Rape and pillage; rinse and repeat…

“Those stupid yokels in Tysoe won’t be up for another fight,” says Fat Greedy Bastard No.1 (FGB1) to FGB2. “We almost won, last time,” is the reply, between loosely-gritted teeth; “and I’ve already noticed that there are a lot fewer objections”. “Perhaps it’s because no-one can be bothered to fight anymore… – just as we planned. I certainly haven’t seen any of those notices we had, last time, pinned to trees, fences and lamp-posts; nor any of those huge village meetings.”

“It’s in the can, then, isn’t it?” gloats FGB1. “Instead of eighty houses in one place, splitting them over two fields seems to have done the trick.” “I think you’re right,” smirks FGB2. “Those on the Oxhill side won’t give a flying duck about those in Middleton Close; and vice versa. Divide and conquer. That’s what I always say. Divide and conquer.”

“I do think it’s wonderful that we’re allowed to simply walk in to – and walk all over – a field that cost thousands to defend, and just do it all again. Attrition – that’s my keyword. Grind the buggers down; and they’ll just roll over, and let you do whatever you want. Attrition. That’s the beauty of brass!”

So, where are the leaflets, hand-delivered by the “neighbourhood champions”? Are the People’s Front of Tysoe – or whatever they called themselves (The People’s Front of NoIdea?) – still so pissed-off at being found out (or having the Riot Act read out to them) by the Parish Council, that they’re cutting off their noses to spite their faces… (apart from the Great Tew: from whom I must beg forgiveness…)? Or are all we so happy/pissed-off (delete according to political nous) ourselves at #Brexit that we just haven’t noticed? Great timing, innit?! Chilcot, anyone?

The deadline has passed for the planning application that would literally flood Middleton Close were it to come to fruition – which, to a cynic such as myself, just looks like trying to build houses for thirty families who could then traipse their children up the hill to the nearest nursery, raising even more cash for its progenitor. But, we still have until next Wednesday to object to Gladman Mk.II.

All the previous reasons for not granting this permission, last time, actually apply to both applications; and, if you can be bothered, most of the points made in the following comprehensive document (about a 20 Mb download, I’m afraid) – which I produced, with the help of several others, thirty months ago – actually still also therefore apply to both. Copy and paste as much, or as little, of it, as you wish into the links above; and then barrage your local councillor – and of course, Chris ‘Teflon’ Saint, with as much vitriol as you want. (By the way, has anyone seen our MP, recently… – apart from in this week’s Herald, looking rather fetching in one of George Osborne’s high-vis jackets and matching hard hat…?)

That the planning laws are a whole herd of mega-donkeys, in allowing us to keep having to defend the same parcel of land from rapacious invaders again and again, is in no doubt. But, last time, we showed what we were made of; and I pray we can do it again… rather than slip in it.

I am far too disabled to go through what I went through last time – not sleeping for days on end – continually researching the law; producing leaflets; collating contact details; starting this blog, even… – but we would be just as stupid as the two FGBs above assume if we were not to fight back; and we would just get what we deserve. So that’s me done. Sorry.

Joseph Ashby, my much greater and more virtuous predecessor, must be rolling in his grave. Me, though, I’m off to have my head scanned. Literally.

Fly me to the moon…

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

– William Shakespeare: Julius Caesar

In yesterday’s Guardian, Timothy Garton Ash asks “What is Britain?” – particularly with regards to the structure of government, as defined by the forthcoming General Election (the willy waving of which already bores me…). He writes that “A serious response must involve devolving power, not just sideways but also downwards, to English local government.” But I would go one step further – in an attempt to bring real meaning and purpose to the currently hollowed-out, insincere concept of localism – and continue that devolution to village level: strengthening the remit (and budget) of the Parish Council; and introducing more accessible and democratic processes for making the decisions that affect only those who live here.

Obviously there has to be a flow of communication (information and legislation) both up and down the levels of legislature – “European, federal (British), constituent nation (England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland), regional, city, local” – to and from the parish; but we are not the same as other villages (however the current strata of government try to lump us into meaningless classifications such as “local service village”). Our relationships – geographical, personal, organizational, environmental, social… – are also different: in the way that no two people are alike, however many surface characteristics they may share.

¶

So the question I would ask is “What is Tysoe?”; and the only people who can answer this, fully, are those who live here – although it is also fundamental that this question be asked of our nearest and dearest: our neighbouring villages; the next layer up in this devolved form of government; those who we may work for; and the businesses that provide us with services, or are based within the parish.

And there is only one way of discovering the reality, the truth – both objective and subjective (otherwise, we might as well just be lumped in with other similar locales) – and that is to go out and ask. You cannot expect people simply to come flocking to you, just because you have been given some form or remit of power – you have to govern collegiately, govern by walking around: actively asking; actively listening; bouncing ideas around, and letting others add to them, criticize them, praise them, ridicule them. After all, your constituents should be your greatest asset – you wouldn’t be there without them (or not for long, anyway).

If you hide behind a desk – or even a customer service counter – people will only come to you with their (and maybe your) problems; or when they are in trouble and need your help (if they believe you can…). If you act as if you know better than they do, and have all the answers, without (valuing) their input, they may not even think about dragging themselves in your direction: and you will never learn what they think of you and your patronizing form of power. Only if you share your authority (however elected) with them, trust them, offer them transparent decision-making, will you know; and it will not come as a surprise, next time they have the opportunity (presuming you haven’t truncated their rights) to choose who will next have your power, that they do not choose you.

