Today marks exactly 5 years since I got my British citizenship and, as it turns out, 40 years of Larry’s arrival to this country: we found it out by chance when he recently went through his old documents. Both he and I are as delighted as we are baffled: 5 years? 40 years? Really? Tempus fugit indeed.
Larry’s perception of his move is not that different from mine: once his feet touched this land he immediately felt that he was at home, although back in 1982 Britain seemed to him, a young American academic from eternally sunny Palo Alto, as quite small and slightly modest—shops, even the larger ones, were minuscule compared with the Californian malls; houses resembled those for dolls; cars were also tiny. Yet that infallible feeling of being in the right place was here for him; he said that the very first thing that fascinated him was the milkman’s delivery of fresh milk at the doorstep: it still exists, although the business is not operating on the same scale as it was before, which is sad.
People who have known Larry for many years (also members of his own family) said sadly that, since living in England, he’s lost his precious Philly’s accent; others noted, however, that it’s not so and his regional American accent isn’t that clear in the first place and can be referred as mild mid-Atlantic, and I love it. Remember that classical song by Sting, “Englishmen in New York”?
…And you can hear it in my accent when I talkI'm an Englishman in New York.
In Larry’s case it’s vice versa, remaining the same at some point: he’s an American in Cambridge yet he’s the most English American one could ever imagine, because his love and devotion to this country as well as his precious academic contribution to it are enormous.
Mine (my contribution, that is) is much smaller at the current time yet the rest is the same as Larry’s: being a Russian with Ukrainian heritage, or a Slav in England is somewhat challenging, but not too much. England is a lovely country that gives you that priceless chance to feel at home even if you were not “born and bred” here: your love for Englishness is natural and effortless (except Marmite, full English and beans on toast, of course) and it doesn’t diminish anything specific in your own nature and identity, but endows you with new life experiences—linguistic, cultural, and, say, metaphysical.
Cambridge and its outskirts, East Anglia, Fenland, the North Sea with their slightly disquieting, eerie and fabulous, landscapes formed a new bond with “me living in England,” and it’s strong and everlasting.
What can I give him, poor as I am?If I were a shepherd, I would give a lambIf I were a wise man, I would do my partYet what I can I give him, give him my heart.
...We shall celebrate tonight, and we will.
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