Summary

The author reflects on their affinity for upper-class English culture despite growing up in a working-class Scottish environment, attributing this connection to early literary influences and discussing the impact of class on their aspirations and writing.

Abstract

The author, despite their working-class Scottish roots, identifies with the upper-class English lifestyle, a fascination they trace back to their childhood love for Enid Blyton's books and other similar literature. This early exposure to a different social dialect and lifestyle shaped their vocabulary and aspirations. At university, they encountered a more refined social circle, which led to an attempt to adjust their accent and mannerisms. Despite experiences of classism and exclusion, the author acknowledges the value of their diverse background in their development as a writer, while also recognizing the limitations and superficiality of the upper-class world. The narrative concludes with the author's appreciation for the meritocratic nature of Canadian society, where class origins play a lesser role in one's success.

Opinions

The author has a strong affinity for the upper-class English culture, which they attribute to their early reading habits.
They believe that their working-class background and experiences with different social classes have enriched their writing.
The author experienced a sense of otherness and a desire to assimilate into a more privileged social group during their university years.
They acknowledge a traditional Scottish inferiority complex and the aspiration to overcome class barriers, which were more pronounced in the UK of the past.
The author harbors a fantasy of an upper-class lifestyle but ultimately finds the reality of such a life unappealing and somewhat pitiful.
They appreciate the more egalitarian society in Canada, where class origins are less of a barrier to success.

Posh. Why I don’t care that I’m not.

And how it makes me a better writer.

Photo — Amazing Queen by Alice Alinat on Unsplash

The upper class culture is deeply embedded within me. I like to watch the hunt, read Tatler and enjoy nothing more than a good rainy country walk followed by scrambled eggs and a game of charades. When I read that something is done “as Nanny would have” I nod along in agreement.

But I am what Irvine Welsh would call a “schemie”. I was raised not by Nanny at the nursery fire with buttered crumpets for tea but on a council estate in Scotland. So why do I feel this connection with posh (!) English people?

I put it down to Enid Blyton. From the time I was old enough to read, I guzzled down Mallory Towers, St Claire’s, Cherry AND Willow Tree Farms and let’s not forget the Famous Five and Secret Seven.

Ok, so the Five and Seven may not actually have been upper class – come to think of it all her stories are more privileged middle – but the voice in which she wrote was a million miles away from the local dialect I grew up with.

I followed up by reading CS Lewis, another writer with a plummy voice. Things went a little astray in my teenage years, when American high school romances were more my cup of tea, but those early years helped shape my vocabulary, open me up to worlds that were not my own and educate me in a way that school teachers never could.

And they gave me something to aspire to. Later the desire to read that 1930’s upper class voice would return to me and I would immerse myself in Evelyn Waugh and all the Mitfords.

When I went to university, my new friends poked gentle fun at my accent. It wasn’t that it was Scottish – some of my friends were Scottish too. It was the “wrong kind” of Scottish. Schemie in other words.

I tried to develop my ear and adjust my pronunciation. Po-em and film instead of po-yum and fil-um. Friends parents took us to actual restaurants with linen tablecloths and water glasses and those parents knew which wine to order and how to tip.

My new friends knew how to dress correctly for an occasion – my dresses, I came to realize, were distinctly lower class.

After university, my acquaintance with the privileged continued. I remember one weekend being asked along to a house party with a couple of friends. The party was to include a ceilidh and a shoot. “I’ve made it!” I thought…until I overheard the host’s son advising his friends not to talk to me. Of course that might have been because I punched him in a pub once when I was drunk. Look he gave me a scare – it was a fight or flight reflex that’s all!

Anyway…when I got to bed after the dance and was drifting off in the admittedly not very comfortable twin, a big upper class girl came and pulled me out. “I’m sleeping there” she said. I slept like her maid on the floor.

As we left at the end of the weekend the hosts parents had no idea who I was – “Ah yes – are you the girl whose brother’s in the Navy?” Actually he was a squaddie in the army but I don’t think that’s what they had in mind.

Why would I want to be like a bunch of people who are very often quite unpleasant? Partly escapism and a traditional Scottish inferiority complex I think, but also the desire to win, to achieve.

If you’ve lived in the UK, especially a couple of decades ago, you’ll have seen that all the top people were posh. Whether you worked in the arts or in business, even in hospitality, you could bet your boss’s boss had that posh accent and went to one of a handful of schools.

How was anyone from the outside ever to break the champagne ceiling?

One of the things I love about living in Canada is that the obvious classism is not there. Everyone’s accent is pretty much the same unless you’re a first generation immigrant.

Everyone is trying to make it. You are judged very largely on your own merits, the work you put it and the network you build.

Do I still harbour a fantasy posh life – yes, yes I do. But I don’t really want to be one of those people. In the cold light of day – they seem a bit sad.

I think that my background – raised in poverty, well travelled both physically and socially – are far more valuable to a writer than a plummy accent.

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