...to live like a Lord

 ..to live like a Lord


                                      the white cliffs of dover 1967


     Anglophilia had spread across America in the mid-sixties as the British Invasion flowed from radios and TVs into the old Yankee colony. I was always fascinated by the accent and the fact I had a quarter of English blood in my own veins. The coolest cat in the world was James Bond and the Beatles could do no wrong. As I finished High School and stopped and started my studies at Compton JC my English fever heated up like the weather never was in the old country. At Compton in 1967 I was very fortunate to take a class in English History from the greatest teacher in my life, the venerable Doc Umstead who made learning like listening to a favorite song. By the time Doc took me through the War of the Roses and the evil of Oliver Cromwell I just had to get to Great Britain. The topper was when we were drinking at Billy Hogan's back patio and a friend brought a couple of English geezers (their slang= guys) over who were visiting. We got drunk, they got drunk and it was decided we WERE going to the mother country. Despite the fact I was a lazy punk who did not appreciate my good place in California I focused on this goal of visiting the United Kingdom. With BC's help I was able to pretend to be member of some club and booked a charter flight to my dream destination at the end of August.. I studied all the angles and  got an American Youth Hostel pass and the accompaying precious booklet along with the required vaccinations. I went to the Federal Building and acquired a Passport where the Turtles pop group made asses of themselves to the waiting travellers. I had a very good job with the South Gate Recreation departmen but could not pass up this obsession and quit to travel to the magic land across the pond. Bill made his own arrangements but we planned to meet in London on a certain day and to seal the deal BC gave us these ungainly and totally inappropriate satchels that said UCLA on the side. There are so many stories during my month in Europe I could fill many a page but this one is just about a lesson learned while hitch-hiking in the midlands of England. Billy and I had indeed met up in London and exitedly began our exploration of the lands of our forefathers. We met kids on the road and also at the hostels where we stayed for sixty cents a night (really.) It was extra to have a sheet however. The pound was worth $2.80 and went a long way. We had no clue as to the smart ways to travel but we were moving freely by sticking our thumbs out and making connections on the road. We started in the borough of Highgate in London and then set out to visit Oxford, Stratford and points north. Along the way we met up with some kindred cats from Nelson who let us stay over and showed us Lancashire's fine pubs. Now, my stereotype of an Englishman or English woman included culture, manners and the speaking of the Mother tongue as it should be spoken. As we hitch-hiked we often got rides with lorry-drivers who were more salt of the earth types. We found in our clueless innocence we ended up getting invites and free meals if we just listened. We also experienced the other side of Britih social layers. We normally never waited long for rides in the midlands and were picked up by a rugged looking gent who wanted to set us straight about  modern problems. So it was in the cab of this truck we heard the English version of our American xenophobia called the "silent majority" The Brits were just getting waves of immigrants from India, Pakistan, and the West Indies who were not exactly embraced by common folks who felt estranged in ethnic neighborhoods, Instead of the N word they blamed everything on Pakistanis and their complaining was called Paki-bashing. Bill and I were shocked but we listened to this old waver of the Union Jack rant about how these dark-skinned invaders were taking over Jolly Old England. He claimed they could just show up and get on the dole while getting rewarded by having many little dark-skinned children. To sum up his ignorant spiel he laid a line on us we kept and repeated as an example that not all Brits were free from ignorance. He puffed on his woodbine cig and said "all you need is a bloody big tool  to live like a lord." 



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