Middle Class Conversations in Corbridge 11/08/20

 As I’ve grown up and met people from different walks of life, I’d be lying if I hadn’t realised that I have had somewhat of a middle class upbringing. That’s not to say that I revel in my privilege but I do try and be aware of it. I try to be grateful for what I have and not be envious of others. However, whilst I know that I am extremely lucky to have more than other people, it is sometimes refreshing in a way, to go to middle class towns such as Hexham or Corbidge and be reminded that posh and well-spoken as I may be, at least I’m not a complete toff. 

Today I was privy to a conversation between a mature woman and an elderly man in his vintage antiques shop about how she’d had to cycle over from Hexham today because “a young man from Suffolk had driven into [her] car” as they were a “one car family” now. Luckily that hadn’t prevented her from picking up the sculpture that she’d managed to convince her husband to buy. In my mind, after she’d left the store, I imagined her returning on what is probably something like a ‘lazy Jane’ model bicycle to her 4 bedroom cottage complete with porch, artfully trimmed hedges and cobble stone driveway. I'm sure she was a lovely woman and certainly her tranquil attitude to her car being written off by an apparent stranger didn't seem the least bit begrudging, but that's probably because the dent in her car didn't make much of a dent in her capital. 

The notion that this seemingly recent status of hers as a "one car family" needed this clarification is maddening to me, and the Monty Python ‘Four Yorkshiremen’ sketch came to mind. Whilst me and my brother have been raised with privilege and consistency, our parents have made it very clear to us over the years that they came from humble beginnings of ‘crispy pancakes’ and hand knitted sweaters because they couldn’t afford new clothes. As public sector workers, the metaphorical rungs of the class ladder have very much been scaled from a bedsit in Cleathorpes to a 3 bedroom house in the West End of Newcastle. The concept of university was seen as a rarity in their families, both of them being the first members of their family to get degrees, and a Coca Cola was seen as a luxury. Never mind having two cars parked in the driveway. It is these nostalgic stories of our parents’ childhood that I like to think keep me and my brother from turning into self-entitled tories, even despite my brother's recent graduation from the notoriously pretentious Cambridge university. And for this, our debt to our parents is immeasurable. 

In addition to this, places like Corbridge remind me of how much I prefer my own neighbourhood which is poorer but also more diverse, less exclusivist and most importantly, not full of raging ‘leave’ voting tories. That’s not to say that Corbridge is not a sweet little town to visit for lunch every so often, giving my mum and I the opportunity to imagine which of the preened balconies we would choose for ourselves in another world. In fact, I'm sure many of us love to coo over chandeliers and lavish home decor, but in my mind it is the stuff of catalogue showrooms and professional interior design programmes rather than a place for a family. The very idea of growing up anywhere that can be described as "quaint" instills a certain level of abhorrence in me and I think sometimes you really can have too much of a good thing, especially materialistically. Personally, the city and the attitudes that come along with it will always have my heart. 

That being said, It’d be wrong to deny the houses themselves the appropriate appreciation for their crawling ivy and ornate door handles. It’s just a shame that often those qualities carry connotations of racial intolerance and classicism in a place like that. Of course it’s unfair to condemn every inhabitant of Corbridge in this way, but that’s the thing with upper class privilege, you’ve got to be willing to take the rough with the smooth (marble of your spiral staircases).