Mecca

It never fails to amuse me how the language of English discourse can be as contradictory as a cat's loyalty – and by ‘amuse,’ I mean in that weary, eye-rolling way you feel when you hear someone spout absolute tosh with supreme confidence. Take the phrase ‘a Mecca for...’ – a Mecca for vintage car enthusiasts, a Mecca for foodies, a Mecca for bargain hunters. It’s trotted out as if it’s the most natural turn of phrase in the world, when in reality it’s about as incongruous as a pint of Guinness in a teacup. 

Let’s pause for a moment to appreciate the irony – particularly when it’s uttered by the same crowd who happily vote Reform or wave the flag for Nigel Farage while making comments that would make a medieval bigot blush.

 

Now, let’s unpack this absurdity. The Reform voter, whose worldview appears to be a patchwork of Little England nostalgia and selective amnesia, has a tendency to bristle at anything remotely foreign. Yet they’ll wax lyrical about their village being “a Mecca for real ale drinkers” without a second thought. The cognitive dissonance is so strong you’d need a crowbar to prise it apart. Here’s a newsflash for those who haven’t been paying attention: Mecca is a city in Saudi Arabia and a holy pilgrimage site for Muslims. It’s about as far removed from a soggy English market town as you can get.

But we’ve got our own rich history of pilgrimage in this country – though you wouldn’t know it to look at our modern habits. Back in the day, Canterbury was the place to be if you were in search of spiritual enlightenment (or if you just fancied a jolly jaunt and a chance to tell a bawdy tale or two). Then there’s Walsingham, a village steeped in religious significance for centuries. These places were once thronging with pilgrims, all trudging along with their hopes, fears and sore feet. Today? Not so much. We’ve traded in the pilgrimage for package holidays and shopping sprees at Bluewater.

The point is, we don’t need to borrow terms from other cultures to describe our hotspots. We’ve got plenty of homegrown references. Want to say your town attracts antique enthusiasts? Call it a modern-day Canterbury for collectors. Got a festival that draws crowds from far and wide? Call it a Walsingham for music lovers. It’s not rocket science – it’s about acknowledging our own cultural heritage instead of pilfering from others with the subtlety of a toddler nicking biscuits.

The sad truth, though, is that the concept of pilgrimage has all but vanished from the English psyche. We’re a nation of cynics now, suspicious of anything that smacks of earnestness or devotion. There’s something rather poignant about it – the idea that people once walked for miles in search of meaning, while today we barely walk to the corner shop without grumbling. Instead of seeking enlightenment, we’re more likely to be seeking the nearest pub.

Perhaps it’s time for a linguistic pilgrimage of sorts. Let’s ditch the clumsy appropriation of ‘Mecca’ and embrace our own history instead. We’ve got a rich tapestry of folklore, tradition and culture to draw from. And if nothing else, it’s one less thing for the Reform crowd to unwittingly make a fool of themselves over – though, to be fair, that’s a task they seem perfectly capable of managing without any help at all.

The tragedy is that most Reform voters wouldn't have a clue what you're talking about when referring to a place being a Canterbury or a Walsingham for something. Perhaps a Bluewater or an IKEA?