¶

You can probably see where I’m going with this – although my thoughts could also apply to all the higher levels of administration, of course… – especially following my recent post on the strange definition of “consultation” currently being practised by those producing the Neighbourhood Plan. This time, though, I was inspired to put stubby index fingers to keyboard (as well as croaky voice to microphone) by the sage comment (of which the following is an edited version) left on my freeform response to the original survey – not just to criticize (unless you take that in its wider, more positive, more constructive definition of simply observing and analyzing), but to demonstrate an alternative future – a third way, even – coloured by my experience of many years of finessing corporate (internal, as well as external) communication.

Is it worth it, this Neighbourhood Plan? Is it worth the effort…?

     Probably not if it’s dull, tedious hard work. Probably not, if it’s just to satisfy a remote government whim, or a local government box ticking exercise, or to indulge a few individuals’ theories. Probably not if we leave it to a few people wearily going through the motions of what they think should be done. Probably not if no-one asks you for your ideas, or listens when you offer them. Probably not if it is just another argument about what should be built here, or there, and everybody knows that ‘the planning department’ will decide anyway, whoever ‘the planning department’ is. Probably not if it doesn’t inspire us, however worthy.

     On the other hand, it doesn’t have to be like that. It doesn’t even have to be the Neighbourhood Plan. It could simply be OUR plan. A plan for Tysoe.

     It could be a plan for the village as we want it to be; how we want to be in it; what we want to keep and what to change; how we would look after ourselves and each other; how we could adapt it to the world around us; how we could feel we belong to it; how we could make it a wonderful place to grow up, and grow old in; how it could look, and work for us.

     It could be a plan that could outlive the political and economic winds that blow around us. It could be sensitive to, but not dependent on others – on officials and policies and obscure irrelevant impractical things that might otherwise be imposed on us. It could be a plan for our village to enable it to survive and thrive even in troubled times.

     It could be a plan that we would all enjoy playing our part in creating. It could be a plan of which we are all proud. It could be a plan created by grownups and children alike, a game for the whole family to play. It could be a plan made by fully sentient human beings, with extraordinary capabilities, and loads of common sense. It could be a model of how people can work together for a common cause.

     Is it worth it? I think so.

     Do we have the will? Dig a bit deeper and I’m sure we will find it, bursting to get out.

     Can we overcome the obstacles? No doubt, if we are strong and resolute.

     Is it possible? Yes.

     Now, I wonder what all that could look and feel like? Let’s start here.

     It’s not that hard. A lot easier than waking up tomorrow and it’s all gone. That would be really hard.

I find this utterly inspirational. It really defines what a Neighbourhood Plan could and should be – far removed from the “time- and money-consuming exercise: designed to keep us ‘plebs’ occupied” defined in the 2011 Localism Act: a definition which is at the root of our current woes (which you and I both need to get past before solutions are posited).

¶

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen.

– Douglas Adams: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

At the moment (and I could not attend last night’s meeting, because of my continuing ill-health; and, to be honest, cynically only expected more of the same – despite valid proddings and protestations from various parts of the parish; and despite the fact that my urge is to keep on doling out chunks of doubting benefit…), all we are getting (being given) are dribs and drabs of information that appear to be made up on the fly. There is no visible strategy; no detailed schedule of events that we are all privy to. Something this important (which could refer equally to the Plan, the parish, and its residents) requires regular updates that say “This is what is going to happen”, and when; and how well the schedule is being kept to, or if it needs revising. The parish should also have been asked how it would like the ‘consultation’ to take place. The Plan (as the anonymous poster above points out) is not one person’s, or one group’s, document – it belongs to (and is made by) every single resident.

I think we should be receiving detailed (at least) monthly bulletins (a blog, maybe?!), containing this sort of information. There should be regular (weekly, fortnightly, monthly?) surgeries, at times and places convenient to different sectors of our population’s needs. Ideally, the ‘street champions’ would have been given the chance to demonstrate more skills than simply leafleting: so that everyone really understands what is going on in a way that can be communicated with and by those villagers involved, as well, of course, with those who aren’t (or currently don’t feel themselves to be). As a villager, do you know/feel/believe that you can ask questions, or give input, and that the reply will be constructive? If we have little faith in the process, and the people pushing it forward, it is because they have so far demonstrated (consciously or subconsciously) that they have little faith in the outcome if they involve us too much.

If there were effective communication channels in place – and an effective communication strategy – we wouldn’t have been taken by surprise; and we would have known that the current draft of the Neighbourhood Plan was the first, not the last, chance for consultation; and that the Plan isn’t being rushed to the implied premature conclusion. Being told this after the fact, though, is way, way too late. Before last night, all we had been told was that there was a deadline of 15 January. How, therefore, were we supposed to know any different? Were we supposed to guess that we might have a second or third chance to offer our opinion? (Sorry, my crystal ball has suffered one of its frequent power outages.) And why number those chances, anyway? We should be (and I am sorry to keep banging on about this) continually involved: not just when the spirit moves; not just by saying anyone can attend a meeting – but in any way that anyone wants to be. “Tysoe: how would you like to be involved in your plan? When would you like to meet up, and where, and how?” For goodness’ sake, ask people what they want, and then bloody well give it to them. Don’t act like another arm of the establishment that has led to current voter apathy/powerlessness, and expect us to be grateful in return. All you will do is split us into raging, revolting peasants (Russell Brand-stylee) and the silent, peeved majority, who think anything vaguely political is a waste of their time.

