approximately every other car on the road, and all the white vans, and she unerringly said: "Woolworths. That's where you'll find those."
At Crouch End Woolworths, I walked into a red-and-white world. England cooler boxes, napkins in the shape of England shirts, England banners (spelt, sinisterly, "bana") and, yes, "small flags", made by a firm called Chesbee Celebrations, at £3.39 each. I bought one and, using the "unique bracket", attached it to my car window, and then drove home parading my support for the England team and feeling almost ill with self-consciousness. As somebody once pointed out, I can't even say "cheers" in a pub without wincing, so this mode of permanent celebration made me very uncomfortable. Arriving home, I looked again at the flag instructions: "Remove flag and pole when parked . . . Can fray when used at high speed."
It was as I suspected: flying the flag is quite a demanding business. I unhooked the cross of St George flag from my car window and put it in a drawer where it will remain until . . . Well, I can't quite imagine what event might cause me to bring it out. But let's just say I'm keeping it for an emergency.
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