We moved to France 8 months before the UK’s referendum on whether or not we should remain in the EU or leave… By a narrow margin, to my utter horror, the public voted to leave, and the word “Brexit” became almost the most used word in the UK and by expats abroad. It became a word that split families, caused unbridgeable rifts between lifelong friends… a truly hateful word. I’m European – that’s how I’ve seen myself for most of my life, certainly since my late teens. When I was a child, my parents took me to Spain for holidays, and I loved learning a few words in Spanish. We went to Austria and I was fascinated by the language – so very different from Spanish and the French I was learning at school. I loved seeing how different – and how similar – life was in these countries. My first husband’s father was Polish, and visiting his family in Poland in my early 20s was my first real experience of families from different cultures. In my 40s I bought a house in Italy and started to learn Italian. I started to get to know the neighbours in the little Italian hamlet. I adored Italy and lived for my holidays there. I am European… I now live in France with my English husband, my English dog, and my French dog and cat… I am European… And, unbelievable as it still seems to me, in a few short months I will be European no more. How can that happen? I love England – I always intended to return there after my adventure in mainland Europe; I think it’s a stunning country, and I’m proud of my roots… However, that doesn’t mean I am content to be “English”, or “British” – I am European.
Since I married my first husband, whose father was Polish, I’ve been fascinated with World War 2. My own mother told me stories of bomb shelters, munitions factories, gas masks and rationing, all through my childhood, so the interest was sparked even earlier than that. However, since we’ve been living in rural France – and because I have more time these days – I’ve read a great many novels set during the Second World War. Stories set in the UK and Germany, and stories set in France. We live close to the line dividing Vichy France and Occupied France. I often wonder what the countryside – our house, perhaps – would tell me if I could hear what it says of that dark, dark time. I am humbled by how people survived in those times, how they continued living through such horror… I am humbled by the sheer numbers of human beings who were murdered… I am humbled by the people who fought for my freedom, my life. Having recently survived the death of both of my parents, I simply cannot begin to imagine how it must have felt to carry on living when death and cruelty were all around.
Brexit concerns me not just because of how it will affect my day to day life here in France, how it will affect Britain – the country of my birth, the country I love – over the next few years, but more than anything, how it has ripped open the civilised surface of our lives, allowing people to voice opinions best kept to themselves. Rascism, intolerance… These things are now openly defended and supported. I worry that Britain is starting to resemble 1930s Germany… None of the people running my country seem to have any integrity. The whole “movement”, the whole process of Brexit, appears to be unstoppable. I worry about the future. What will Britain be like 10 years from now? What of Europe? What if other countries also start breaking away, following Britain’s example… It is too awful to contemplate. I have been lucky enough to have lived on this planet for 53 years and by chance of the time and place of my birth, those years have been peaceful. However, I’m acutely aware that the next chapter of my life may not be so peaceful, and I’m happy to admit that thought terrifies me and saddens me. When there is so much to enjoy, when so much pleasure can be had from sharing, from learning off others, why do we want to close ourselves off from the world, and from our friends in Europe?
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
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