The Vanguard

I’ve been thinking a lot about community and identity lately; blame uni for this – one of my units started banging on about ideas of community and nationhood, and as you’d expect, it’s kinda stuck in my mind. I’ve never really given my ancestry as much importance as perhaps others might’ve. For most of my life, I’ve considered myself Australian. As I’ve gotten older, and fallen more in love with Britain and the UK and learnt more about where my family comes from, other than Australia, I’ve had a growing sense that ‘Australian’ just doesn’t quite complete me. My British ancestry isn’t from, say, three generations ago. It comes straight from my mother. I can get a British passport because my mother was born in Liverpool.

I still remember her telling me once to go home, home meaning the UK. I’ve never forgotten that, and I suppose that’s when I had this dawning sense of being half-English. Okay, if I’m honest, a third Australian, a third British, and a third Welsh. Mum’s mother’s family are Welsh, and Granddad carried a Welsh flag when he used to march with the Normandy vets in the ANZAC Day marches.
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