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  ‘It is such fun watching people dancing and the music gets in your bones and makes you get up and dance,’ Sir Jack once said, ‘I get up and I leap around just as I feel like. When I hear the boom boom it electrifies me. I can leap up and down, and it’s as if my ankles were electrified.’

  The 5th Duke of Portland, William John Cavendish-Bentinck-Scott, was known as the ‘gentle mole’ because he loved to dig tunnels all over his estate, Welbeck Abbey in Nottinghamshire. He is said to have been the inspiration for the character of Badger in Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows. Famously reclusive, the Duke was, like the Badger, gruff and sullen when he did come across other human beings. His obsession with tunnel-building supposedly came about because he wanted to block off access to his estate and when objections were made, he hit on the idea of making underground walkways. The tunnels themselves were wide enough for three people to walk abreast and lit by gas lights. One tunnel struck out for a mile and a quarter in the direction of Worksop.

  The greatest achievement of his excavations was what was supposed to be the ballroom, but ended up housing his extensive art collection. The dimensions alone are staggering – it was 158ft long, 63ft wide and 22ft high. It might seem peculiar that such an anti-social man would build a ballroom; he had no desire for human company. However, it seems that his motivation for building was in fact quite generous. It is estimated that he employed as many as 1,500 artisans and labourers and spent £100,000 a year in the local economy. His eccentricity made the community thrive.

  For all that, he never invited anyone over. ‘He preferred to use the ballroom as a solo roller-skating rink,’ according to one observer.

  English eccentricity is a reflection of our individuality. As an island nation we have had to be unique and loud in order to stand out in the world. Wealth and genes, it seems, can serve to make us even more individual than normal. And just as with our heroic failures, we are intensely proud to lead the world in producing Grade A loons.

  John Stuart Mill, who is quoted at the head of this chapter, hated any kind of tyranny, and particularly despised the sneering, curtain-twitching, self-elected arbiters of social conformity. For him, they were tyrants responsible for ‘enslaving the soul’. Instead, Mill saw eccentric behaviour – so long as it harmed no one – as not only a matter of personal freedom, but a boon to society.

  Eccentricity touches almost every aspect of Englishness, a juxtaposition of the staid, stiff-upper-jawed Englishman. At once contradictory and contrary, we want to conform and yet we prefer to march to the beat of our own drum.

  Maybe the English just like to be different.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WELLIES, WAX, BARBOURS AND BOWLERS

  Do we have a national dress? There are traditional costumes for so many countries which have become clichés – the Lederhosen-wearing Germans, stripy Breton-topped French, lumberjack-shirted Canadians – but it’s difficult to pinpoint a national ‘look’ for the English. There are clothing items that are considered quintessentially English, though, and they all help protect us against our most common weather feature: the rain. In this chapter, I want to have a look at some of them.

  The first is something I genuinely think I could not live without: the wax jacket. I love wax jackets. I love them so much, I wanted to write a whole book about them but my publisher wasn’t sure there was a market.

  I got my first wax jacket when I was 16. It was a green Barbour Bedale. It was several sizes too big, but I love that jacket and I have been addicted ever since. I still have it and count it among my collection of about twenty – although that might be a conservative estimate. And honestly, the more weathered and battered, the better.

  In my mind, there can be fewer items of clothing that define a nation more. They are heavy, stiff and unflattering, and yet, a little like a Land Rover Defender, there is something deliciously utilitarian and ‘everyman’ about them. They are loved by farmers, supermodels and royalty alike.

  To understand the story of the wax jacket we really need to explore the story of waterproof clothing in general; I should probably admit here to owning more than a hundred waterproof jackets (I told you I was a little bit weird). Perhaps this will be the marker of my developing eccentricity.

  It is no surprise that as a nation England should excel in outdoor wear: as a nation obsessed with the weather, we have been forced to create barriers against it. A kind of climate armour.

