What medal did Mary Peters win in the 1972 Olympics? How many Scottish ski resorts are there? Where was Florence Nightingale born? Until I got these questions as exasperated screenshots from my husband, I had no idea, like any normal Briton (it’s gold, five and Italy, apparently). They came from an app he downloaded to revise for his Life in the UK test, a prerequisite for applying for citizenship. Other recent questions have featured the divine right of kings, Hadrian’s Wall fort names and trying minor crimes in Scotland. Can the test itself possibly be this hard? We’ll soon find out: he’s taking it next week, if he doesn’t give up and go back to France instead.
Much has been written about the absurdity of the Life in the UK test – it’s inaccurate, partial and sloppily worded, unfit for purpose, a “bad pub quiz” – and now it’s ruining my life (in the UK). Home is tense: my husband is tetchy because he has spent years here (he works, volunteers, pays taxes, can identify both Mitchell brothers and responds appropriately when asked “You all right?”), but now needs to prove he is assimilated by answering multiple-choice questions on the repeal of the Corn Laws. I’m mortified, partly because we’re making people pay £50 to take an absurdly hard exam – you need 75% to pass – and partly because it keeps humbling me. I’m a history graduate, but couldn’t tell you the date of the Habeas Corpus Act with a gun to my head.