¶

Do you really know what the Plan’s purpose is? Do you agree with it? Or would you rather have something that meshes perfectly with all our area’s residents’ varied needs and wants – as described above? My guess is that the village (as I have said before) is survey- and plan-weary; and may think this is just being done to boost the egos of a few, rather than serve the many. Couch “the Plan’s purpose” in the terms of the above comment, and, soon, I predict, villagers will start to experience an emerging ownership, and feel properly involved; feel listened to – that this is something important and concrete that they must partake in, for the sake of Tysoe. At the moment, it just looks like a bureaucratic exercise, with the appeal of a dead slug garnished with bird droppings.

I don’t want to fill in a feedback form. Neither, I would guess, does anyone else. (They are only convenient for those issuing them.) This is too important to be a paper-shuffling exercise. It is personal; it is about our human futures, tightly tied in with the village’s future. It is not about bureaucracy. It is about people talking, discussing – shouting, if necessary – until their voices are hoarse, and they need a pint or three in the Peacock. I want to be listened to, appreciated, understood – my views, however individual, however off-the-wall, noted, incorporated, available for others to debate. I want an open – not closed – reiterative – not finite – honest – not obfuscated – collegiate – not selective – inclusive – not exclusive – process; one that belongs to us all, is participated in by us all… equally. What I want – what we need to succeed – is trust and transparency. Great bloody steaming dollops of both, please (and hold the slug).

¶

During the last few days, it has emerged that the “initial” draft of the Plan had not been seen (vetted, edited, approved) by anyone than a very select few – not even most members of the Neighbourhood Plan group; and certainly not any of our Parish Councillors – before being circulated (although I have been told several times, by several people, that actually getting hold of a physical or digital copy is not as easy as I had thought…). This is ludicrous. And, although apparently democratic on the surface, to me it shows that those élite involved in producing it either thought that their own efforts didn’t need such policing; did not understand the consequences of not having defined editorial/production processes in place; or were trying to rush the thing through (confirmed by the similarly ludicrous response deadline we have been given).

This is neither “democratic” nor fair. If the Parish Council – who are ultimately responsible for the document – had reviewed it, they (instead of Keith Risk) could have pointed out the flaws in it before the midden hit the windmill.

As I have said before, the workings-out must be highly visible. If you go directly to a fait accompli, then people will assume, rightly or wrongly, that things are being hidden from them. Where is the correlation between what 43% of us said on our survey forms and the now circulating (like treacle through a straw) extremely rough (for content, but glossy in appearance: looking like a final) draft of suggested policy?

I feel, personally, as if I we are being treated like children: children who don’t know what’s good for them (in the way that David Cameron usually addresses ‘his’ electorate). That we’re too stupid to understand all this technical planning stuff: so we’re not going to be told, or given the chance to learn about it, and comment on it, and discuss its merits. This has probably not been done on purpose; but, without “having defined editorial/production processes”, and a broad selection of reviewers, it was bound to happen. Wouldn’t it have been far better to say “this is what we’re thinking of doing – what do you think?”

People, generally, want leadership that listens to them; not bossiness that hides away, secretly machinating like some rural version of the KGB. What we really need, therefore, is another Joseph Ashby – certainly not the Wizard of Oz, manipulating things with no substance from behind the curtain. You can’t make decisions unilaterally. If we had all been treated like adults, and communicated properly with, from day one, our expectations would be realistic, and we would know what was going on.

When people who have our future in their hands make a decision, then they should tell us that they are about to make it; and how; and why. Not afterwards. And they must ensure that the village is a stakeholder in that decision. This is how conspiracy theories emerge. People fill in gaps in the paucity of information to try and mend it; make sense of rupturing gaps in the process. They are not the failings of those who try to listen; but those who are not listening. Openness and honesty at the outset – even stating that there were some key processes that would need refining later: “We’ve never done this before” – would have been readily and willingly accepted, I am sure.

The Tories’ desire to take the country back to the 1930s is beginning to look tame, compared with the current assertions of feudalism within the village – risking taking us all back to the 1330s. (At least, I suppose, our fields of ridge-and-furrow would be intact.)

[I was tempted to apologize for my anger – but others I have discussed this with feel similarly disenfranchised (and perturbed). I started this blog because I love and cherish dearly this unique place my partner and I have found to spend the rest of our lives in: and therefore want to help protect it, and its residents, in any way I can, from deliberate or accidental harm (my main weapon of defence, being disabled, being the gift of articulacy). I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find “it’s all gone”. That would not only be “really hard”, it would be extremely painful. (And I have already known more pain in my life than many would know in ten of theirs.)]

¶

So… why does the first draft look so like a final draft (even though there are gaping holes in it)? Perception is everything; and only a constant two-way flow of information will quash that. Communicating effectively is blummin’ hard work, though; and requires valued expertise. As I keep saying, everything I plea for should all have been communicated in advance. I understand that this is the first time the village has done a Neighbourhood Plan; but we’re not the first place to do one. Why have there not been presentations to the village from others that have? Have there been visits to other areas further along in the process? I doubt it. But, if there have, then they should have been publicised, and open to anyone vaguely interested in getting involved.

Having received only 43% of the residential surveys back; and not having a full set of business responses; instead of producing a glossy document, the Neighbourhood Plan group should have taken the time to interact with that missing majority – to find out why they didn’t respond/weren’t interested, and address this. It would have improved their standing in the village; would have shown they were listening as well as telling; and would almost certainly mean that we wouldn’t now be in the situation we are in.

