Tag: LEARN ENGLISH

Weekly Lesson: Thanksgiving

For study until 24th of November 2024

Subject: Thanksgiving

Audio: On usual social media platforms

Thanksgiving

British people don’t celebrate Thanksgiving but there’s always an American around to invite us. When my American neighbours invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them, I was sure there must be some kind of catch. So I desperately tried to think of an excuse:

“Eh, sorry I will be working” I answered quickly.

 “Oh that’s fine, just pop in when you can” he responded.

 “Eh yes ok but what exactly do you do on that day”? I asked…

“We just try to welcome the neighbours to join us so we can eat together…” He went on to say how the whole family get together and sit round the table saying what they are thankful for. 

“Oh, how not British” I murmured, remembering how Americans love positive thinking. The scene kind of resembled an episode of the Simpsons where Homer meets the neighbour Ned Flanders. The thought of sitting around a table and talking about what I’m grateful for sounds more like a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, rather than a good time.

It was one of those moments where I realised just how different British and American culture is. This couple have 13 kids and he is only forty-five years old. The oldest one is “coming home” for Thanksgiving and will be helping to cook. Again how “not British” I thought to myself.  That means at least one child a year – Don’t they have Netflix? Then I remembered, they shun TV completely. So one child being born every year isn’t so strange after all.

“What else will you do”? I asked…. “Surely you will spend a lot of time on skype with your relatives back home?” trying to carve out a plan and reason why it would not be perceived rude if I didn’t attend, in line with my British politeness.

“Oh they will be at Church all day” he replied “so we will catch up with them in the night, we have 6 hours difference anyway.”

“Darn –  is no excuse good enough“? I thought.

“I will start cooking at 12pm, you can come along and help me if you want, my daughter will have most of it done, I will do the meat”. He chuckled.

I have watched enough American movies to know that when American men cook, it is all about showing masculinity, maleness and some kind of egotistical trip about being male. British men usually do that by either having a barbecue with alcohol or going to the pub and getting drunk. For us Brits the camaraderie in drinking is more important than the food. I scratched my head for a moment remembering that this guy is actually tee-total. I don’t drink either so we are more alike than not. I found myself wondering why I found him so annoying then.

“I’ll need to spend a lot of time out hunting next week, to walk off the weight after this celebration”  he snorted.

“Ah Yes” I thought to myself, I remembered why he leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s that  habit Americans have of being outdoors and doing things, like driving  golf carts, shooting animals and fishing. I didn’t even know we had hunting clubs here but of course I could see his collection of guns behind him which were lined up like trophies.

“Aren’t you afraid the kids might find these?” I asked.

“It’s better they get used to them early” he said – “besides the ammunition is kept far away”.

“Anyway, the wife and kids would love to see you on Thanksgiving” he continued.

When people talk about “loving to see me”, I always get a bit suspicious. It’s a sure sign that the opposite is true however with Americans you never know… I think he might actually mean it. They don’t share our British dark cynicism. They honestly think the world is a nice place.

 MaryBeth, the wife appeared,  “13 kids,  its no surprise she looks tired”. I thought to myself.

“Why don’t you join us for Breakfast on Thanksgiving” she uttered. MaryBeth is a common North American name, a shortened version of Mary Elizabeth.

I could see there really was no escape, but breakfast might be a way out of this because they will be up and ready for Church on this auspicious day. So I gave in, breakfast with the neighbours then I’ll spend the rest of the day recovering. The youngest has been practicing playing the American National Anthem – I only know that because it woke me up a few days ago, but of course I would never mention that to them.

“Samuel has been practicing playing the American National Anthem on the Piano” the mother said proudly.  I bit my lip and resisted saying something sarcastic about his practice time.

“You son of a gun” said the father as he ruffled the boy’s hair with his hand.

“We never see Jonathan  these days – he is training to become a minister” they went on  to say proudly. He is the eldest son apparently. No one ever speaks about the middle one, Thomas, I was going to ask about him but it just didn’t feel right.  

I felt kind of sad, we speak the same language, live in the same street but couldn’t be more different.

“Oh, how is……. your…. Cat… dog – pet, toffee?” – MaryBeth asked. Clearly they weren’t in touch with the important things in my life. They smiled…. in a kind of a truculent way which emitted pity.

“My cat…… Ptofi…. He is fine” I answered before making an excuse to leave.

“Oh I made jam today for you and the family” she said, breaking the awkwardness of the moment, handing me a jar of jam. It really felt like an episode of a homespun American drama although no one was getting shot in this rerun.

“Sorry I forgot your wife’s name” she continued.

“Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten all 13 names of your kids as well… by the way, how is Thomas?” I retaliated.  

“eh, well, we don’t really……” they both said at the same time “anyway, enjoy the jam”

“Oh thanks” I replied while backing towards the door. Glancing over my shoulder at the rifles and child in the room as I made a hasty retreat.

“See you on Thanksgiving” – came the voices behind me, it was starting to feel more like Amityville, an American horror movie  than a drama.

