I've read far less in recent years than I would like. To help remedy this, I've set myself the modest target of reading twenty one books in 2021. When I finish one, a thumbnail review here will follow.
6/21: The Nanny State Made Me by Stuart Maconie
The blurb: It was the spirit of our finest hour, the backbone of our post-war greatness, and it promoted some of the boldest and most brilliant schemes this isle has ever produced: it was the Welfare State, and it made you and I. But now it's under threat, and we need to save it.
In this timely and provocative book, Stuart Maconie tells Britain’s Welfare State story through his own history of growing up as a northern working class boy. What was so bad about properly funded hospitals, decent working conditions and affordable houses? And what was so wrong about student grants, free eye tests and council houses? And where did it all go so wrong? Stuart looks toward Britain’s future, making an emotional case for believing in more than profit and loss; and championing a just, fairer society.
The review: that this book is variously subtitled "In search of a better Britain" and "A Story of Britain and How to Save it" should give you an idea of what it's about. Maconie has taken a good look at modern life in this sceptred isle and decided that it is, in many ways, rubbish, especially compared with how it once was. And here's a heads-up: if you read that last line and immediately think, yes, that's right, then you're probably going to enjoy this book. Equally, if you immediately think, gah, what nonsense, well, this book might change your mind... but probably won't. For whilst it does make a case, does bang the drum for how things could be, it is more a love letter to a Britain recently deceased.
When I was at primary school, we used to watch TV once a week on a big old wooden set that was bolted to the trolley it was wheeled in on. Sometimes there would be a clock on-screen before the programme started, and we'd count down to the start as the second hand swung round; one channel's clock had little circle markers on its face, instead of a second hand, and some boys would pretend to shoot them as they disappeared. But I digress. One such schools programme was entitled How We Used To Live, which centred on late-Victorian families and gave us a primary-friendly dose of modern history in the process. It sticks in the mind, even now. And the reason I mention it here is that Maconie's book is, in many ways, a How We Used To Live for the period of 1945-1979, painting a pleasingly honest (and honestly pleasing) account of the post-war birth of the welfare state, its growth, its benefits and its glories... before coming to the end, or at least the beginning of the end, when a shopkeeper's daughter from Grantham arrived at No. 10 and changed everything.
The book is divided into themed chapters, each looking at an aspect of the nanny state: health, education, public transport, libraries, broadcasting, you get the idea. In each case, Maconie takes a look at how good things got, and how they got there. Inevitably, there is also an examination of how, when and why things went wrong. And, in most cases, there are examples of the silos of the nanny state that are still good despite the seeming best efforts of those in power to ruin them forever: the healthcare practice that is still run as if by a healthcare authority, the bus service that is still in public ownership, the BBC. That these are presented as examples of how it is still possible to do things the right way is uplifting... but they also serve as a warning of what is still there to be lost.
I guess the other interesting aspect of the positives that Maconie tries so hard to leave each chapter with is that they serve as something of a manifesto; shining a light on the best of how public services can still be, domestically and overseas, illuminates how they perhaps should be across the board.
There are some nuggets from this book that will stay with me for a long time: how European state-owned utility companies are running aspects of UK water provision, the profits from which then fund French and German water infrastructure improvements rather than the UK's, is one; the difference in how Norway handled, and spent, the money from its own North Sea oil boom is another. But The Nanny State Made Me isn't a textbook, nor is it really a call to arms - it is more a paean for a world that is probably gone, but lingers on in living memory. The recollections this book prompts - of doctor's surgeries, dusty libraries, the Eleven Plus, of school buses, university grants, British Rail - will probably resonate with you, as they did with me, certainly if you're old enough to remember wooden TV sets being wheeled into classrooms on trolleys. But over and above the nostalgia is an illustration of how things could still be different, better even... and a timely reminder that not all progress is positive.
The bottom line: very readable, very honest and unashamedly nailing Maconie's colours to the mast in appreciation of the welfare state, the book manages to avoid mawkish nostalgia whilst still reflecting on what Britain used to do well for its people, and offers hints at how it could still be done if there was only the will.
Since everything online is rated these days: ★★★★★☆
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