Communication. Communication. Communication. It is at the centre of any successful organization; and lacking from those that fail.

¶

This thing needs doing properly. I think the comment on my post, above, should be the manifesto (‘Manifestysoe’?!) that drives the Plan, drives the village. It could include all the things that the Parish Plan didn’t achieve. And, whatever its designation, it could be – as a Neighbourhood Plan is supposed to be (every five years) – a rolling document that captures the developing Zeitgeist and genius loci. It doesn’t need to be governed by external law. It can be the repository of all of Tysoe’s massive and deep wealth of knowledge, desires, needs and dreams – a sort of collegiate ‘Tyseaux Tapestry’ (or even Magna Carta) for the Internet age.

But this, above all – as wot the wise person wrote – requires imagination and graft. It also requires skill, leadership, and a willingness to acknowledge that wisdom can be found in the smallest and darkest of places. But, only by opening the process up to every single sentient thing that resides within the Parish boundaries, will that wisdom be found. It cannot be decided by kings in castles, lords in manors, monks scratching away at their parchments in ivory towers, separated from the seething, unruly masses by a moat of superiority. It needs an extremely personal touch – and, if necessary, walking around, getting mucky, wearing wellies: even talking to the farmers who steer the local agricultural-based economy: which, so far, hasn’t been given its central starring rôle in the Plan. It needs involvement, as well as hard work and cleverness. Intelligence that stems from without as well as within. This is a collegiate document, not one that is handed down from Mount Sinai, finalized, to be thoughtlessly obeyed. It requires your input to start it – which is partly what the comments section below is for; and what my email address is for. It also requires your input to ensure that it never ends.

We choose to produce a Plan for Tysoe and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.

In memoriam Joseph Ashby…

If this field…

If this field could cry, then it would;

If this field could cry, it would cry

For hare, for badger, for silence,

As the owl cries, but not for care.

If this field could weep, then it would;

If this field could weep, it would weep

For unity, for history,

As the cloud weeps, but not for rain.

If this field could grieve, then it would;

If this field could grieve, it would grieve

For tilth, for furrow, for the plough,

As the horse grieves, but not for ease.

If this field could pass, then it would;

If this field could pass, it would pass

For myth, for symbol, for tribute,

As the days pass, but not for night.

What once was plenty was all our fathers’

And our mothers’ too; was shared in labour

And enjoyment; was permanent and firm

As the ridges and footsteps they planted:

Knowing never to cry, weep, grieve, or pass

By this field that grew them, formed them entire.

If this field could cry, then it would;

If this field could weep, then it would;

If this field could grieve, then it would;

If this field could pass, then it would;

But it will not lie easily

Entombed beneath base usury.

If this field could live, then it would;

If this field could live… it would live.

Bard & Tew (Part 3)

With Mike Sanderson

The Bard was recovering, and decided, for the good of his health, to amble up to the windmill: something he hadn’t done for a while. And, of course, sitting in the midday sun, their backs against the old stones, staring up where the stocks used to be, were Tew and his grandson. As you would expect, ragged-trousered them both!

“Long time no see,” said Tew. “Likewise,” said the Bard. “Oh, and thanks for your call-out. Sort of sums up social well-being in action!”

“I liked what you wrote as well: about closing your eyes and remembering your first view of Tysoe. You asked what it was that made this place special; memorable; a place where you wanted to base your life. For me, it’s about the people, and their sense of community. A place to return to.”

“Aye. Even old Joseph Ashby talked about ‘the elements essential to the material and social well-being’ of the people – so it’s not as new-fangled term as you mighten expect,” said the Bard, wistfully.

“This NPPF puts it more drily, though – says how: ‘The planning system can play an important role in facilitating social interaction and creating healthy, inclusive communities’ – that, to me, is making places for people to meet, shop, work and play. Therefore,” added Tew, watching the sun drift behind a cloud, “we need to be active in making sure we all work together to keep what we’ve got; and build on that. We can’t just rely on philanthropy to keep Tysoe this way. The outside pressures for new houses might mean there are enuff of us to keep our school, and district councillor. That’s why we need our Neighbourhood Plan and for everyone in the village to have their say.”

“Nicely put,” said the Bard “and I say: all this walking and talking’s made me thirsty! The Peacock beckons I reckon.”

– Originally published in the Tysoe & District Record (August 2014: no.746)

Power to the people…

I have already suggested how the residents of Tysoe could make concrete the sustainability we place at the heart of our response to Gladman’s rapacious development proposals: by placing a “wind-turbine, or two, on Tysoe Hill… generating profit for its residents, as well as power”. And, although this may have sounded somewhat tongue-in-cheek, at the time – especially considering how conservative (both small and large ‘c’) we appear as a village – I was actually utterly serious.

We cannot continue our lazy ways of driving our children to school; or arriving at village meetings by car; or nipping down to Bart’s for a loaf of bread in our 4x4s, when all of our local amenities are central, and easily accessible on foot even to those, like me, who walk in pain, and with a stick; and when the three hamlets – from Tysoe Manor to Lane End Farm – are less than two miles from end-to-end (and that’s using the roads; not cutting corners with our frequent footpaths, or as the numerous crows fly…). It is often, therefore, refreshing – and one of the advantages of being at the bottom of the Edge Hills – to see so many villagers cycling to and fro: even though our local roads are not the most accommodating for those on two wheels; and it is easy to feel trapped between rushing motorists, the larger-than-apparently-needed local bus, and our many (and often deep) potholes and ragged, infrequently-maintained road edges.

