I want to write about boundaries and borders. In fact I want
to write in praise of boundaries and borders, not something very well looked
upon in these days of free movement and fear of saying that difference is good
and that there are differences. Difference is a precious thing, it’s difference
that moves us all forward. But first let’s talk about boundaries and borders.
When I was young the county that you lived in defined you. I
was from Oxfordshire and had an Oxfordshire accent. Next door was Bucks and
they spoke quite differently. Down in Cornwall
they spoke a strange tongue and over in Lincolnshire ,
where my family came from. I couldn’t understand a single word my granddad
said. I’d never heard Scouse, or Black County, or Geordie, they all came much
later, but I guess the point I’m making is that we were different and separate
and it was okay and nobody expected you to be the same as the chap from the
next county.
Over the years I have seen these county differences,
particularly accents and customs, almost vanish as people move freely from one
county to another seeking work or change. Gone are the days when each small
village was a tribe, often running with different words for the same things,
sometimes running on different times as the church clock was the time in that place. Now I’m not saying this was a good or
bad thing but it did give a wonderful diversity, boundaries and borders kept
good things in and sometimes kept bad things out.
Of course, the media and ease of travel, technology and
fashion, the need to conform and aspire to what everybody else has got has
changed all of that even in the short sixty years of my life. No longer are
there people who have never been out of their county as there were in my youth and
the days of living in the village you were born in all your life are long gone.
By now you might have realised I don’t quite know what I’m
trying to say. But I think that my point is that as we allow our boundaries and
borders to be opened up, we lose the differences that make us so interesting. If
we accept the idea that we must all be the same, speak with the same accent, run
on the same village time, we will lose uniqueness and eventually we will become
a grey sludge of nothingness no better than a mound of ants working and
thinking to a pre-formatted plan.
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