Life With An Englishman
Earlier this Autumn I asked for your input on what type of posts you would like to read here on Smitten by Britain. One or two of you mentioned that you are engaged to an Englishman and are planning a move to the U.K. So I thought it would be fun to invite some friends of mine to share with you what they know life to be like with an Englishman. First up is a funny story from the lovely Denise LeCroy.
I wish I could remember exactly where, when and why it was that I became an Anglophile. It would be nice to know what person, book, poem, song or photograph cast England’s spell upon me. All I know is that I am one.
How perfect then that at the mid-century point of my life, I should become engaged to (and later marry) a man from London, England.
I was convinced that there would be no cultural issues whatsoever between my future husband Antony and I. After all, I was an Anglophile! I knew all about the Queen and the Prime Minister and a democratic monarchy. I had visited London twice before with a girlfriend and could tell a fiver from a ten pound note with my eyes closed. And I liked tea! (That fact alone should quantify me as an expert on the English and their way of life, right?)
The early days of my new life in London were magical. I was so proud of myself! There I was – living in an English flat with an English man answering an English telephone that rings twice just like in the movies. Why, I knew everything there was to know about living in England. There was nothing to worry about.
Antony was employed by the local Council and during those first weeks of our relationship would ring every afternoon to ask if we could have tea as soon as he got in from work.
“Tea? Tea? Why, of course darling!” I was ecstatic.
“This is perfect!” I thought to myself. “I just knew the English lived this way! I wasn’t dreaming. I didn’t just have a romantic vision of everyday life in England. English people do have Afternoon Tea and they have it every afternoon!”
As a tea aficionado, I was more than happy to oblige his daily request with pots of perfectly brewed tea, small homemade tea sandwiches, cakes, pastries, and biscuits. Oh yes, the list goes on. I was in tea heaven.
Many weeks and added pounds (as in weight) later my darling Antony finally garnered the courage to tell me that when he said “tea” he meant – supper. (Poor guy had Afternoon Tea at 4:15 five days a week, followed a couple of hours later by a full meal.)
Denise: “Supper? But you said ‘tea’”.
Antony: “Yes I did. Over here, ‘tea’ means supper. ‘Afternoon Tea’ means, well, ‘Afternoon Tea’”.
Denise: “So what do you call a cup of PG Tips?”
Antony: “Tea.”
Denise: “Forget it.”
We still have a good laugh about it to this day, and in my five years of marriage to my darling Englishman Antony, I have indeed learned just how much England and America are two countries “divided by a common language.”
