In January 2020, I donated a kidney; it went to an anonymous person in London. Afterwards, I published a poem: “There is a part of me concealed/that is forever England’s to hold”.
Arising from this experience, I began to increasingly think about the part of me (and of all of us) that’s English or British. The recent death of Queen Elizabeth has brought a sharper focus to my thoughts. I was saddened by her death. I had come to greatly admire her.
Queen Elizabeth II was one in a lengthy line of ‘Brits’ whom we could blame for most of our national woes
When I was in primary school in the 1960s, none of our teachers had a good word to say about the late queen. Back then, I used to draw unflattering features on her image on postage stamps whenever we got letters and parcels from relatives in England.
The history we learned was “England’s difficulty is Ireland’s opportunity” and to “Burn everything British except their coal”. Queen Elizabeth II was just one in a lengthy line of “Brits” whom we could blame for most of our national woes. Educated through Irish in primary school, I was repeatedly told that English was not my first language – nor was it the first language of this country.
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Despite my patriotic grievances, I treasured English comics and Enid Blyton books; played soccer (despite the ban on “foreign” games); slept under posters of Manchester United and The Beatles; lived for Top of the Pops and Match of the Day; and spoke English in the Gaeltacht whenever I could (despite the threat of being sent home in disgrace).
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined the queen would come to Ireland. So, when she did, I was blown away.
For the vast majority, English is our first language. We are also fanatical Man U or Liverpool or Arsenal or Man City or Newcastle fans. We watch EastEnders and Coronation Street
A few years later, I wrote to her to thank her for coming here. I also said I admired her greatly for shaking hands with Martin McGuinness. I enclosed a copy of an article I’d written for this newspaper which featured a photograph of her and one of Bobby Sands, whom I also admired greatly. I summed up my feelings by saying that if you could be an Irish nationalist and a British royalist then I was now one; the queen’s response was warm and gracious.
I didn’t, of course, mention the stamps. Later, when I read that the queen had liked the punk portrait of her painted in 2020 by Mark Sloper which featured blue hair, a nose-ring, bling earrings, and a tattoo on her neck (she just requested the “Philip” heart tattoo be changed to the royal crest), I guessed she wouldn’t have been too fussed about my schoolboy artwork.
Pure Gaels
Under the Good Friday agreement, if you’re born in Northern Ireland, you can be British, Irish or both. If, however, you’re born in the Republic of Ireland, you’re just Irish. Although technically true, we’re not the pure Gaels that Patrick Pearse (who was half-English) imagined us to be.
Being just Irish doesn’t reflect the facts. For the vast majority, English is our first language. We are also fanatical Man U or Liverpool or Arsenal or Man City or Newcastle fans. We watch EastEnders and Coronation Street. We know more about Liz Truss’s views than the views of some of our local TDs. We hang on to royal titles: Royal College of Physicians of Ireland, Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland, Royal Dublin Society. You only have to look at the Irish and British versions of Gogglebox to see how like each other we are.
The Easter Rising started on April 24th, 1916. William Shakespeare died on April 23rd, 1616. We commemorated the centenary anniversary of the Rising throughout the country. In 2016, I also went to Stratford-upon-Avon because of the tercentenary.
Paying my respects in Holy Trinity Church where Shakespeare is buried, I suddenly remembered lines from The Merchant of Venice, a play I had studied for the Inter Cert:
“The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;”
More than anyone else, Shakespeare has influenced how we speak, and think. The words he used and the phrases he coined remain part of our everyday language.
English is my first language; Irish is my second; I love them both. It’s taken me almost a lifetime to say this.
There’s a part of all of us that’s English or British. It would be strange if it were otherwise, given our proximity, the 800 years of occupation, and our common language. It’s just a matter of degree.
Reconciliation
In 2015, Prince Charles came with his wife, the duchess of Cornwall, in a spirit of reconciliation to Mullaghmore, Co Sligo, where his great uncle, Lord Louis Mountbatten, was killed along with three others in an IRA bombing in 1979. On this trip, he also met Gerry Adams and shook hands with him. The apple has not fallen far from the tree.
I support the EU, but I also recognise that we will always be closer to London, Birmingham, Glasgow, and Belfast than we ever will be to Brussels, Berlin, Paris, or Rome
As a nationalist, I believe it’s time we acknowledged the part within ourselves (sinn féin) that’s English or British. Admitting who we truly are may help us find more common ground to resolve current difficulties, and to plan for a more realistic future.
I support the EU, but I also recognise that we will always be closer to London, Birmingham, Glasgow, and Belfast than we ever will be to Brussels, Berlin, Paris, or Rome – and I would not want it any other way.
Seamus Heaney once wrote: “Be advised my passport’s green/No glass of ours was ever raised to toast the Queen.”
My EU passport is burgundy; I’ll raise a glass to toast the king.
Chris Fitzpatrick is a published poet and former master of the Coombe Women & Infants University Hospital.