  The story of our contribution to keeping people dry begins in Roman times. A letter written almost 2,000 years ago by a Roman officer on sentry duty on Hadrian’s Wall told of a revered garment that protected against the chill. Flavius Cerialis described an overcoat made of wool – a long hooded garment known as the ‘birrus Britannicus’. Made with untreated wool, it was waterproof and doubled up as a blanket. It was to become the Barbour of its day, a fashion item among Romans, exported in large numbers. Two hundred years later the Emperor Diocletian lists the ‘birrus Britannicus’ when detailing the most superior goods traded across the Empire. It was the only British export to make the list. The cost was 6,000 denarii, said to be the equivalent of three months’ pay for a teacher, 300 kilos of pork or 500 litres of everyday wine.

  So even in Roman times, we had an international hit on our hands. The development of today’s wax jacket, though, dates back to the 15th century, when sailors applied fish oils and grease to their heavy sailcloth. They did this because they noticed that wet sails were more efficient than dry ones; however, if the water soaked into the cloth, the weight slowed the ships down. By greasing them, the sails retained their increased efficiency but not the extra water weight. However, the oil tended to yellow with age – the reason for sailors’ waterproofs still being predominately yellow – and tended to stiffen up too much in the cold.

  Fast forward to the mid-nineteenth century and the sail cotton was impregnated with paraffin or a natural beeswax, either through application, or it was woven in.

  From the leftover caps of material the sailors and sailmakers would cut themselves waterproof overalls and capes to keep dry. Several companies cooperated to create paraffin-impregnated cotton, which produced a highly water-resistant cloth, breathable, but without the stiffness in the cold or yellowing with age. Woven by the sailmaker Francis Webster, it was taken to Lancashire to be dyed black or olive, and then to London for ammonia treatment. The cloth was then returned to Lancashire for waxing, and then back to Webster’s in Arbroath for storage, sales and distribution across the British Empire.

  Waxed cotton became an instant success with the commercial shipping industry, and Webster’s as primary manufacturers began thinking of other markets for the product. One of the early adopters was J. Barbour & Sons in the outdoor industry, producing waxed jackets for farmers and gamekeepers.

  Barbour wasn’t the only company developing new ways of protecting the English from the elements. The Mackintosh or raincoat (abbreviated as mac or mack) is a form of waterproof raincoat, first sold in 1824. The Mackintosh is named after its Scottish inventor Charles Macintosh. Although the Mackintosh coat style is common, a genuine Mackintosh coat is made from rubberised or rubber-laminated material.

  Clothing manufacturers like Mackintosh used sophisticated scientific research to create garments that worked in different kinds of weather – reflecting the subtle differences in our climate. From early on they produced coats that were either showerproof (to ward against light drizzle – that kind of English dampness that gradually seeps into your clothes) or waterproof (to protect against a proper downpour).

  In 1823, Charles Macintosh patented a double-textured fabric sandwiched around a layer of rubber. The Mackintosh became the synonym for the raincoat and a staple of the English wardrobe. Its popularity really took off during the Second World War, though, when it was adopted by the British armed forces as their first-choice waterproof. Since then, Mackintosh has been through many changes and has had different owners, but the classic coat is still undeniably an essential element of
English fashion culture.

  Another of the most recognisable modern English fashion brands is Burberry. With an estimated retail value of over 150 billion Euros, Burberry has come a long way from its origins as a Victorian outfitter’s shop in Basingstoke, Hampshire.

  Thomas Burberry was born in 1835 in Brockham Green, Surrey. After serving his apprenticeship at a local draper’s shop, Burberry opened his own small clothing outfitters in Basingstoke in 1857.

  Burberry had a good head for business and by 1861 the census reveals that he was employing seven men, three boys and seven women in his shop. Burberry began researching and experimenting with materials to produce fabrics which were weatherproof and suitable for the population around Basingstoke – mainly farmers and landed gentry who either worked outdoors or enjoyed fishing, hunting and riding.

