Glyndebourne: quintessentially English
Summer is here, and how. We’re experiencing heatwave conditions, then the weather’s settling down, then it’s due back up and off the scale again within the next day or two. It was ever thus. If you were about in the summer of 1976, I’m tempted to say you’ll recall this still isn’t a patch on then. Or is it?
It’s hard to recall that 1976 was nearly 50 years ago. It does only seem like yesterday. I consult Wikipedia and see that it’s no longer the hottest summer on record, just one of them. Is it because it was the first summer in the UK that I experienced that made it so memorable? Maybe. Our own experiences inevitably seem so much more “valid” than others, regardless of whether or not they are.
Looking back on that early and exciting time of my life has led me to reflect on how little – and how much – has changed.
Late teens and pre-adult usually means it’s a first time for everything. Whatever happens is bound to be more exciting than what follows and that may explain why many of us look back to our past through what may be described as rose-tinted spectacles.
So, back to the summer of 1976. It felt boiling. I don’t recall any air-con on public transport, that was definitely a minus compared with today.
However, London public transporters were less subject to frequent warnings about carrying water with you, holding onto the rails and being aware (be-waring?) of potentially troublesome passengers. Girls and young women at that time didn’t need to be told. They had words of caution drummed into them from a very early age.
As for carrying water, well, it’s obvious really, isn’t it? And, if one’s forgotten to do so, then it’s a bit late to hear the obvious tip-off when you’re descending into those earthly gates of hell, otherwise known as the Underground. Too late now, eh, you can almost hear the tape gloat.
Clever city commuters with time to spare travelled by bus. The double-decker Routemaster had open access (and a conductor!) so what little air there was circulated.
There was also less congestion and the cycle lane had yet to be invented. Your journey time was probably at least half what it is today.
So far so brilliant. These were the hazy, hot days of the baby boomers, no wonder they’re so well hated now. Everything was cheap, easy, optimistic, right?
Well, no. Not exactly. As I recall, life was actually quite dreary, despite the excitement of youth. Job opportunities were plentiful but not too exciting, and wages were low. Homes were generally draughty, with central heating still not a must-have for every home. I remember often waking up and amusing myself by seeing the condensation rise as I breathed out. It took a level of determination to get out of bed. Duvets were only just coming in and I have an overall impression of greys and browns. Colour was not yet invented. Food was unextraordinarily unadventurous and iceberg lettuce had not yet arrived.
What I do recall as being the same, however, was what summer had to offer. Pimms, parties on beautiful lawns, tennis, swimming and no rain of course. Oh, those lazy, hazy days of youth.
The level of hype around social events was very different, however. Wimbledon – very hot when I was lucky enough to be invited – was pretty low key. Tennis players had an element of star status but nothing like what they have now, and the crowds were just ordinary tennis lovers. The Royal box always had its share of celebs but, again, they were tennis lovers; it was not necessarily the place to be “seen” as part of the Season.
Ditto Henley, the Chelsea Flower Show, Royal Ascot and whatever else I’ve missed out. Beautiful locations, an honour and a privilege to attend but usually best if you had an interest in the event. Turning up just to show off was so not English.
Britain then was certainly not as brash as Britain now. It seemed to be quieter with fewer extremes. I’m sure there was extreme wealth – there always is – but those who had it were less keen to let everyone else know they did. Now, wealth display is something to be seen. It’s regarded as a badge of honour. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.
So, are we happier? I haven’t been observing the happiness statistics recently because I’ve been feeling too low about politics, wars, climate change claims and what seems to be the futility of hope so I’m probably not one to ask. I think being bombarded with social media – full of conspiracy theories – as well as “normal” media reports, more accurate but therefore perhaps bleaker, is not helping our cause.
My work as a counsellor is to try to help my clients work through the problems they bring. Some are more specific than others and it’s easier for both of us to see how to work through them. Other times, a client may arrive with a life-long condition, perhaps a sense of anxiety that has grown to such a level they feel it is affecting their life and they want to make a change.
There’s an expression I heard recently about “eating the elephant bit by bit”. Yes, it’s not something I’d ever considered either, but I suppose the meaning is about starting small, rather than looking at the whole and not knowing where to begin.
I find that is a good way of working through problems. If we look at the whole, it’s sometimes hard to even get started. It seems just too much of a task.
I remember seeing, some time in the Noughties, a picture from 1972 of a lady who was putting her two children into foster care because she could not look after them; her home conditions were too poor for them to live safely. I felt my heart was breaking and wondered what had happened to that small, decent and needy family group. I know such tragedies do still happen but I’m hoping not as often or in the terrible and casual way I saw then. We are more aware and we try harder to keep people together when problems arise.
In that sense, Britain with all its troubles is in a much better now than it was then.
A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough – again – to be invited to Glyndebourne. It was a Sunday afternoon and a sunny day. The performance of The Barber of Seville was so good that even I, not a natural opera buff, could enjoy and appreciate it and it seemed just as I remembered from my first visit of 1976, including the warm and friendly genuine music lovers people who paused and chatted as we picnicked in the most verdant and picturesque of East Sussex landscape. England at its best, then and now.
This is one scene I’ll keep returning to and may even store in my collection of “happy places”. Don’t give up, I’ll remind myself when I’m overwhelmed by looking at the elephant as a whole. All is not as we’re told, or may feel. We need to remember, when we’re tempted to see only the gloom, that there is still a lot of hope and happiness in general circulation. Seek and I hope you’ll find.