We must practise what we preach on a larger scale, though; and, although I understand some people’s aversion to the change represented by the incursion of wind-turbines (sadly, frequently accompanied by naked nimbyism; and not helped by David Cameron’s thoughtless appeasement of climate-change deniers and voters defecting to those “fruitcakes, loonies and closet racists” in the Ukip camp), I, personally, find them rather beautiful and graceful: modern, mobile sculptures bestriding our landscape even more elegantly than the “iron men” that were originally designed in the 1920s.

As we have so gotten used to pylons, and as we so adore the few windmills remaining from our water-pumping and flour-producing (and occasionally bone-grinding) agricultural and industrial heritage, I cannot see why, eventually, we would not grow to admire – or just forget or ignore their presence… – what will surely become a fundamental and necessary safeguard for the future of the human race (and the planet, of course). As I say, it is the “change represented” I believe that causes repulsion more than the design itself, though; and it will be interesting – as they are adopted more widely – to see what reactions will be provoked by the modern replacements for supporting overground electricity transmission. I wonder if people will then start professing their adoration for the suddenly historical (and therefore belonging to our “olden days”), latticed giants: which are, supposedly, equally as abhorred, currently (if you’ll excuse the pun), as the modern bladed replacements for stocks and sails.

Before I forget, does anyone know what is happening to ‘our’ windmill?

As now – although for divergent reasons – the windmill was also at the centre of the village’s identity in Joseph Ashby’s time; as well as playing a key rôle in its economy:

…sometimes as he saw the miller struggling up the hill, getting daily now more short of breath, the latter would seem for a moment a Sisyphean symbol for the endless struggle of life.

For the old man himself his mill was a symbol…. “My mill ’ll lose its sails one o’ these days, like the ships, but the tower ’ll last ’undreds of years; wind nor wet can’t get a hold on it. As one wind wets,” he said as though reflecting on the wide world, “another dries.”

…and it this economic – as well as community-enhancing – rôle I would want villagers to think about and discuss before rejecting something just on the grounds that they don’t like the look of it (especially as this is one way, in our control, to help prevent the power-cuts that, we are told, may become even more prevalent).

Not all of us who live here are rich, or can afford to absorb the high costs associated with oil-fuelled central-heating; and many would therefore benefit from the return an investment in ‘alternative’ power could provide – as well as the parallel reduction in their power and heating bills. (The number of solar electricity and water-heating panels visible in the village testifies to this, already – even if the majority of them, currently, appear to be attached to social housing.)

With the proposed advent of peer-to-peer ISAs, next year: which could provide a tax-free way of funding “community-owned renewable energy schemes” – such as those at Findhorn, and, more locally, at Watchfield – we would be one small step closer to living in the world we say we want for our children:

International and national bodies have set out broad principles of sustainable development. Resolution 42/187 of the United Nations General Assembly defined sustainable development as meeting the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs. The UK Sustainable Development Strategy Securing the Future set out five ‘guiding principles’ of sustainable development: living within the planet’s environmental limits; ensuring a strong, healthy and just society; achieving a sustainable economy; promoting good governance; and using sound science responsibly.

The bid by Ovo Energy “to boost local power generation”, announced today, would also help us make our giant leap into the future:

Ovo has invested in systems that can easily be scaled up to give community groups, local authorities and housing associations the tools they need to run a utility business, including customer service, billing and power generation. The company, through its Ovo Communities division, will also offer smart metering, power purchasing and energy efficiency installations.

A recent YouGov survey showed that three times more people believed they would get a fairer deal from a community-based energy supplier than a large company answerable to City shareholders.

The community model is already used in mainland Europe, especially in Germany, where more than half of electricity and gas is provided by local municipalities or other community organisations.

If we can grow our own fruit and veg, surely we can start to think about generating our own electricity, as another move, in Tysoe’s history, towards community cohesiveness and self-sufficiency?

In [the] 1880s Joseph [Ashby] made contact again with Lord William Compton; Lord William was at the time residing at Castle Ashby in Northamptonshire, and Joseph working nearby. Joseph had “stood in the road, waylaying his carriage. He met with recognition and welcome; an interview was arranged”. He persuaded Lord William (now a Liberal MP) to let a farm to the Tysoe Allotments Association for division into allotments and small-holdings, himself becoming one of the first tenants.

My submission to the Planning Inspectorate…

I know that others are capable of addressing this inquiry more objectively. This, however, is a personal statement: that is, therefore, slightly more subjective. However, I think it is important that those making the final decision regarding this proposed development understand why Tysoe is so deeply valued and loved (and therefore why so many residents have objected vehemently to this proposal); what it feels like to live here; and why it should be protected from this mass onslaught of unsuitable and unsustainable development.

I have only lived in Tysoe for a few years, but have become so attached to the place, its people, spirit, identity and community, that I now write a blog, online, as The Bard of Tysoe – covering many aspects of village (and local) life, in an attempt to capture the unique spirit of the place. It is three of those “many aspects” that I would like to address here:

1. its personal attachment (i.e. the attraction of the village to both incomers and long-time residents);
2. the threats the cohesion of this community faces, were it to expand rapidly, rather than continue evolving, as it has done for centuries; and
3. the total lack of sustainability such an expansion would force on the village and its heritage.

