What has literally tested me this week – was a test. No, not a pregnancy test. Not again. But I can see why you’d think that. Again. No, this week I wrote the Life in the UK Test. One of the requirements for our Leave to Remain application. The test is based on a handbook that covers British values, history, traditions and everyday life. There are 24 questions that the computer randomly selects and unless you achieve 18 correct answers, you fail. Oh and it’s £50 per shot.
So what’s so troublesome about a little test? We’ve lived here for nearly 5 years. We should, by now, have cracked some of the code for co-existence in the kingdom. We know that you pump your own fuel, that there are no car guards or grocery packers. We know that the Brits don’t do nudity, hugging or braais. They do barbecues but only if it’s sunny and on gas. We know that they have no problem with cyclists on main roads, selling booze on a Sunday, big dogs in small houses or parking cars in the opposite direction of traffic. They do have a problem with any cars that are not insured, spontaneous visitor drop-ins or giving directions in the underground. They love the Royals, Halloween, pantomimes, fireworks and football. We can mind the gap, stand clear of the doors and have even worked out how to navigate those bum-clenching 4 lane traffic circles. We know how to vote. Who we support politically – and that we never speak of this. We’re covered. Or so we thought.
But this test. Eish. It covers 10 000 year’s worth of British history. Literally from the Stone Age through to the Bronze and Iron Ages, the Roman, Viking, Anglosaxon and Tudor times, Medieval, Elizabethan, Industrial, and Victorian eras all the way through to Modern Britain. With every king, queen, war, religion, plague, colonial acquisition, sporting, architectural, literary achievement or scientific invention along the way. I mean how did we survive without knowing that the Speaker in parliament is elected by other MPs and is politically neutral, how the number serving on a jury in Scotland is 15 and everywhere else is 12, what percentage of the UK is Sikh or Buddhist, whether the Council of Europe can pass laws, how many countries form part of NATO and the number of delegates admitted to the Welsh Assembly? There is literally no end to the detail. And how do you possibly know which detail is going to be tested? You don’t. And therein lies the testing part.
So I read the book, wrote it out in longhand and then in shorthand. I downloaded an app on my phone with practice tests and worked through a series of exam questions online. And then the test day arrived and I was ready. More ready for any exam at school or university. I was called into a room to register and verify my identification. I wasn’t nervous at all. I should’ve been. Turns out the place of birth on my biometric card actually reads Durban and not Pietermaritzburg. I never noticed. This detail-orientated, OCD little being didn’t spot such a blatant error. So I wasn’t allowed to write the test. I failed before I’d begun. I was ushered out of the building. Do not pass. Do not collect anything, except a security guard. Do lose £50. And do bugger off and call your immigration lawyers, presto. Nothing with me is ever straightforward. But we all knew that.
So the second time I ventured out to write the test five days later, with my passport this time, not my biometric card, I was more terrified about providing my identification than I was about the 24 questions. With trembling hands and a shaky voice, I told the truth. Again. That I was born in Pietermaritzburg. Not Durban. That they are indeed very different places. That I’m not a fraudster out to bamboozle Border Control. Anyway, I passed. The identification part. And the 24 questions. Next is all the paperwork. But that’s another saga for another day.
My head at present is positively heaving with history. I know that the Brits fought with pretty much everyone. With the Romans who eventually invaded thanks to Emperor Claudius. And the French, compliments of William the Conqueror. And then as the British Empire grew, so too did their army. And their victories. Obvs. There were many kings named Charles and queens named Mary. And the gentry weren't very gentle at all. Queen Elizabeth I locked her own cousin in the Tower of London for 20 years before executing her because she suspected she was after her crown. She wasn’t. King Henry the VIII – well he changed the structure of an entire church to divorce his first wife, married five more women and beheaded two of them. And then there was Bloody Mary. And I don’t mean the drink. Scotland fought very hard to avoid Roman and British occupation. They succeeded with the Romans. The Scots were hardcore. The Highland Clearances had nothing to do with a jolly jumble sale and everything to do with the 'forcible' (read fierce) eviction of people for their land. The Irish fought amongst themselves about whether it was better to be with or against England, mostly when it came to religion. So much so that it divided a nation. Literally. They endured famine and all sorts of trouble. Wales, well they seem to have wisely kept a low profile and carried on with their own thing. Britain was a republic under Oliver Cromwell for 11 years. Who knew? There was a king who hid in a tree to escape being mauled to bits by the roundheads in a civil war. And too many royals to count who pissed off parliament and then bailed from their thrones to hide in Scotland, France or other parts of Europe. The history of this kingdom is fraught with conflict - territorial, religious, political, humanitarian. You name it. Anything you can fight about, they did. And it makes for some very interesting, and often surprising, reading.
And so here I sit with all the information that the government deems relevant for “New Residents in the United Kingdom”. I’m flush with facts. I know that blind people get a 50% discount on their TV licences (yes, I know), Sir Edward Lutyens designed the Cenotaph and I now know what the Cenotaph is and where it is, that a Justice of a Peace Court in Scotland addresses minor crimes and that England makes up 84% of the total UK population. What I don’t know though is the best way for us “new residents” to integrate into British life whilst managing to retain elements of our heritage. How to handle the bouts of homesickness that hit us while we try to find a new normal. How to raise our families away from our families. History tells us that Britain shipped in migrants from all over the world to help with everything from war and weapons to manufacturing and the post WW2 rebuild. So how did these families cope? There’s no chapter on that. Those are the real lessons for life I’d love to learn. Maybe I'll write my own book. There won't be a test on it though. "New Resident" life in the UK is testing enough.