I thought to myself “I really wish that UK people had something like Thanksgiving where we could all sit around the table happily” but then I remembered, we do, it’s called Christmas and although we all sit around the table, it’s rarely happy.

My mind went to Thomas, somehow I knew that he will be the elephant in the room this year, if he is actually invited.

Weekly Lesson: Remembrance Sunday

For study until 17th of November 2024

Subject: Remembrance Sunday

Audio: On usual social media platforms

Remembrance Sunday

In the month of November, on the Sunday closest to the 11th, Remembrance Sunday takes place. The day is supposed to commemorate the War Dead across the Commonwealth and British territories but for younger generations it is often perceived as incredibly dull.  Since it is a historic ceremony involving the dead, it has been enshrined in our communities as being very important, reminding us that democracy is not an automatic right, it is something which was fought for at a great price with a loss of life.  Our Leaders gather at War Memorials up and down the country and lay flowers, remembering all those who have died. In these days where we celebrate diversity and peace, ceremonies like this can seem a bit icky.  In fact for most of us the ickiness of the day sits in direct contrast with modern living.

The ceremony represents the face of Britain as it was in 1919 when the first took place on Armistice Day in 1919. Over time it has been expanded to include the Second World War and other conflicts in the World.  Little has changed in the ceremony since 1919, the three faces of the Government  all come together. The Monarchy, the Church and the Military all parade through the streets, looking like a reminder of days gone by.  Despite the Government telling us that Britain is now multicultural and politically correct, the ceremony itself is embarrassingly “white”.

When I was a little boy, in the 1980s, there were still people around who remembered the First World War known as World War One and Remembrance Sunday seemed much more important than it is today. World War One still encroaches on our lives today as well; If you work for a company here, you may be asked on certain days to observe a two minute silence to remember the War Dead on anniversaries of World War One.  If I had a penny for every time I have been asked to respect a two minute silence to remember the war, I would be a very rich man by now.

I stopped commemorating  Remembrance Sunday some years ago, I really dislike the two minute silence part at 11am where we are told we have to “shut up” for two minutes to remember those who died in the Wars. That may have worked some years ago but these days trying to get anyone to focus on something for 2 minutes is not likely to happen.

I find the whole thing rather fake,  I mean billions are spent on having ceremonies remembering the Glorious Dead from the old British Empire, why not just look at stopping war. Would that not be a better idea or forget about the ceremony and give the money to a charity instead? 

Then there’s the Royal commentary about the King and Queen who are of course leading the ceremony in London dressed in black wearing poppies on their jackets. A poppy is a little flower that you can see everyone wearing the week before the ceremony it is a little paper flower which is bright red and sometimes has a bit of green at the back. It is used as a symbol of remembering our War Dead.

Apparently this year our Queen has a chest infection so she cannot attend.  It is a very sombre affair,  my Grandmother used to say our Royals all look like horses with their rather protruding teeth and many people here refer to them as “horsey” – meaning they have horse features. I can imagine them nibbling on the flowers rather than laying them at the cenotaph.

 It’s hard to escape, every news channel in the UK has live coverage from London showing our Royals arriving looking more like they are going to the Oscars rather than the Cenotaph.

“And today the Queen is wearing the pearls gifted to her from the Sultan of Oman… and the king’s coat was last seen worn at his Mother’s funeral…”. It is the epitome of boredom, kitsch and a ceremony which feels wrong in so many ways. It really is just icky.

Last year I forgot about the ceremony and tried to listen to radio on my phone at 11.01am. Getting no sound I immediately uninstalled the app, still heard nothing and blamed my Bluetooth buds. Just before giving up and threatening to reset the whole phone, I heard a trumpet and realised it marked the end of the two minute silence, my equipment was fine and started playing. I rolled my eyes, picked up my cat and went to the other room to watch Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher in Murder She Wrote, solve another murder. It seemed the only way I could escape the boredom of the day.

Earlier this year it got quite exciting, in my local newspaper there was an enquiry from volunteers who look after  a War Cemetery in the Netherlands seeking contact with relatives of people buried there. The name was one of my Mother’s cousins and I was able to pass photos and give a short biography of the man. The Dutch guy who wanted the info was really excited and clearly thought we were going to be best friends forever and share a love for researching  the lives of young men who died tragically.  From my point of view it was interesting to know where Tommy was buried but I never knew him, he died during the war.  I only  knew that it wasn’t exactly a hero’s death, he was stealing chickens from the enemy camp during World War Two and sadly a bomb dropped while he was there.  Maybe I will drop into to the cemetery the next time I am in the Netherlands but there’s more chance of me being in the supermarket buying chicken  rather than remembering Tommy this year. As much as I love family history, I never expected to be the last man standing with photos and biographies. I  am only in my fifties after all, still very young.

Anyway, after this ceremony, my attention will be turning to Christmas cards another eccentrically British tradition and I’ll be looking at my Christmas card list to see who I got a card from last year and who is worthy of a card this year. If I don’t get a card two years in a row  from someone, then the person is removed from my list.

 This may be a far cry from Remembrance Sunday but equally important in my opinion.