JULY 6 — During a relatively brief period of modern human history, a small island in the North Sea could justifiably claim that it ruled the world.
At the height of its powers, the strength and scale of the Great British Empire, powered by the Industrial Revolution and subsequent giant trading companies, was simply staggering,
From America to Australia, from Malaysia to India, the elite ruling classes were proud to make the famous boast: “The sun never sets on the British Empire.”
As with all historical epochs, however, the moment passed and the territorial possessions were gradually granted independence: some with a mutually beneficial and happily agreed parting of ways, many others only after blood was spilt and lives lost in violent civil wars.
Now, the British “empire” has been reduced to a small scattering of paltry possessions, including a barren island deep in the South Atlantic (the Falklands) and an anomalous enclave on the southern Spanish coast (Gibraltar), thrusting the previously great Great Britain back towards its former status as a small and essentially irrelevant afterthought on the margins of the greater global society.
Where Britannia once ruled the waves, now it is pathetically politically subservient to the United States and economically lethargically lagging behind European Union heavyweights Germany and the emerging Asian giants of China, Japan and India.
In one respect, though, the lasting influence of the Empire remains as strong as ever: sport.
By far the most popular sport in the world — both in terms of spectators and participants — is football, a game which has its modern-day origins in the British public schools of the mid-1800s and had its first rule book drawn up by the English Football Association in 1863.
Two more globally popular team sports, rugby union and cricket, were also dreamed up on the playing fields of England’s most expensive educational establishments.
Furthermore, the more leisurely individual pursuit of golf originated in Scotland, while another wildly successful creation of the British Empire was lawn tennis, with the world’s first tennis club being formed near Birmingham in 1872.
Of course, all the aforementioned athletic activities rapidly spread beyond the confines of their empirical beginnings and are now passionately played and followed on all corners of the globe.
And, with the possible exception of cricket, British performers have largely fallen behind their peers from the former colonies and beyond, who have assumed pre-eminence by implementing a series of tactical, technical and physical innovations to improve upon the original offerings of the early British pioneers.
However, the British origins of sport are afforded a significant degree of ongoing recognition with the honour of hosting a regular run of world-class events such as golf’s annual British Open and the irrepressibly popular English Premier League.
These high-profile spectacles allow the proud British public to forget their country’s increasing marginalisation and bask in the revived status of once again being important in the eyes of the rest of the planet.
One of those hiatuses is occurring right now, with the All-England Lawn Tennis Championship. During the annual fortnight of Wimbledon, traditional Britons can draw comfort from the knowledge that their country is being watched by the world.
For many, it’s a matter of national pride, demonstrating that Great Britain’s place at the global top table has not been completely lost.
And this has been a particularly good championship from the British perspective: the rain has stayed away, promising teenager Laura Robson reached the last 16 and Andy Murray has progressed to the final to give himself a chance of becoming the first British male winner since Fred Perry in 1936.
Plenty of reason to make the whole country proud, you would think?
The deeper truth, as always, is more complex because Wimbledon only really resonates with the segment of British society containing the traditional white middle or upper classes. And their numbers have dwindled considerably in recent years.
Demographically, the country has changed beyond recognition in the last half-century or so, due to a huge influx of immigrants from the former colonies.
It’s a hugely controversial political topic, with many old-fashioned Brits passionately arguing that the country is already full, the essence of “Britishness” is being diluted and the borders should be closed, while other more kind-hearted folk recognise the debt of responsibility owed to people whose countries were once mercilessly invaded and bled dry by the money-lusts of the empire.
Whatever the rights and wrongs of the matter, the consequences are undeniable: the identity of Britain has changed and is still changing, and the traditional image presented by strawberries and cream at leafy Wimbledon just doesn’t ring true for a significant minority of the nation.
It would be nice to think that Murray will be cheered on by the whole of Great Britain when he steps foot on Centre Court to face Novak Djokovic tomorrow afternoon, but that’s just not the case.
Although Murray’s progress has indeed been followed with great interest by a certain segment of society, it’s equally true that modern Britain also contains a significant section of the population who have no interest whatsoever in tennis and wouldn’t recognise Andy Murray if he walked past them on the street.
Largely speaking, those people do not have a voice in the mainstream media. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, and post-colonial modern Britain is a very different beast from the nation that once ruled the world.
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
