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We don’t have Thanksgiving in the UK. It’s not that we disapprove of saying thank you, or that we disapprove of US traditions. We just don’t particularly like being told what to do. Historically, the only people we’ve ever had to say thank you to are the AA man and anyone handing over a bumper box of Quality Street chocolates. (These references will be lost on anyone not familiar with 1980s British TV ads, but you can see the sample of gratitude is small.)
We do have a harvest festival tradition, but it generally involves school children collecting tins of baked beans and corned beef to distribute to the local old people’s homes. And it’s kept at a safe distance from Christmas, Easter and both of the Queen’s birthdays so no-one can write to their local MP complaining about being over stimulated.
(Of course the founders of both US and Canadian appreciation fests – Sir Martin Frobisher and the New England settlers – were English. But sadly, inventing Thanksgiving is a fairly minor blip for us in a history of being otherwise not terribly gracious while out discovering new worlds.)
And so it was one of those rare light-headed moments where the thread-bear rug of British normality is pulled sharply from under your Clarks brogues that I stood and almost tutted aloud this week at a sign in the window of Marks & Spencer’s food hall. ‘Order your Thanksgiving turkey here.’ In five simple words, our proud history of never needing to show outward emotion, particularly with close relatives or distant friends, was brought crashing down. If it’s in M&S, it’s official. Thanksgiving has arrived. And because whatever we think about the whole thanking business, what we Brits do brilliantly is politeness, I’m guessing that no-one will take a stand.
So thank you, and cheers.
