Just off the coast of England, across the Mersey Sea, is a land inhabited by a proud race of mongrels. ‘Tis said that you need no passport to enter – but it will take more than elocution lessons to get you out again.

I refer of course to Liverpool, capital city of the State of Scouse.

The name of this sovereign nation was inspired by its culinary masterpiece, the Pan O’ Scouse. The recipe has never been recorded, for it is a moving target. You take the best of whatever is to hand, the sheep’s head that the butcher had no use for, the onions scallied from Fazakerley fields, a cherished tattie perhaps, and put all to boil on the stove before you returned to your afternoon shift in Sayers Bakery. By evening you had a pan of melded flavours, without benefit of Southern fripperies; unashamed to stand in testimony to the ingenuity of the Scouse womenfolk.

Liverpool has a proud culture of its own, distinctive, and its mongrel background has produced some equally proud and distinctive characters to send to Westminster as its representatives. Let’s start with William Gladstone, four times Prime Minister of the British Isles. Distinctive enough for you? Bessie Braddock, who needed no ‘women’s only short list’ to speak out loud and clear on behalf of the people of Liverpool.

‘Gobby’ is something of a national characteristic, Cherie Blair being a prime example, although Jack Jones put his ability to shout out on behalf of his fellow Scouses to better use.

These people were not the product of elite educations down south, they were born and bred in the back streets of L’pool; Jones left school at 14 and went to Harland and Wolff – already well aware of the back ginnel and candle lit existence of his friends and neighbours. Harland and Wolff taught him of the obscene working practices endured by the men in the docks. When he spoke on their behalf, it was from the heart, from personal experience, with passion. He spoke their language, and they spoke his. A true ‘representative’.

But Liverpool has another dish, one that they do not speak of with so much pride. It is called ‘Blind Scouse’. It is the Pan O’ Scouse when all the meat has been stripped from it. It is the tasteless, flavourless, boiled to death, shadow of its former self. It is the dish served at the end of the week, when you can find no goodness in your cupboard. You still call it Scouse to save your blushes.

The political scene in Liverpool became ‘Blind Scouse’ this week. A City of 400,000 gobby individuals could find no home grown mutton to represent them. No one who could relate to the culture or traditions, no one who spoke the language. No home grown son or daughter to represent them.

So they threw Luciana Berger into the pan, a southern delicacy whose main claim to fame is accommodating young Sion Simons in her bed. A woman who knows not who Bill Shankly was. Who can’t even tell you who performed ‘Ferry Cross the Mersey’.

A woman who is probably quite unaware that the last time the British Government used the army to police the streets, the good people of Liverpool ended up with a Battleship and two Destroyers parked in the Mersey, with their 15 inch guns trained on the terrified inhabitants of Scotland Road – and you would have to be a local to understand how rarely the inhabitants of Scotland Road have tried ‘terrified’. Is she going to speak fervently against the suggestion that the army patrol our streets? Will she even understand what that notion means to Liverpool?

Will she understand that the people of Norris Green are more than just the neighbours of Rhys Jones, or that Broadway had a life and culture of its own before it begat the ‘Bulger boys’.

How can a young woman who arrived with her carpetbag fresh from the metropolitan political elite begin to represent such a rich tapestry of history. I wrote recently of her boyfriend, Sion Simon’s attempts to fill the boots of the mayoral tradition, it seems the pair of them are on some ‘fast-track’ ministerial promotion programme, masterminded by the Nu-Labour, to bolster the ranks of the Balls and Milibands.

The only howl of outrage so far has come from Ricky Tomlinson who is ‘so enraged‘ that he is hoping to run against her for Arthur Scargill’s Socialist Labour Party.

Luciana Berger arrived in Liverpool just one year ago, fresh from Birbeck University and a MSc in Government, Politics and Policy, and a day job in the government strategy unit of a management consultancy. So very Nu-Labour. Perfect attributes to woo the likes of Sion Simon – but to shine a light on Liverpool? I’ve seen bigger candles on the Wigwam altar.

1
The Slogger February 7, 2010 at 11:07

Ah, the sweet smell of nostalgia on a Sunday morning. Scuffers saying to scallies leaving the docks “What yer gorrunder yer arm la’?” and scallies replying “Hairs, whorruv you got, feathers?”
I wasted four hours the week before last looking at the ‘fresh new’ replacements for those leaving politics under a dark grey cloud. Social workers, lecturers in politics, pps’s, Smith Square apparatchiks every one. But it’s our fault: we’re the ones who can vote out the whole system. What we need is a Raving Loony landslide.
However…cracks may be appearing…..did you see Campbell’s nervous breakdown on Marr this morning? http://nbyslog.blogspot.com/
xx

2
JuliaM February 7, 2010 at 11:31

“…a southern delicacy whose main claim to fame is accommodating young Sion Simons in her bed.”

Yikes!

Can one’s mind’s eye go blind..? I rather wish so, having read that part…

3
Blink February 7, 2010 at 11:37

I used to do the family shopping in Broadway.

As for this ‘bint’ – if Liverpool can be generally pleased with Moyes and Benitez then I’m sure they’re up for accomodating her – says it all for a city I have fond memories of but look at with a certain amount of disgust today.

Ricky Tomlinson my arse – go babe!

p.s I make the best Scouse in the country

4
The Slogger February 7, 2010 at 11:48

Ricky Tomlinson was a very naughty boy who caught the attention of MI6 thirty years ago.

5
Jon Gregory February 7, 2010 at 12:03

This tells you all you need to know about NuLab, Bessie will be weeping over herbottle of Guiness. I hope the voters of Wavertree give Ms Berger a through kicking at the General Election.
Another gobby whacker

6
Demetrius February 7, 2010 at 15:15

One battalion of the Kings Liverpool Regiment was in Murmansk at the time taking on the Bolsheviks. Other battalions kicking their heels in the Rhineland found themselves being demobbed in a hurry and some signed up as “Specials”. Many local union leaders were trying to quieten things down, notably the Nolan’s. Some of the violence was religious. This was all in the run up to the very nasty recession of 1920, some say a template for our present troubles. So which police force will go on strike first?

7
Blink February 7, 2010 at 15:24

Don’t know the answer to your question but the Nolan’s were rubbish – couldn’t sing and made terrible records….doesn’t one of them now appear in girlie ads?

8
bil February 7, 2010 at 19:44

Sound as

9
bil February 7, 2010 at 19:49

But should point out, it’s an altar in Paddy’s Teepee. At least it was every time I went in there. Of course, it’s been a year or three since last I genuflected, so it may have altered.

10
Anna Raccoon February 7, 2010 at 20:33

Whoops! You are quite right Bil – hadn’t noticed that. Thank-you.