An Olympic challenge for us to rise to the occasion

Forget the escalating national debt crisis in the Eurozone and the ineptitude of politicians from Washington DC to Berlin to sort out the world’s manifold problems, what will happen will happen and we mere mortals are powerless to do anything about it.

The weather may be abysmal, unemployment is running at an all-time high and a coterie of multi-millionaires among our midst are apparently living tax-free lives of luxury while ‘middle’ Jersey and the underprivileged suffer. The countryside and coastline are being blighted by ‘bling bling’ developments and the population is out of control – no change there, then.

But am I my usual downhearted self? Not one bit. So what was the cause of this newfound optimism, which suddenly penetrated my armour of cynicism?

When I was growing up my father always instilled in me that I should be proud to be British.

The chattering classes and intelligentsia, for whom patriotism is nothing but a veil for jingoism and sabre rattling, sneer at exhibitions of national pride, anniversaries and celebrations. But if you can’t have faith in your nation’s ability to survive, stick its collective head above the international parapet when events demand or get together on a nationwide scale to have a party, then what is the point of having countries?

The British have been transformed beyond recognition from the strictly rationed and war-drained nation of 1952 when the Queen ascended the throne. Yet the important aspects of the national character remains unchanged. We love an underdog, we know how to put on a good show, we answer the call when required and we have never lost the ability to laugh – especially at ourselves – in spite of our stiff upper lips.

To a puzzled world we appear an eccentric, stubborn and, at times, arrogant race with an international role that belies our geographical size and economic punch.

My outpouring of national pride began as a warm glow deep inside when the aircraft carrying the Olympic flame touched down on the Lizard Peninsula. Sneer if you like but last weekend I felt so proud to be British I could have burst.

The tiny flame that arrived in a British-made traditional miner’s lamp ignited something in the nation that has lain dormant for far too long.

From 7 am last Saturday when a Royal Navy air sea rescue helicopter, such a familiar sight in the skies above Cornwall, touched down at Lands End, and local boy and triple Olympic gold medal winner Ben Ainslie began the 8,000-mile torch relay, bathed in the glow of the rising sun, the British did what they do better than most – they rose to the occasion.

The Cornish, having been given the honour of being the first to receive the Olympic flame, came out in tens of thousands to cheer on the ordinary folk among their number given the honour of being torch bearers. And boy, did they throw down the gauntlet for all others – our own little rock included – to follow.

By the time the flame reached an estimated 50,000-strong welcoming party on Plymouth Hoe as the sun set, more than 100,000 people had lined streets, country lanes and the Tamar Bridge separating Cornwall from Devon. These crowds included a reported 30,000 alone in Truro and more than 5,000 in Falmouth town centre, where free Cornish cream teas were served.

Along the route there were fetes, fairs, parades and entertainment all laid on free of charge in a county that is one of the most economically deprived in the country. Then the next day it was Devon’s turn to impress and they did not fail, nor Somerset on Monday. The only disappointment being how quickly the torches were being touted at exorbitant prices on e-Bay.

Of course, weekend relay legs will attract more crowds, but if the scenes mid-week were anything to go by the country is infected with the party mood as we approach the four-day Diamond Jubilee holiday.

As we shall discover when Jersey’s turn comes, the torch relay resembles a mini Tour de France, with a convoy of support vehicles, sponsors touting their wares, more police than we have in our own force and the media pack.

If this wealthy little rock hasn’t already made plans for celebrations to match those of Cornwall, then there is still time to get the collective finger out. And there is no excuse not to put on a spectacular show, as we are one of the very fortunate communities to host the flame on a weekend, 15 July, and a Sunday to boot.

Yet the biggest responsibility lies with those very lucky members of the community, being given their ‘moment to shine’ by carrying the Olympic torch for Jersey; not for themselves or to promote commercial interests but for each and everyone who inhabits this rock.

Ordinary people, who in that very extraordinary British way, have overcome adversity, survived the injury of life’s slings and arrows; given of themselves selflessly for the common good; excelled on the sporting field or in community endeavours.

Every single one of the 8,000 torch bearers nationwide are not just ambassadors for their community and the British people but for the Olympic ideal.

It is incumbent on each of them to carry their torch with pride – but most of all not to put it up for sale once the flame has died.

National pride and honour can’t be bought second-hand.