Before I continue, though, I must stress that I – along with all the other villagers I have spoken to – would not want to deprive others of living in this wonderful place. We know that we have to grow. It is just that the proposed development is too large, too sudden, too concentrated; would remove a crucial part of our heritage; and would be damaging for future generations, because of the lack of regard it has for the negative impact it will have on the earth we live on.

¶

About three-and-a-half years ago – on our way to somewhere-else – our car broke down in Stratford-upon-Avon. Whilst the car was being repaired, we wandered into town, and spotted a picture of the house we now live in, in the window of an estate agent. Objectively, there is little that is remarkable about our home. Admittedly, for a building of its age, it has a bit of character – but the garden is smaller than we would have liked; and it doesn’t have a garage. One thing it does have going for it, though, is that it is in Tysoe.

Having lived in a small village, before, I knew how important the post office and shop would be; how fundamental it is that there is a pub, a village hall, a doctors’ surgery; how you soon get to know your neighbours – and trust them. What I hadn’t expected was the amazing strength and sense of identity and community the three villages that make up Tysoe jointly possess – something that continues to become more apparent (and amaze) with each passing day.

The campaign to fight this proposed development of eighty houses on Oxhill Road – which started last September – typifies this; and I must admit to being overwhelmed by the sense of purpose, unity and duty that drives those motivated to ‘do something about it’. It seems I am not the only one who finds this place so very special.

For health reasons, I spend as much time as I can walking – whether it be by Shakespeare’s Avon; or through his supposed poaching ground of Charlecote. But, whatever the undoubted attractions of those places, I prefer just to wander around the local byways – maybe up to the windmill; to Upton House; or across the fields to Oxhill. But I am at my most content just sitting in the churchyard, knowing this is my village – and that this is where I will stay. To paraphrase Touchstone, in As You Like It – “When I am at home, I am in a better place.”

¶

When I write my blog, I keep coming back to two words: “community” and “identity”. They (like sustainability – which I will talk about in a moment…) can be hard to define; yet are, at the same time, utterly recognizable…. But my largest worry at the moment is that the village’s community and allied identity will be unsustainable in the face of the onslaught of such an overwhelming, and dense, addition to the local built environment (and probably in a style more suited to the urban than the rural), as well as the consequent huge population increase (again, probably more suited to the urban than the rural).

Every time I pass, or walk through, that field on Oxhill Road, therefore, I cannot help but imagine the huge carbuncle that would result from this development: a terrible scar being opened in the ancient earth; followed by horrendous ‘surgery’ – taking place over two or three years – polluting the village with noise, dirt, congestion, and perpetual, unsustainable, damage.

The proposal is utterly disproportionate in scale; utterly unsuitable in design and density; and would increase the number of houses in Middle and Upper Tysoe by over 20%; and the population by around 30%… – causing undue harm to the local landscape, its important environmental and historical assets, and the people who live here: now, and in the future.

In a council district where a sizable proportion of the houses are holiday lets and bed-and-breakfasts – and where the average house price is amongst the most expensive in the region – it seems ludicrous, to me, to build such a concentration of houses that will be unaffordable to those who truly want and need to live here (for example, our children…); and so far away from any centres of employment – especially as Tysoe is served poorly by public transport. There are also over one thousand empty houses in Stratford District that could contribute to the council’s five-year housing supply – reducing the perceived need to build on valuable agricultural land.

¶

Because of all this, I have a feeling that this ‘fourth Tysoe’ would never truly integrate with the rest of the village – not because we are unwelcoming: after my short time here, I feel a true part of the community (although the new residents would soon become aware of our fight – which they would then, of course, perceive was against them…) – but because it will not have evolved from what already exists. It would not be a true, integrated part of the village – even though directly connected – but stuck on badly: like some young child’s blindfolded attempt at pinning the tail on the donkey. It is completely without context and suitability.

It would, however – whilst imposing its lack of sustainability on all of us – rely on its connection with the rest of the village (its ‘better half’) for its infrastructure and services; its prosperity and survival (although I do not believe it would contribute much to the local economy…) – even though it had caused the village such irreparable harm.

In contrast, fifty to seventy-five houses being developed over the next seventeen years – as envisaged in Stratford District Council’s draft Core Strategy – will be more manageable; and will – with Tysoe’s Neighbourhood Plan in place – build sensibly and meaningfully on the way the village has grown, over the centuries, with just a few new houses appearing every year.

¶

As we keep being told:

At the heart of the National Planning Policy Framework is a presumption in favour of sustainable development, which should be seen as a golden thread running through both plan-making and decision-taking.

What people seem to gloss over, though, is an understanding of that word “sustainable”; and, in my experience, for many, sustainability can be somewhat difficult to describe.

However, the dictionary defines it as…

…that which is capable of being sustained [which is a little circular in its reasoning]; and, in ecology, the amount or degree to which the earth’s resources may be exploited without damage to the environment.

In a way, both of these aspects are important when it comes to assessing how a new, large housing development will affect the village – which is why they are (when read carefully, and understood properly) at the heart of the major legislative requirements for development in this country.