  In 1880 his research yielded a weatherproof and tear-proof fabric which he called gabardine. The material was light and breathable, but managed to protect from the worst of the English weather.

  Burberry took off. It opened a shop in Haymarket, London in 1891 and followed that with outlets in Reading, Manchester, Liverpool and Winchester. Abroad, the products were sold through agencies in Paris, New York and Buenos Aires.

  Showing a very modern knack for the celebrity endorsement, in 1911 Burberry became the official outfitter for Roald Amundsen, the first man to reach the South Pole, and Ernest Shackleton, who led a 1914 expedition to cross Antarctica. He also marketed his products to the armed forces, and they were famously worn by Lord Kitchener and Lord Baden Powell. Thomas Burberry didn’t retire until 1917 – an incredible life’s work. His two sons took over the business and trademarked the now famous Burberry check design.

  One of the last products Thomas saw go into production was the trench coat. Patented by Burberry in 1912, it was an unbuttoned style made from gabardine and fastened with a belt. The trench coat was adapted to serve the needs of the military in the early 20th century and was worn in the trenches of the First World War by British soldiers. Epaulettes displayed an officer’s rank, while the belt’s metal D-rings were used to attach equipment. After the war, the trench coat became popular with civilians. More recently it has been sported by Alexa Chung and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley on numerous occasions, and other style-setters spotted wearing the celebrated classic include Jessica Chastain, Poppy Delevingne and Clémence Poésy; Burberry’s Autumn/Winter 2014 campaign saw Cara Delevingne, Malaika Firth and Tarun Nijjer modelling the trench, proving the brand is fast becoming much-coveted by a new generation.

  Of course, the most famous wax jacket of all is the Barbour.

  The manufacturer of functional and elegant outerwear is based in a factory in Simonside in South Shields, northeast England, and has been steered by the Barbour family for five generations. Their classic jackets are still manufactured by hand and they make more than 100,000 per year. Quintessentially English, they even do a range of dog coats (tartan, quilted, polar, wax, waterproof) and accessories (bandannas, collars, leads, duvets, beds).

  I went to visit one day. It was my first trip to a textile factory and it was brimming with activity as hundreds of women worked on an assortment of sewing machines of every shape and size. There were zippers and liners and buttons and hoods all being hand processed through buzzing, whirring machines.

  I could just about make out wax pockets and the famous tartan liners being carefully cut to size on huge tables. It was all very labour-intensive. With dozens of different jackets in multiple sizes and colours, creating a garment is a complex jigsaw puzzle of manufacture. Luckily enough many of the workers were second or third generation, so they have the process in their genes.

  In one corner of the factory was a large pile of jackets all carefully returned, often at vast expense, to be repaired and rewaxed.

  Away from the buzz and hum of the work floor, the Barbour headquarters were relatively spartan and quiet. Huge photographs of old adverts and photographs hung from the walls, a reminder of the company’s rich heritage.

  Helen Barbour sat, cuppa in hand, new puppy on the table, in the ‘Brand Room’. The tiny dog raced across the vast wooden table and then proceeded to pee in the middle of it. ‘I am so sorry’, she apologized, clearing the mess up.

  On a large rail were a collection of antique and vintage jackets that charted Barbour’s history. The Barbour began its life as fishermen’s overalls; a collection of old catalogues offered a little porthole into the original provenance of the South Shields garment. Sou’wester and yellow fishing trousers were produced to protect the early fishermen from the worst of the North Sea conditions. The brand found a market and the factory has been at its current site ever since, producing up to 3,000 waxed jackets a week.

  Helen has a warm, welcoming manner and is passionate about the brand. It was her mother, Dame Margaret, who took over in the 1960s after the death of her husband John Barbour. The family worked in every department and even modelled their products.

  ‘That’s me,’ smiled Helen, flicking through an old 80s catalogue in which a young Helen is seen modelling the wax jacket in full glory. I asked Helen when the brand went from function to fashion. She balks at the word ‘fashion’ but concedes to the power of the late Princess Diana.

