‘Sorry,” wrote Elton John in one of the most enduring lyrics, ‘seems to be the hardest word.’ Well that may have been the case before Brexit, when the United Kingdom voted to leave the EU and thus begin to dismantle half a century of integration with mainland Europe: but no longer. Nowadays, sorry seems to be the only word, at least on my lips.
I discovered this to be the case after making a recent trip to the continent – my first since the referendum delivered its seismic result exactly a year ago. My destination was Berlin, capital of Germany, a city at the very heart of the ideal of an integrated Europe.
It proved a bittersweet few days. Maybe I’m getting lachrymose in my old age, but from the moment I stepped off the plane at Tegel airport I wanted to say “sorry”. I said it to taxi drivers, cafe staff and to the nice young man who helped me with my luggage in the hotel foyer.
Whoever showed even the smallest kindness had me blurting out Elton’s elusive adjective. “Sorry. Sorry we’re leaving the EU. Sorry, I didn’t vote for it, please believe me, we realise we’ve made a terrible mistake, there are millions of us who wish we were still in…” Our country’s decision to disengage from the European dream seemed somehow all the more shameful and crass now that I was actually over there, and I was overwhelmed with a pointless need to apologise.
Schadenfreude is a uniquely (and gloriously) German word, describing the delicious tingle of pleasure one feels at hearing of another’s misfortune, and those Berliners I spoke to could have been forgiven for displaying a hefty dose of it in return for my expressions of regret. After all, Germany is currently riding high, with a strong, stable Government, a sense of purpose and confidence, and with a burgeoning economy, while Britain, on the other hand, seems rudderless and confused.
Yet far from displaying glee, most Germans I met seem genuinely sad and puzzled at the turn of events. ‘Of course, of course” they answered me, as if responding gently in order to calm some obsessive lunatic they’d met on a street corner, “we know, we know. It’s all right. We’re sorry too.”
For me, the most depressing aspect of the whole turn of events since the referendum is in charting the sudden turnaround in Britain’s sense of self-belief. Back in 2012 when we hosted the Olympics, London seemed to the world’s capital. Back then, I recall sitting on a bench in Trafalgar Square on the morning of the closing ceremony, and seeing it thronged with visitors from across the globe, all reveling in the sense of welcome and generosity of spirit that the games has engendered. It really seemed that Great Britain had found its mission on into the 21st century – to be a country for all nationalities and all views. Bliss it was that dawn to be alive.
But a mere five years on, it all seems so different. The Government seems overwhelmed by the enormous legislative task it faces, and with a minority Conservative government clinging grimly to power and with no clear direction of travel, millions of immigrants from the EU and beyond who’ve made Britain their homes in recent years now face an anxious wait to see if they are to be allowed legal citizenship in a post-Brexit Britain.
Well, there’s no going back. The drawbridge has been lifted, the portcullis secured, and our old familiar Blue British passports are already being dusted down for a return to active service (replacing the much-maligned red European versions).
And what of Elton’s back catalogue? Which of his anthems best sums up the mood of the moment? Well, ardent Brexiteers (and I’m sure there are still some, even if they’ve gone horribly quiet in recent months) would no doubt offer up “I’m still standing”. But for me, the current atmosphere of self-doubt and disillusionment can have only one fitting soundtrack. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
Michael Simkins is an actor and writer in London
On Twitter: @michael_simkins