Using this definition, there are immediate and obvious grounds for refusing Gladman’s proposals:

1. The council’s draft Core Strategy states that developments should cause no significant increase in traffic on rural roads: and yet a sudden influx of eighty households will mean that most of those will work outside the parish; which, in turn, means a large increase in commuting and service traffic – through both Oxhill and Tysoe. Anyone who uses these roads will tell you that they are narrow and unsafe, and are already blocked at peak times. This increase in the number of cars will not only affect existing traffic – which includes a large number of agricultural vehicles, crucial to the local economy – but cyclists, horse-riders, and pedestrians: including parents and small children on their way to and from Tysoe Primary School and Tysoe Pre-School.


2. The village’s surgery is already at full capacity: and, therefore, there would be no healthcare facilities for the large number of incoming residents.


3. As is well-known, local sewage and surface water management facilities are already over-capacity; and the part of Tysoe under consideration – like much of the village – is already subject to frequent flooding.


4. Not only will the new houses be visible from the Edgehill escarpment – which is part of the Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty bordering the village – but it will form a major incursion across the village boundary into the countryside – in contravention of the council’s Core Strategy policy: which states that any development proposals should avoid such high-quality land as the ridge-and-furrow field the development will eradicate: land that is of ecological and archaeological value, locally and nationally.

¶

It is not hard to spot, as you wander around the parish, that Tysoe is blessed with a relatively large number of remaining ridge-and-furrow fields. However, there is only one field that is still directly attached to Tysoe Manor – itself a Grade II* listed building… – and that is the field currently under threat.

Why is this important?

Well, in the Middle Ages, this field would almost certainly have been owned by the lord of Tysoe Manor; and farmed by his peasant tenants, using the open field system. Each such farmer would ‘rent’ a number of strips (by giving a proportion of his crops to his lordship) – although probably not together, but scattered around the manorial fields – his medieval plough (probably shared with others) turning the soil over and over, year in, year out. And, with his neighbours ploughing in the opposite direction, over time, this gradually moved the increasingly fertile earth inwards, from the edge of the strip (the furrow), causing it to build up in the middle (the ridge). And, as this creates such regular ditches, it seems likely that this process was also used to improve drainage for the farmers and their crops. 

These great open medieval fields were worked by the peasants as a community, though; and, at certain times of year – such as harvest – the whole village would come together. Although, in the end, of course, little could be done against the powers of the plague, and then enclosure – where landowners, with the full backing of the Government, could ‘enclose’ their land, and bring it into profitable use – profitable for them, anyway.

This field has not changed in hundreds and hundreds of years. It is living history. And it is a sobering thought that our ancestors would have seen what we see now. There are powers, though, now, to stop our heritage suffering more vandalism – and they are enshrined in the NPPF and other planning laws.

¶

When Joseph Ashby – Tysoe’s most famous son – was alive, the Act of Parliament that was passed in April 1796 “for the enclosure of the open fields of Tysoe” – almost the last parish in the area to succumb: and, therefore, with little apparent resistance… – was a recent and living memory; the end of an era. Many of the pre-enclosure rituals were still enacted at harvest, therefore; and many villagers were still aware of the location of their family’s ‘lands’, or ploughing ridges – a passive, subtle, but behindhand rebellion against “a visible sign and symbol that rampant family and individual power had gained a complete victory over the civic community.”

How sad it would be if the present villagers were to have similar memories for such a vital piece of our heritage – even though we had resisted its eradication so strongly; and we had known that the law should have been on our side.

¶

One last thought on sustainability. Sustainable development (which is what we obviously want for our village – as we know we have to keep on growing, as I have said…) is itself defined in many ways – but probably the most frequently cited is from Our Common Future, also known as the United Nations’ Brundtland Report:

Sustainable development is development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.

Apply this to the proposal – and it fails at every step.

¶

I don’t know if every resident feels the same way – I know that many do… – but I chose to live in Tysoe partly because of the lure of its isolation. (For some, I know, such isolation can be a ball-and-chain around their ankles: a threat to their physical and mental health.) However, I choose to stay here because of that isolation; the village’s utterly wonderful, large moat of countryside; and its intrinsic, unique sense of community and identity. (Those words again.)

I don’t know if it really is “the most rural village in Warwickshire”, as has been claimed – it certainly feels it, sometimes (thank goodness). What I do know is that I don’t want to be walking down Oxhill Road, with a future small grandchild in hand, explaining what the field that then holds eighty houses was; what it meant.

This may sound, to some, like that dreaded word ‘nimbyism’ – but I hope that the reasons I have outlined in my speech (and the evidence others have – and will – put forward) confirm that this is not the case.

There are so many better ways of dealing with the current – albeit slowing – rates of population growth than simply dumping eighty unsuitable, unsustainable, urban-style boxes of ticky-tacky in a field far removed from anywhere where people work and shop.

I have seen villages that have stagnated, and have therefore lost their hearts. I have seen villages rapidly transformed into towns, and therefore lose their identity and sense of community: fragmenting into places where residents neither know – or can rely on – their neighbours. I want neither of these fates to befall Tysoe – or any other village – nor do I want its growth to be part of the ruination of this planet, and its environment, that threatens the wellbeing of our children and grandchildren, and their children and grandchildren.

Joseph Ashby’s submission to the Planning Inspectorate…?

A few days ago, I wrote that I could “only imagine” what Joseph Ashby – the agricultural trade unionist; and Tysoe’s most famous son – “would make of… the threats [the village] faces from developers”:

I believe he would have fought such menaces, though: as he always did so keenly for the causes he so strongly believed in – with “an economy of indignation… saved up for the big things and kept turned in the right directions.”

