What we can learn about Britain from The Smeds and the Smoos
This is the West Side Story of our modern age; the Romeo and Juliet version of romance with a touch of... well, Brexit
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Your support makes all the difference.I didn’t expect to be live-blogging The Smeds and The Smoos on Christmas Day, but here we are. The latest Julia Donaldson adaptation (yes, she of Room on the Broom and The Gruffalo, didn’t you know) dropped on BBC1 at 2.30pm, in prime position before the King’s Speech, and there really couldn’t be a better allegory for Britain today than this pretty weird tale of a blue and red alien who fall in love.
Hear me out: if ever there was a year (well, six years, actually, since the 2016 referendum) that has showed us division and the need for unity, it’s 2022. We’ve seen the gulf between the “haves” and “have nots” grow ever wider, as the cost of living crisis continues to disproportionately affect those with less; we’ve seen the continued fallout from the pandemic; we’ve experienced more tragedy and further deaths as a result of the refugee crisis – and witnessed our politicians seeking to stoke further division with dangerous, divisive rhetoric.
In fact, listening to the kids’ TV adaptation: “Never ever play with the Smoos; they sleep in holes; they wear strange shoes. They jump about like kangaroos – never, never play with the Smoos”; and: “Never ever play with the Smeds; they have funny hair on their heads; they sleep in funny things called beds. Never ever play with the Smeds”, sounds like something Suella Braverman (she of “the dream” and “obsession” to send refugees to Rwanda) or Priti Patel (she of the gross fairy godmother Christmas card) might say. Let’s just hope neither of them decide to write a children’s book – that would be one hell of an unhappy ending.
We’re literally living through a widespread winter of discontent, as our frontline medical workers – those who risked their lives to keep us safe during Covid: nurses, ambulance staff, paramedics (not to mention rail workers and posties) – are forced to strike to achieve fair pay and working conditions.
And all of this against the continued backdrop of the war in Ukraine and (before that) Brexit: a decision that has ravaged not only the economy, but our food supply chain (anyone else notice the soaring cost of their Christmas dinner?), our standing as a global finance frontrunner, our trade deals, business investment, a move that has left us with the highest inflation in the G7, a grave shortage of health and social care workers – and we’re barely two years into our “deal”.
It may sound like I’ve gone off piste: but the thing is, the choice of what we watch on Christmas Day really does set the tone for the year past and the one to come – just look at the King’s Speech.
So, what message can we take from the Julia Donaldson (seemingly innocent) hit? A lot, actually: we see rival factions, unable to come together, two nations ill at ease. Until something both remarkable and simple happens: two people fall in love. So far, so simple and so very merry Christmas.
Except... that it doesn’t exactly go according to plan; because Bill (a Smoo: and clue, you can – if like me, you’ve had a few glasses of ginger wine by now – remember who’s who because “Smoo” rhymes with “blue” and “Smed” rhymes with “red”, and you are welcome) falls in love with Janet (a Smed).
When Bill and Janet get caught, they have to deal with Grandfather Smed, who’s pretty horrible about Bill. “They’re such a nasty shade of blue,” he says. Grandmother Smoo chimes in with a classic bit of casual racism: “Never ever play with a Smed. They’re such a nasty shade of red.”
Years go by, and as with the best rebellious love stories, the big reveal: Bill and Janet decide to wed and (spoiler alert) have a purple baby, despite the negativity of their family (“Never, ever marry a Smoo”) and good for them.
Still, The Smeds and The Smoos manages to be a heartwarming tale, because it shows the younger generation refusing to listen to prejudice and hate and doing their own thing, anyway. Harry and Meghan know this feeling only too well.
In this way, it is the West Side Story of our modern age; the Romeo and Juliet version of romance with a touch of... well, Brexit. We can learn a lot from The Smeds and The Smoos. Perhaps the main message is one of contrition on all sides: to live and let live. And to learn (families round the Christmas table, take note): from our mistakes.