Bronte Country? Oh, please…

This is the first in a new series of not especially serious rants against those stupidities and infelicities of contemporary life that piss me off so much more than they could conceivably warrant. Small things that punch above their weight in the pantheon of irritants and annoyances. I think I’ve lived long enough to deserve not having to suffer in silence any longer. So here goes… (And I may return to the suddenly ubiquitous ellipsis on another occasion.)

Whilst travelling along the M62 yesterday on my way to Lincolnshire, I passed a massive sign telling me that I could, if I wished, deviate into Bronte Country. Not, you will note, Brontë Country, but I suppose that would have been too much to ask. But it’s not the absence of umlaut that irritates me. It’s the very idea of This, That or The Other Country that now seems to infest the place. There’s the White Cliffs Country that pollutes one’s arrival at Dover. Robin Hood Country lurks menacingly anywhere within 50 miles of Nottingham. There’s White Horse Country, and Oast House Country, and probably Closed Down Mines Country should you venture into County Durham.

There’s something so archly contrived about all these suddenly sprouting countries. They are so obviously the evil excrescence from some tourist consultant’s warped imagination. They have absolutely no connection with how we think of our one real country. They stand in no naming tradition, and have no basis in how we use the language. Apart from the countries that are really countries, we only use the word in expressions such as “going down to the country”. This is not France. In France the expression pays de whatever is an entirely natural part of the French language. There are vins de pays, there are the gens du pays, there are melons de pays. But “country”, whilst it may be a perfectly good translation for pays, does not perform the same function in English. So no, we do not talk about country melons, even if we had any melons to be country ones. And, if you don’t want to see me reduced to spluttering apoplexy, you do not talk about Shakespeare Country within my earshot. Clear?


3 thoughts on “Bronte Country? Oh, please…

  1. So, this is your first post under “Grumpy Old Git.” I Like your new category. Next we’ll be getting a post under the category “Grumpier Old Git.”

    Take two chocolates and call me in the morning.

    Cattle Country, Texas
    Located just north of Peach Country, Texas

  2. Was in the Lake District a few years ago and overheard a lady who was old enough to know better gazing into a shop window of anthropomorphic tat and saying “Oh yes, we’re in Beatrix Potter Country, aren’t we?”

    So I went all Mr McGregor and killed her and put her in a pie.

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