Gratitude inflation? Absolutely!

Once upon a time, English people expressed their gratitude by saying ‘Thanks’. As a child, I would also sometimes say ‘Thank you’ on more formal accessions, such as when my brother and I were paraded in front of relatives to express our gratitude for the Christmas presents they had given us. Over time, ‘Thank you’ completely replaced its abbreviated version, and was eventually replaced by ‘Thank you very much’. This in turn gave way to ‘Thank you very much indeed’. As English people frequently express their thanks (even when receiving change in a shop!), this all became very tiring. But lo! The last year has now seen the arrival of the phrase ‘Thank you so much’. This usually has a stress on the ‘so’, but some people contrive to also add a stress on the word ‘much’.

These changes do not mean that English people are more grateful than they were in the past. Instead, they can be seen as examples of verbal inflation. This is when words are added to our speech like barnacles to the hull of a ship, perhaps to impress or possibly for no reason at all. For instance, we now live in an era in which all tragedies are ‘Greek’, and in which all opportunities come equipped with windows. There has more recently been the trend to add ‘up with’ to the word ‘meet’. It is no longer possible to meet a friend, one now has to ‘meet up with’ him or her.

Even the word ‘Yes’ has been replaced - in this case by the unnecessarily affirmative word ‘Absolutely’. Whole conversations take place in which each participant exchanges their absolute agreement with each other. This is of course after they have met up with each other.

Thanks for reading this blog.

See also: A cliche rears its ugly head

Smelling the past

There are memories not just of sights and sounds, but of smells. My childhood in the 1950s was full of smells that I encounter much less frequently today. On the way to school each day, I would smell coal dust from the fires that heated every house. Coal dust made winter days foggy and old buildings blackened with soot. It was easy to dismiss the architecture of the past because it was so filthy.

The other memorable smell was from people. This was usually a combination (among men especially) of tobacco and sweat. Tobacco because most people smoked cigarettes most of the time. They scattered nub-ends, used packets and used matches around them. The top decks of buses and public buildings usually had a layer of this detritus on the floor. One of my first summer vacation jobs, in 1965, was as an airport hand (temporary) at Birmingham Airport. I spent most of each day pushing a broom, cleaning up after smokers.

The smell of sweat was because deodorants were regarded by many men as being unmasculine, and because people bathed and showered much less often than now. This was more a matter of attitude than opportunity. When I became an undergraduate at the London School of Economics in 1965, I moved into digs with a family in Streatham. I was shocked to find that they (father, mother and daughter) would share a bath serially. When one had finished, another would then occupy the bath. This all occurred quite quickly before the water got cold. Like most families I knew at that time, they bathed once a week.

When I became a social worker in the early 1970s, there were new smells - of filth and neglect. I visited houses where my feet stuck to the carpet, where a choking smell of dog faeces would emerge when I opened the door, where unwashed nappies were piled in a corner. I suspect that these smells remain and are suffered by a new generation of social workers and health visitors.

There were better smells. I remember especially the perfume of the first girl I took to an Italian meal in London (appropriately in Sicilian Avenue, Holburn), and the wonderful smell of olive oil, garlic, tomatoes and pesto sauce. I last saw that girl in 1968, but the Italian food has thankfully remained one of the continuing pleasures of my life. 

New political fantasies for old

The most striking change in politics in my lifetime has been the turnover of political fantasies. By ‘political fantasies’, I mean those visions of a better future which are proposed as being the ultimate aim of a political movement, and which have the following characteristics:

1.    The fantasy proposes not only a better world than the one we live in, but also one that is much simpler. The nature of this desired simplification varies from one political movement to another. Nationalists look forward to their nation being free of its irritating ethnic minorities or immune to the external power and cultural influence of an overweening neighbour. Communists and socialists wish for a world free of the immense complexity and demands of the market economy, to be replaced by one in which the rewards of society are allocated rationally to those with greatest merit. Islamists envisage a world living in accord with Sharia law, organised on lines resembling the first Muslim empire.

2.    The fantasy involves a belief that, once attained, it will result in a fundamental change in human nature, in which a new kind of person will emerge. Depending on the particular political fantasy, people in the new world will be fitter, kinder, more supportive of each other, prouder of their heritage, more devout, or more entrepreneurial and self-reliant.

3.    The fantasy is coupled with a programme of political action, presented as the initial steps on the road to the new world. As a result, these measures are invested by supporters with a sort of sacred quality which over-rides any consideration of their effectiveness. Socialists believed that the nationalisation of the ‘commanding heights’ of the economy were the essential first steps to achieve a socialist society. The 1964 Labour Government was therefore committed to renationalising the steel industry as a statement of faith rather than as a calculated measure to improve the organisation or efficiency of this industry. The process by which the fantasy is to be achieved beyond this initial programme is never made clear. As a result, political movements often seem to run out of steam once their initial programme is complete. Fantasy is postponed, then redefined, then forgotten.

4.    Some land (preferably one of which we know little) is seen as either embodying the fantasy, or at least leading the charge towards it. This usually involves a good deal of wishful thinking, followed by disappointment. Communists at first regarded the Soviet Union as the land closest to achieving their preferred fantasy. Disillusion was prompted not by the mass murder of ‘collectivisation’ or the show trials of the 1930s, but by the admission of its leader in 1956 that mistakes had been made. Many communists then became refugees of the mind, looking for a succession of beacons, from Yugoslavia, China, Cuba and, for some, even Albania. Scottish nationalists provide a less dramatic example, when their leader spoke in the 1990s of a future independent Scotland becoming part of an ‘arc of prosperity’, including Ireland and Iceland.              

Political fantasies, for all their faults, provide hope (or an array of alternative hopes) for ordinary people. They appeal particularly to the young because they have the most to hope for. But they also speak to people who have suffered poverty, discrimination, or a sense that their familiar world is under threat. The political movements that are committed to fantasies therefore have an energy and an appeal not found among political parties committed to implementing gradual improvements, whose language is boringly technical and pragmatic.

In my teenage years, the dominant fantasies were those produced by communists, social democrats (such as the British Labour Party) and by various sorts of nationalists. Since then, the social democrat and communist fantasies have become almost completely extinct. There are still various socialist and communist parties in power in various countries, but they no longer offer any prospect of a brighter future beyond a (very limited) redistribution of personal wealth. Nationalists, however, continue to offer fantasies. The SNP proposes that, if ‘independent’, Scotland would be an immeasurably better place, full of hope, yet also reassuringly unchanged, retaining the monarchy, the pound, the BBC, and a place in the European Union. The equivalent of the SNP in England is UKIP, which offers a simpler world, without the European Union, immigrants, decimal coinage, comprehensive schools, working mothers, recycling, and metric weights and measures. This is an appealing fantasy to all those who feel the world has been passing them by for several decades. But other people’s fantasies can be hell for the rest of us.

See also: Where have all the Marxists gone?