Reflections of Home

I have been in a reflective mood this week. I haven't been feeling in top form. Currently, I am dealing with a gastritis flare-up that is so painful, it affects my ability to function normally. So for that reason, thinking about better times has been on my mind.

Looking across to the other side of the World, there was an important by-election in Britain. Now I have been following it with interest, as you would expect. With politics top of the agenda back home, I immediately felt distant, alone and isolated from the fray. Politics is my thing — it is the topic that pumps vigorously through my veins and a big part of my daily life, even in Australia. As an observer looking in, I was shocked at the calibre of candidates standing in Makerfield, where this consequential vote was taking place. Politics has really reached new depths in an age when morals appear to be absent.

Of course, as a Labour supporter, I was rooting for the only credible candidate, Andy Burnham. And thankfully, he won a resounding victory. Even so, the fact that the Reform candidate came a good second was a worry. This man is sexist, racist, misogynistic, and homophobic, yet people voted for him in their thousands. The current state of Britain was laid bare. The country I used to call home was falling into a far-right trap that would destroy the very fabric of British society.

As I watched the result come in from Makerfield, I was immediately reminded of times spent with my Father, as he campaigned for his own election in the small town of Fareham. As a young boy in the 1980s, I would help Dad deliver leaflets door-to-door and even attended the count at the town hall as the results came in during the 1987 election. I thought to myself, how different politicians were back then. In the main, distinguished, accomplished people wanting to do the best for the communities in which they grew up. Today's career politicians are promoting their own agenda. Their views are dubious at best, sinister at worst. With the far right on the move, I was thankful for growing up at a more tolerant time.

I have spoken much about the memories that made me the person I am today. And as I get older, I am far more able to look back critically at a time that wasn't always as wonderful as I remember. I understand the difficulties we had as a family in the 1970s: the three-day week, strikes, rampant inflation and lack of money in our pockets. However, this was a period when families, neighbours, and friends worked together, supporting each other, in close-knit communities that wanted the best for their fellow residents. There weren't the selfish attitudes and racist rhetoric you hear today. As a child, I never heard bad language directed towards anyone at my school. We accepted one another, despite the 1970s less than favourable image.

Today, the World has changed dramatically. I am tempted to say we are heading backwards, but in reality the streets of Britain have never been so dangerous. The 1970s and 80s were a magical time to grow up. In the period before computers and social media, people and neighbourhoods mattered. This was not a derogatory time, as the media like to portray; this was a happy, robust character-building time — a far cry from the world today!

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