Chalfont St Peter village fete, 1953. Coronation flags flutter across the lush lawns of the local manor. A vicar smiles and solicits pennies for Black babies. Cubs and Brownies skip merrily around a large Maypole, threading ribbons round it. Bonny mothers in proper frocks smile benignly at their tiny tots, cavorting with such wild abdomen round what none of us realise is a colossal willy. A pretty piece of Paganism, which rather runs counter to the soft Christianity peddled in our infant classrooms.
Ah, proper British values! Charming, White, feudal, deferential – the best of all possible worlds. The prime minister seems to think so.
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