Most of us take being British for granted, having had no say whatsoever in the country of our birth. But, for some people, choosing to become British is a very big deal, and not to be undertaken lightly. There are a lot of hoops to jump through. You have to have lived in the UK for at least five years (various technicalities apply). You have to be able to speak English (other home nation languages acceptable). You have to pass a ridiculously difficult "Life in the UK" test that 99% of British nationals would fail (go on, try it). You have to be of good character (no nasty criminals please, because the Daily Mail wouldn't approve). And you have to want to reside in a country full of fish and chips, queues, drizzle, wonky teeth and various other national stereotypes. At £720 per application, plus costs, only a solvent Anglophile would ever apply.
Yesterday I attended my first ever British Citizenship ceremony. It wasn't my own, but that of a fellow blogger to whom I've been electronically attached for years but had never previously met. Did I want to come along to the ceremony as one of the two permitted guests? Hell yes, thank you, much obliged, how very polite of you, how very British. And so I turned up at a London Town Hall yesterday morning, not quite so smartly dressed as my new acquaintance, to see how the entire event worked. And to applaud at all relevant moments, obviously.
There's a lot of paperwork involved in getting through the event. You have to bring the invite letter and various other forms of ID (not a UK passport, because you haven't got one of those yet). These get cursorily checked on the way in, and then scrutinised more carefully about three quarters of an hour later by scrupulous municipal staff. And inbetween you just sit in the waiting room and wait. Oh yes, there's a lot of hanging around before anything important actually happens. The invite said that refreshments would be provided, and I had visions of a traditional British buffet of sausage rolls, curled up sandwiches and Victoria sponge. No such luck. Some coffee, some tea bags, a few cartons of generic fruit juice and a pile of biscuits - still traditionally British, but not in a very exciting way.
At this particular ceremony there were just over 20 foreigners becoming non-foreigners. A very mixed bag, from people you would have known were new to the country to people you'd never have guessed weren't actually born here. An elderly Afro-Caribbean couple wore their Sunday best, including almost matching hats, while others wore headscarves or flowing canary dresses indicative of the country they were leaving behind. As names were called out so that participants could file into the Council Chamber, it appeared that Monday was "surnames A-D" day. As guests we followed along shortly afterwards to take our seats on the party benches. It was slightly surreal to hear the Beatles 'She Loves You' playing over the loudspeakers as we entered, but what better group to use as background music?
The Citizenship Coordinator leading the ceremony had split his charges into two groups - believers on the right and atheists on the left. Those in the first group would get to swear their oath of allegiance to God and the Queen, while those in the second merely had to solemnly affirm the same. Her Majesty was in attendance via a regal portrait in a gold frame, elevated on an easel above head height where she would look good in the souvenir photos. There was some preliminary spiel about community-mindedness and the qualities of Britishness, as if these were somehow properly defined, and then a council dignitary gave a speech about much the same things. One of the best things about this moment, she argued, is that from now on you'll be able to vote in council and general elections. With 2010 approaching, good timing.
A bit of "repeat after me" completed the formal induction (congratulations, you're now officially British), and then everybody stood for the National Anthem. "It's pitched a bit high" said Councillor Smith, as official absolution for not joining in, although most people at least mouthed the words. Just the one verse, no need to overdo things. And finally everyone was called up one by one to sign yet another piece of paper - the official certificate - and to get their photograph taken holding it alongside a beaming Citizen Smith. It was a very informal ceremony, with guests needing no encouragement to rush around snapping photographs throughout, and even a breast-feeding baby in the front row to celebrate true British tolerance.
We queued up at the end for the £10 professional photograph, dispensed almost instantly from a red machine at the back of the council chamber. And then back out into the street - for two of us no change, and for one of us as a very proud fresh citizen. We hunted down a traditional British pub in the High Street, and drank a unspoken toast to inclusion, diversity and pride. Welcome to Briton, mate. I don't know what you did yesterday lunchtime, but I bet it wasn't anywhere near as significant.
Most of us take being British for granted, having had no say whatsoever in the country of our birth. But, for some people, choosing to become British is a very big deal, and not to be undertaken lightly. There are a lot of hoops to jump through. You have to have lived in the UK for at least five years (various technicalities apply). You have to be able to speak English (other home nation languages acceptable). You have to pass a ridiculously difficult "Life in the UK" test that 99% of British nationals would fail (go on, try it). You have to be of good character (no nasty criminals please, because the Daily Mail wouldn't approve). And you have to want to reside in a country full of fish and chips, queues, drizzle, wonky teeth and various other national stereotypes. At £720 per application, plus costs, only a solvent Anglophile would ever apply.
Yesterday I attended my first ever British Citizenship ceremony. It wasn't my own, but that of a fellow blogger to whom I've been electronically attached for years but had never previously met. Did I want to come along to the ceremony as one of the two permitted guests? Hell yes, thank you, much obliged, how very polite of you, how very British. And so I turned up at a London Town Hall yesterday morning, not quite so smartly dressed as my new acquaintance, to see how the entire event worked. And to applaud at all relevant moments, obviously.
The Citizenship Coordinator leading the ceremony had split his charges into two groups - believers on the right and atheists on the left. Those in the first group would get to swear their oath of allegiance to God and the Queen, while those in the second merely had to solemnly affirm the same. Her Majesty was in attendance via a regal portrait in a gold frame, elevated on an easel above head height where she would look good in the souvenir photos. There was some preliminary spiel about community-mindedness and the qualities of Britishness, as if these were somehow properly defined, and then a council dignitary gave a speech about much the same things. One of the best things about this moment, she argued, is that from now on you'll be able to vote in council and general elections. With 2010 approaching, good timing.