  ‘It was the first official photograph of Diana with Charles – she was wearing a Barbour,’ she reminisces. ‘The business finally started to make some money.’

  The company has retained a strong relationship with the royal family, and, while they must still buy their jackets, Barbour hold three royal warrants from the Duke of Edinburgh, the Queen and the Prince of Wales. Dame Margaret revealed on Woman’s Hour that the Queen was so attached to her old faithful Barbour that she refused to part with it even when offered a free replacement. I can sympathize. I have dozens of old Barbours, all of which have stood the test of time, and all of which, like a fine wine, have improved with maturity. It’s one of the many great things about Barbour jackets – each jacket holds its history in its folds, creases, tears and fading. They are like memory boxes.

  I asked Gary, the Design and Development Manager, if there was any one particular jacket that had surprised him by its popularity.

  ‘We made a special Beacon Sports jacket,’ he explained. ‘It was a short run and the jacket didn’t sell well, but one caught the eye of the wardrobe department on the James Bond film Skyfall. They ordered 25 for the shoot.’

  Demand suddenly went through the roof. It became known as the ‘Barbour Skyfall’, selling for more than £400 a pop.

  After the Princess Diana boost, the publication of the Official Sloane Ranger Handbook by Peter York in 1982 ensured that the Barbour established itself as the must-have accessory for every Sloane in London and the Home Counties. Sales boomed and its appeal spread to unexpected parts of our culture. This culminated when the Barbour became ‘festival cool’. It was the time of ‘Cool Britannia’, and Kate Moss was seen in a Barbour in the rain at Glastonbury. Lily Allen and Alexa Chung caught on and changed this functional bit of clothing into a fashion essential. But what the new stars of today have not recognized is that for a countryman’s Barbour to be cool, it must be old. Some years ago, for example, the Daily Telegraph diary column impertinently suggested that the Barbour belonging to the former Chancellor of the Exchequer Kenneth Clarke was ‘knackered’.

  The backlash was immediate. ‘Barbours, like decent port, mature with age,’ wrote Jonathan Young, editor of The Field. Another correspondent, Terence Branch, said: ‘Like an old soldier, a Barbour never dies, it only fades away.’

  It is for these sentimental reasons that a Barbour is forever. It is a family friend that is rarely thrown away but instead tossed into a corner when it has begun to reach the end of its useful life. It goes into semi-retirement as an emergency coat for a guest or something to chuck in the back of the car for the dog.

  When the Telegraph ran a competition to find the country’s oldest Barbour they were inundated with thousands of entries with many jackets
more than half a century old, but the prize incredibly went to a cape dating back to 1921, which just goes to prove a Barbour jacket never dies.

  ‘We mend and rewax 24,000 jackets a year,’ marvelled Helen. Gary began to pull some vintage jackets from the rail: ‘This one was bespoke made for a Falklands soldier,’ he beamed as he proudly showed me a tattered jacket covered in extra pockets.

  ‘It was customized by Captain Mick Cotton who served in the 2nd battalion of the Parachute Regiment. We used a Durham jacket and added pockets and D rings and arm pouches.’

  The jacket was also fitted with stud fasteners and the lower arms had extra patches of wax sewn on for additional reinforcement.

  He delved into the pockets and pulled out two small cylinders. ‘It still has his ear plugs.’

  Many will argue that the true personalization of a Barbour lies in the contents of its pockets, a virtual time capsule of the wearer’s year. I could only imagine the horrors this jacket must have experienced in the theatre of the Falklands war.

  There are few brands that can boast both the Queen and the Arctic Monkeys among their fans, but the Barbour transcends fashion. I sometimes think that it is the garment equivalent of the Land Rover: it is boxy and practical; both are beloved of royalty and it is an English trademark product, recognized all over the world. Like the English, it has been born out of function to became the textile manifestation of the national spirit. Hardwearing, durable and stiff-upper-lipped.