There’s a house
near where I live that has a full size flagpole in their garden flying a St
George’s Cross, which spells worry for me.
It’s the size of
the mast in relation to the land-space that concerns me: the garden’s by no
means big and yet the flag’s in keeping with a castle battlement. While I’d
hate to cast aspersions - which is clearly a sign I’m about to - I’d say it was
less a display of patriotism and more an act of defence. There’s a defiance to it that borders on confrontational:
when your staunch nationalistic statement literally overshadows everything
around it, it’s probably time to rein things in.
Part of the
problem is the English flag has become synonymous with racism and ignorance; that’s
not to say it should be, but it has. I’m all for reclaiming it, but it’s very hard to when it’s often those who shout loudest about it who’ll want
someone to go back where they came from in the next breath.
That’s not to say
everyone who displays a St George’s Cross is a bigot; it’s the flag of my home country, after all. But there’s a definite time, place and scale
to proceedings; if the post you’ve rigged it to towers above the neighbourhood
- or worse, you’ve painted it over one side of your house - you’re
probably over-egging it: garden poles are for runner beans, hanging
washing or playing swingball and that’s it.