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After reading and listening to the rapturous eulogies and obituaries of Queen
Elizabeth II,
and despite the general invocation not to speak ill of the dead, one longs to hear something critical about the woman. I suppose one could say that she was a better queen than mother, given the scandals caused by her children. Yet something larger that can’t be placed at her door but ought not to go without mention is that over her 70-year reign—not rule but reign—England slipped from being an immensely admirable country to being rather an uninteresting one.
I write this as a long-retired Anglophile. I grew up at a time when Europe represented culture, and to be an American rendered one, culturally at least, a yokel. Europe had the best artists and writers, the finest orchestras, the most impressive museums. I say Europe, but within Europe it was England that seemed, at least to this yokel, grandest of all.
Brave England, the country that had withstood the Blitz and, with America’s aid, held back and eventually defeated the Nazis, thereby saving all of Europe. England had for its leader throughout the war
Winston Churchill,
easily the greatest political figure of the 20th century, a man whose oratory rivaled that of Pericles, his political savvy that of Themistocles. The English people, meanwhile, had shown great mettle through the war years, undergoing every deprivation before finally prevailing. “There’ll always be an England,” a motto from those years, was believed by everyone.
As a college student and young man, I came to appreciate the quality of English intellectual life through the pages of Encounter, the New Statesman, the Spectator, the Listener and the Times Literary Supplement. In these magazines and journals I discovered such writers as H.R. Trevor-Roper,
Maurice Bowra,
Isaiah Berlin,
Cyril Connolly,
Moses Finley,
A.J.P. Taylor,
Hugh Lloyd-Jones,
Michael Oakeshott,
J.P. Austin,
Malcolm Muggeridge,
Mary Midgely,
Herbert Read,
Kenneth Tynan,
Kingsley Amis,
Philip Larkin,
and many others.
T.S. Eliot
was still alive, and so, too, was
Evelyn Waugh.
A distinctive English intellectual style was everywhere in evidence. Casual brilliance was its hallmark—casual but genuine.
Elegance was inherent in English style, present in its haberdashery and its wit. This elegance showed up glitteringly through the English actors who appeared in so many American movies. Notable among them were
Ronald Colman
and
Ray Milland,
Deborah Kerr
and
Julie Andrews,
Herbert Marshall
and
Douglas Fairbanks Jr.
,
Maggie Smith
and the Redgraves. The English accent, with its aristocratic lilt, was pleasurable in itself, and to this Midwestern American utterly enviable.
Not that she was in a position to do anything about it, but Queen Elizabeth reigned during the setting of the sun over the British Empire, the same sun, it will be recalled, that allegedly shined for 24 hours daily on British holdings. Perhaps more than anything else, the loss of empire marked the beginning of England’s fall. This took its toll. Whatever the criticism of the British Empire, serving abroad in it could be a great character builder for young Englishmen. One thinks here of
Eric Blair
(aka George Orwell), who, taking a pass on university after graduating from Eton at 19 went off to serve in Burma in the Indian Imperial Police. There he was responsible for the security of some 200,000 people.
Evident in its politicians, writers, actors and guardians of empire, a strong aristocratic strain ran through English culture, and it was this strain that bred so many Anglophiles world-wide. This strain has now all but disappeared from that culture, though dukes and duchesses, knights and dames still walk the streets. What happened?
Along with the loss of empire, the 1960s happened. The Beatles happened. Herman’s Hermits and other rock groups happened. London was called “swinging” during that socially turbulent decade. English culture swung from aristocratic to populist, and it is unlikely to swing back.
The full-court press coverage of Queen Elizabeth’s death and funeral, and the unstinting praise of her manner—tirelessly dutiful, with winning human touches—suggests a lingering longing for the old strain of English aristocratic culture. Quite possibly the monarchy itself continues to exist only because of that same longing. Yet England is no longer home to the elegant aristocratic spirit that for so long made it great. England belongs to Sir
Mick Jagger
and Sir
Elton John
now.
Mr. Epstein is author, most recently, of “Gallimaufry: A Collection of Essays, Reviews, Bits.”
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