How do you see it?

Quite a long time ago, someone said to me that perceptions are everything; perceptions become reality. I can’t say I quite agree with that but I can see that if you state something often enough your way of seeing it might become an accepted reality. 

One of these perceptions is that there is such a thing as a national characteristic. Maybe there is. We all joke about national stereotypes. The place where you are brought up and the way you are educated must have an influence on your personality. But are we so obviously British or French or Spanish or whatever that if you took a slice through us you would find our country’s name printed like a seaside resort’s name in a stick of rock? I’m not totally convinced. 

These thoughts have been provoked by reading a short report about a French academic, Claudia Senik, a research fellow at the Paris School of Economics. She’s a clever lady, educated at the École Normale Supérieure and a professor at the Sorbonne – rather like being educated at Oxford or Cambridge and going on to be a professor there. Anyway, she maintains that the French are gloomy. What’s more, she believes it is all the fault of the education system. They don’t give pupils enough praise in school and they make them insecure apparently. 

But more than that she maintains that there is something in the culture that makes French people miserable. Albert Camus, philosopher, and Edith Piaf, singer of songs about broken hearts, are held up as examples of “archetypal Gallic gloom”. 

It also affects immigrants; the longer they live in France and become part of the society, the less happy they claim to be, maintains our clever lady. Someone suggested it might be the language that causes the gloom but French speakers in Switzerland and Canada are as happy as people from other countries. There you go. 

Now, when I was a teacher of French to A-Level I used to advise my students to improve their French accent by putting a kind of Gallic sneer in their voice. You know the kind of thing; you make sure the corners of your mouth are turned down and you speak as though you consider yourself superior to everyone. Maybe I need to revise that and advise turning the corners of the mouth downwards in misery and speaking in tones of gloom. 

And here’s another perception I’m questioning. As I was waiting for my coffee to heat up earlier this morning, I glanced at a section of yesterday’s paper, a travel pull-out on getting around in England, places to go, things to do. My eye was caught by an advertisement: “Liverpool: Adventure City”. I have no argument with that except that they include the Royal Birkdale Golf Course in there. Really? And Southport beach (which incidentally has the country’s oldest iron pier, a Grade II – listed landmark, something I learned from this advert). Really? And the Marine Lake, now called the Crosby Lakeside Adventure Centre. Really? Even the red squirrel reserve at Formby Point. Really? 

Are these places all really IN Liverpool? 

I grew up around these places. My school was next to the Royal Birkdale. The beach was one of my places to escape to on my bike at times. The Marine Lake was where we hung around talking when we had no money or no inspiration to go elsewhere. But they were all part of SOUTHPORT. Even the red squirrel reserve, not quite Southport was enough for us to consider it ours. (Perceptions again.) It was where my family made regular visits at all times of the year but especially every Boxing Day. 

Of course, I know that Southport became part of Merseyside, much to my mother’s horror and disgust but that doesn’t make it part of Liverpool. If my mother had not been cremated she would be spinning madly in her grave. As it is, I think I can hear the rustle of her ashes swirling wildly somewhere in protest!!!