Afua Hirsch’s call to “reframe what it means to be British” (“Rainbow nation, racist backstory,” April) reminded me of a conversation I had at school in the 1960s. None of us thought that English was an identity worth having. I seized on my father’s Scottishness, a friend claimed Viking origins, the Celtic nations were OK, generic “Northern” was acceptable—but we mockpitied those who could only claim “English.” The word “British” never crossed our minds. We were pupils at a girls’ grammar school in Berkshire. I suppose others elsewhere may have known what it meant to be British. We did not.
Kathy Fletcher, via email
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May 2017
 
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