Collective Memory Loss

The continuing hot weather has brought with it several problems, such as bushfires, drought, sleeplessness and – for me, at least – a footwear dilemma. The ‘townie’ sandals I rely on are in need of replacement, yet retailers stock only what is currently fashionable, which boils down to a choice between slip-ons for slopping around, flip-flops for getting to the beach-bar or sturdy, Velcro-fastened, multi-coloured clod-hoppers with deep-tread rubber soles for country hiking. Where are the sleek, leather, townie styles befitting an aspiring flaneur?

It is symptomatic of the dominance of fashion and branding that some clothing traditions have become so obscure that they may now be obsolete. Where, for example, can a man get a shirt that is designed to be worn open-necked i.e. that has no collar button? Hawaii, perhaps? “Who cares?”, you say: certainly not the teenager at the bus stop wearing a black, hooded puffa jacket over a black, padded body-warmer, despite the ambient temperature of 27 degrees Celsius. However, if – as predicted – longer, hotter summers are to become the norm, we might want to reassess our wardrobes to favour comfort over fashion. If so, we could dip into our colonial history for a few pointers.

In the mid-sixties, I spent a year working as a volunteer in the Sudan, which ten years earlier had gained independence from Anglo-Egyptian rule. Before taking up my post, I was advised to visit a certain long-established London gentlemen’s outfitters that specialised in clothing for those working abroad in the colonial service. Even then, they stocked those peculiar white, pith ‘helmets’ reminiscent of British administrators in Borneo. However, my needs were less formal, and I left with a collection of loose-fitting cotton and linen garments designed, above all else, to reflect the sun, cover the skin and allow maximum circulation of air. Furthermore, when I arrived at my posting, the few remaining Brits who clung to a semblance of the old colonial lifestyle by retaining positions at the British Council, offered me advice on how to keep cool: first, get a servant to do all manual work; second, drink hot tea rather than cold beer. I have followed their advice ever since and, while it has not always been easy to hire servants, the scientific logic of ingesting hot fluids to create perspiration that in turn evaporates, causing cooling, trumps the more intuitive desire to guzzle cold beer.

Looking around me now, however, I see evidence that the body of knowledge assembled by the colonising Brits has vanished from our common memory, replaced by less practical notions based on the experience of brief holidays in the Mediterranean. People are walking the sweltering city streets in flip-flops, tight tee shirts, skinny jeans, fitted shirts etc. Some parade in varying degrees of undress, flattering or otherwise, that expose their skin to UV rays. When they stop for refreshments, they sit in sunlight and drink latte frappe or ice-cold lager. In the long run, our hot climate may be not just a fleeting novelty but a more enduring condition that will merit adoption of the old, forgotten ways.

Forgetting important stuff, however, is nothing new. I have just come back from a place in the middle of England – Wroxeter – where there are extensive remains of a Roman city and, nearby, the once-again-functioning Roman Vineyard. When the Romans decided to go back home, they took with them their administrative machinery, just as subsequent waves of colonisers have done ever since. The city disappeared over time, as did the vineyards. (Thus, the benefits of liberation are outweighed by the resulting collapse of civic order.) The Britons, left to their own devices, built no proper roads until the 18^th century, which might be explained by the tribal divisions of the land. I see no excuse, however, for the fact that it was 1991 before we remembered to grow vines and make some decent wines again, a truly inexplicable lapse of our common memory.