Comment: Anti-French bravado is an embarrassing British anachronism

British tennis player Harriet Dart was rightly condemned for suggesting that her French opponent Lois Boisson “smells really bad”.

The extremely rude comment – made during a particularly tense match at the Rouen Open – caused outrage on both sides of the English Channel.

It was certainly not the kind that Ms Dart, who is 28 and who should know better, would have been taught when she was being educated at the Royal School, in North London, which was founded by Queen Victoria.

More than that, it was a very childish use of words, considering all tennis players sweat profusely and – crucially in this context – hardly go anywhere near each other on court.

In which case, it certainly appears that Ms Dart’s insults had descended to the level of abuse used by xenophobic Brits throughout the centuries.

France was once Britain’s most detested enemy, and the build-up to great battles, from Agincourt and Crécy to Trafalgar and Waterloo, was always characterised by personal invective.

Hence, Napoléon Bonaparte – who was not particularly short and was evidently extremely courageous – being portrayed as a caricatured Frenchman: small, cowardly and malodorous.

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In turn, the Paris scandal sheets projected upmarket Englishmen like the Duke of Wellington (actually Dublin-born, but when the Irish capital was one of the great cities of the British Empire) as sly, pompous and overly reliant on alcohol.

Such myths about national characteristics were often playground grade – hence “Frog” for the slimy French and “Rosbif” for the unrefined British beefeaters – but they continued long after the Entente Cordiale agreements of 1904 were meant to end the fighting between the United Kingdom and the French Republic.

Even when the two great nations were allies during the two World Wars, the clichés persisted.

The “smelly French” jibe was bolstered by chronic shortages of soap during both conflicts, especially when Americans who were obsessed with personal hygiene arrived in their thousands.

It was often noted that the vast majority of French homes – as many as 95% – did not contain an indoor bathroom up until 1945. 

In fact, it was said, the still largely agricultural nation was full of small holdings in which people shared living space with their farm animals.

Copious use of Eau de toilette – the ‘grooming water’ first popularised by kings including Louis XIV – also created an easy punchline for Anglo-Saxon toilet humour, as in: “So the Frenchman stuck his hand in the crapper and splashed himself all over”.

Distortions of language designed to cause howls of laughter among the British also include the claim that French swimming pools are called piscines, because the French piss in them.

Beyond such coarseness, the French can rightly be aggrieved at the number of open provocations that encapsulate Britain’s very identity.

Taunts now a one-way street

The UK’s iconic landmarks include Trafalgar Square and Waterloo Station, for example. When King Charles was involved in a decision to change the name of a new Royal Navy submarine from HMS Agincourt to HMS Achilles earlier this year, his British Bulldog critics called the move “woke nonsense”.

The implication is that mocking the French by constantly referring to their military defeats is still perfectly respectable.

If all this sounds like a one-way street of taunts, sadly it is nowadays.

The French tend to be extremely respectful of the British – they like their accent, their fashion, their pop music, their TV drama, and a host of other cultural triumphs – so it’s about time that the sniping ended.

The conclusion of the tennis episode certainly supports this: Dart was thrashed by her much younger opponent and knocked out of the Rouen tournament, proving beyond doubt that cheap, outdated jibes are for losers.