that moment,I was thinking,who are these people who forced me to think of them all the time,who forced me to think that the world I knew was incomplete,or without substance,or did not measure up because it was not England;that I was incomplete,or without substance, and did not measure up because I was not English.Who were these people?The person sitting next to me couldn't give me a clue;no one person could.In any case,if I had said to her,I find England ugly,I hate England;the weather is like a jail sentence,the English are a very ugly people,the food in England is like a jail sentence,the hair of English people is so straight,so dead looking,the English have an unbearable smell so different from the smell of people I know,real people of course,she would have said that I was a person full of prejudice. Apart from the fact that it is I --that is,the people who look like me-who made her aware of the unpleasantness of such a thing,the idea of such a thing,prejudice,she would have been only partly right,sort of right:I may be capable of prejudice,but my prejudices have no weight to them,my prejudices have no force behind them,my prejudices remain opinions, my prejudices remain my personal opinion.And a great feeling of rage and disappointment came over me as I looked at England,my head full of personal opinions that could not have public,my pub lit,approval.The people I come from are powerless to do evil on grand scale. 17 The moment I wished every sentence,everything I knew,that began with England would end with"and then it all died,we don't know how,it just all died"was when I saw the white cliffs of Dover 10.I had sung hymns and recited poems that were about a longing to see the white cliffs of Dover again.At the time I sang the hymns and recited the poems,I could really long to see them again because I had never seen them at all,nor had anyone around me at the time.But there we were,groups of people longing for something we had never seen.And so there they were,the white cliffs,but they were not that pearly majestic thing I used to sing about,that thing that created such a feeling in these people that when they died in the place where I lived they had themselves;buried facing a direction that would allow them to see the white cliffs of Dover when they were resurrected,as surely they would be.The white cliffs of Dover,when finally I saw them,were cliffs,but they were not white;you would only call them that if the word "white"meant something special to you;they were dirty and they were steep;they were so steep,the correct height from which all my views of England,starting with the map before me in my classroom and ending with the trip I had just taken,should jump and die and disappear forever. Cultural Notes: 1.Jamaica Kincaid(1949-):Antiguan-American novelist,essayist,gardener,and gardening writer,best known for "Girl"from At the Bottom of the River (1985),and Annie John (1985).Her book-length essay A Small Place (1988)reflects on the tensions between tourists and the native people of the Caribbean.Among her later works are My Garden (1999),Mr.Potter (2002)and Among Flowers:A Walk in the Himalaya (2005). 2.The British Breakfast:The typical British breakfast includes fruit juice,tea or coffee,cereals,fried bacon,boiled eggs,sausages,tomatoes,mushrooms,black pudding,baked beans,eaten with toast andthat moment, I was thinking, who are these people who forced me to think of them all the time, who forced me to think that the world I knew was incomplete, or without substance, or did not measure up because it was not England; that I was incomplete, or without substance, and did not measure up because I was not English. Who were these people? The person sitting next to me couldn’t give me a clue; no one person could. In any case, if I had said to her, I find England ugly, I hate England; the weather is like a jail sentence, the English are a very ugly people, the food in England is like a jail sentence, the hair of English people is so straight, so dead looking, the English have an unbearable smell so different from the smell of people I know, real people of course, she would have said that I was a person full of prejudice. Apart from the fact that it is I —-that is, the people who look like me—-who made her aware of the unpleasantness of such a thing, the idea of such a thing, prejudice, she would have been only partly right, sort of right: I may be capable of prejudice, but my prejudices have no weight to them, my prejudices have no force behind them, my prejudices remain opinions, my prejudices remain my personal opinion. And a great feeling of rage and disappointment came over me as I looked at England, my head full of personal opinions that could not have public, my pub lit, approval. The people I come from are powerless to do evil on grand scale. 17 The moment I wished every sentence, everything I knew, that began with England would end with “and then it all died, we don’t know how, it just all died” was when I saw the white cliffs of Dover 10 . I had sung hymns and recited poems that were about a longing to see the white cliffs of Dover again. At the time I sang the hymns and recited the poems, I could really long to see them again because I had never seen them at all, nor had anyone around me at the time. But there we were, groups of people longing for something we had never seen. And so there they were, the white cliffs, but they were not that pearly majestic thing I used to sing about, that thing that created such a feeling in these people that when they died in the place where I lived they had themselves; buried facing a direction that would allow them to see the white cliffs of Dover when they were resurrected, as surely they would be. The white cliffs of Dover, when finally I saw them, were cliffs, but they were not white; you would only call them that if the word “white” meant something special to you; they were dirty and they were steep; they were so steep, the correct height from which all my views of England, starting with the map before me in my classroom and ending with the trip I had just taken, should jump and die and disappear forever. Cultural Notes: 1. Jamaica Kincaid (1949- ): Antiguan-American novelist, essayist, gardener, and gardening writer, best known for “Girl” from At the Bottom of the River (1985), and Annie John (1985). Her book-length essay A Small Place (1988) reflects on the tensions between tourists and the native people of the Caribbean. Among her later works are My Garden (1999), Mr. Potter (2002) and Among Flowers: A Walk in the Himalaya (2005). 2. The British Breakfast: The typical British breakfast includes fruit juice, tea or coffee, cereals, fried bacon, boiled eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding, baked beans, eaten with toast and