Instead of philosophy, chemistry and literature, your school program would consist of wisdomlove, blendlore and bookcraft. You could read about famous people like Shakespeare (who wrote “plays of mirthplay, eretide and sorrowplay”) and Gandhi (who was “one of the bremest folk inheld in the shrithing for the selfdom of Inland,” as well as being “a wrathless shrither”). Relax with some gleecraft (music) or enjoy a screening of Star Wyes (the first of “a stream of witship-playtruth films by George Lucas”). Or you can play some football, described as “a game played on a long and wide pitch with a ball.” (Hey, no strange words in that last one.)
What does our modern political world look like? Well, in Europe, “the Europish Band nowadays has growing might over the rikes within it. Many Europish lands are in the Schengen rikesband, which lets folk go from land to land freely.” In Japan, “the lawmoot has nearly always been held by the Freebeing-Folkmightish Mootband.” Across the water, the Folk’s Ledewealth of China “is steered by an Elderdom following the Mao Zedong lief-thought.” Here at home, “the leader of America is Foresitter Donald Trump of the Folkrike Mootband.” To the north, separatism among French Canadians “is still something that is pithy in Quebec mootmanship.”
Being a language created by individual contributors working from computers (“freely making new words after one's own inblowing”), Anglish isn’t totally consistent. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is, depending on who you talk to, the Band of Workermootly Kithish Commonwealths, the Workermootly Kithish Gathering, the Band of Workermootly Kithish Folkrikes, or the Band of Soviet Fellowship Ledewealths (and how did that Slavic word get into the last one?). The purism can also get out of hand: Australia is confusingly called New Holland, presumably because 1) they had to get rid of that Latin name, and 2) Dutchman Abel Tasman was the first European to explore the Antipodes.
The language of science is so much more dependent on words of Latin and Greek origin that science in Anglish sounds like some form of esoteric folk wisdom. Try this sentence: “In 1687, Newton outlayed a book called the Mean Liefstalls of Reckoning in which he unheals his thoughtlay of allspanning weightpull and three laws of shrithing.”
The philosopher of aesthetics T. E. Hulme wrote of “hearing the phrase ‘fed up,’ and realising that all our analogies spiritual and intellectual are derived from purely physical acts.” The process of word formation in Anglish brings this idea home in its own way. A word like “inblowing” conveys a much more physical impression than its Latin-derived equivalent “inspiration,” as does “weightpull” for “gravity.”
The irony is that, in a world of purely Germanic English, with no Normans taking over England, history would have unfolded differently. But the history told on the site is the same as that of our world, where William the Conqueror won the Hild of Hastings, as shown in the Bayeux Wovenwork above.