Around twenty years ago, I used to daydream occasionally about a revival of the eighteenth-century Royal Navy. Oddly enough, this coincided with a rather bumpy patch in my role as stepfather to a teenage boy; who of us in such a position wouldn’t sometimes dream of an institution that would take them away for a few years, feed and train them, and then either return them as a mature, disciplined adult with prospects, or not return them at all? I suppose this may be why elderly Telegraph readers occasionally call for the return of National Service to lick delinquent youth into shape, but that always struck me as far too short a period of service.
Now, there are many respects in which Britain’s current problems are manifestly bound up with a failure to get over the loss of empire: a persistent and entirely ungrounded sense of its importance in world affairs, belief in superiority and virtue, conviction of its ability to stand alone, obsession with WWII etc (see e.g. David Andress’ Cultural Dementia for further details. The practical consequences are less widely discussed (if anything, the current debate emphasises the extent to which national prosperity still rests on wealth expropriated from the rest of the world), and above all I think we underestimate the benefits of an outlet for surplus and aggravating youths.
Feckless liar who’s incapable of keeping it in his trousers and certainly can’t be trusted to manage the family estate? Hapless tosser who doesn’t even realise how little he understands? Smirking delinquent whose sole talent is to make trouble? Lazy pillock who just wants to shoot everything in sight? Drug-addled smartarse? In the good old days, there were places such people could be sent, to smarten up their ideas or die of yellow fever; unfortunate for the poor inhabitants or crew or garrison of whatever region, ship or fort they were given command of, but at least they were out of the country, rather than attempting to run it…
Disclaimer: this post is satirical, and should not be taken as a serious comment on my stepson.
Sphinx 
Is there any actual evidence that the bulk of the British population is suffering from Loss of Empire syndrome?
The whole population? Unlikely, though surveys of social attitudes do sometimes suggest a rather deluded view of Britain’s actual place in the world. But Andress’ book makes a pretty good case for existence of syndrome at level of wider culture.
I’ve read the opening pages of Andress via Kindle, but have no inclination to read the rant any further. Bits of truth, no doubt, encapsulated in obvious hatred, and a refusal even to consider that those he disagrees with politically might have serious reasons for their actions. And what is “Britain’s actual place in the world”? What does the expression even mean?
Place in the world? Economic power, strategic clout, influence, status, relative to other countries.
Lots of variables there, probably not well connected. And mostly of little interest to most people! I suppose one could find out how often the UK appears in other nations’ news, and for what reasons. And how many Nobel prizes per capita (and Field and other prizes).. Again, not clearly a syndrome, and I still suspect that the whole idea is mostly irrelevant even to national decisions.
Nostalgia for Empire: create an organisation in the guise of friendship and protection; assume powers and create endless new rules with which to demand fines, sorry tribute; construct stunningly beautiful but essentially useless buildings to its own glory; suggest its tribute nations pay for an army with which to enslave themselves.
I am the last person to suggest our current leadership as some latter day Lysander, but there is just the faint scent of freedom in the air. I was quite young, but the attitude to the post-war dismantling of empire seemed to be that it was entirely fair for other nations to claim their democratic freedom to rule themselves. I don’t remember any rioting, or falling statues.
If Kipling’s to be believed, military service in foreign parts was good for upward mobility – downward as well as… well, mainly downward. Sometimes six feet down. It certainly broadened the mind, though. (“Where there ain’t no Ten Commandments and a man can raise a thirst”…! Probably best not to ask.)