Well, reading Joseph Ashby’s Victorian Warwickshire, edited by Anne Langley – which features extracts from “a series of delightful articles” from the Warwick Advertiser – I began to uncover his views, and make some of those imaginings concrete. (I therefore hope that a visit to Warwickshire County Record Office, where Anne is a volunteer, will help me fill in some of the gaps, and build a more complete understanding.)

Heritage

His description of Tysoe – echoing his daughter’s; and demonstrating the love he had for his own village (although attempting to be objective and fair…) – sets the scene:

The village of Tysoe, seen from the Edge Hills, forms part of one of the finest landscapes in Warwickshire. There below us ancient farm homesteads and cottages have been nestling among the old elms for which the village is famous, for centuries. The village, though scattered over a mile of road and greensward, is seen from end to end from the Edge Hills. It is such a picture of quiet beauty and peace that but little fancy is required to make the scene before us a pastoral Utopia. How rudely such a conception is dispelled when one is face to face with the life and struggles of people.

It is a shame that the heritage (and environment) represented by the old trees that so characterized our village – especially the “great hollow tree in which a dozen men can stand” in Upper Tysoe – disappeared with the invasion of Dutch Elm Disease; but we should be proud – however intent this present Government seems to be on reversing the process… – that “the life and struggles” current villagers face are no longer, on the whole, as dangerous, squalid, or poverty-stricken as those then “lived by the labouring poor in the villages of Warwickshire” (as well as remembering, of course, that Ashby himself contributed a great deal to such improvement…).

Discussing “The enterprise and industry of the villagers of Broadwell”, Ashby also – and we must remember that he was the very model of a nonconformist, working-class, autodidact (not unlike myself!) – explains why he thinks some villages are so successful:

I am inclined to attribute [the enterprise and industry] to the activities generated by the healthy rivalries of the different, though tolerant, convictions and opinions by which they are actuated. There can be no mistake as to the fact that activities of thought, however seemingly opposed, have a desirable effect upon the material condition of any village. It is those villages in which independent thought is suppressed, or upon which the evil spirit of apathy has settled, and those villages only, where the general condition of the people is not improving.

And I don’t think it is too far a leap to claim that it is our lack of – or emergence from – that “evil spirit of apathy” – combined with (as I have said before) our fortune to have so many knowledgeable, independent-thinking, and hard-working residents – that has helped Tysoe develop its unique community feel and spirit; and has so far helped us fight the current spate of “speculative development”.

Suitability

In some ways, though, nothing changes. (And then, nothing changes again.)

The change, it had to come

We knew it all along

We were liberated from the fold, that’s all

And the world looks just the same

And history ain’t changed

’Cause the banners, they are flown in the next war…

Meet the new boss

Same as the old boss

– Pete Townshend (The Who): Won’t Get Fooled Again

Describing new houses being built in Stockton by “the Lime Burning Company of Nelson and Co”, Ashby writes:

These cottages are of the usual size of modern cottages, and built in the usual manner in which new cottages are built in the villages. The great fault of these cottages is that they are placed too near each other. In the case of many of them they are placed in a long row which must always be a most objectionable feature in the erection of new cottages.

And of Ryton on Dunsmore – hinting strongly at ‘subtopia’ (as well as the issue of commuting…), almost sixty years before Ian Nairn coined the word:

There is no glare of the modern red brick which somehow or other is one of the leading evidences of “the march of progress,” which, taking the whole of Warwickshire villages into consideration, means for most workmen a daily “march” into the bowels of the earth, or the stone quarries.

I think Ashby would have been more concerned with the conditions of the insides of any new houses, though, than their architectural aesthetic (however important); and the facilities they provided for his (as he saw them) kindred village folk – especially those less fortunate. His strong hint at the lack of “greensward”, though, and the density of new housing – because of its effect on “the whole social surroundings of the rural community” – is still relevant over 120 years later (as well as being the driving force in the delivery of ‘The Promised Land’ of allotments, which Ashby himself fought so hard for); as is the obliteration of productive agricultural land.

Sustainability

From the following excerpt (and many others – often to do with the affordability of rents, and the attitudes of landlords), it is obvious that Ashby – as an extension of his deeply-felt concern over villagers’ living conditions, and the local environment – was also extremely conscious of (and concerned with) both “social well-being” (a term he uses in his description of Southam) and sustainability (a word only adopted in the late twentieth century): echoing our current anxieties with flooding, drainage, water treatment and capacity. And it is sad that nothing much has changed in this respect, either. [It will take another wet winter, I fear, to see whether Severn Trent Water’s latest works, at Oxhill – I was going to say “attempt at a solution” (sorry) – have been successful.]

The most painful aspect of life in the village of Oxhill is that of the water supply. Passing through the village a few days ago I was informed that, excepting the water gathered out of the holes of a brook, which passes near the village, which have been scooped out by the changes in the course of the stream… there is no water in the village for man or beast. Of the quality of such water I need not stop to speak…. Whether the water be as clear as a stream can be in April, when the excess of winter’s rainfall has rippled in tiny streamlets and rolled with increasing force in its progress to the sea, and before the cattle, driven by flies and heat, have converted it to a stream of mud, or whether incessant rainfalls give the stream an almost dangerous volume, or drought dries the bed of the streams bare, this stream alone appears to be the only available source of water. I am bound to say, too, that not two miles away, is the village of Tysoe, a village of 900 inhabitants, the whole of the sewage of which comes into this stream. To put the matter briefly, the sewage of about 250 houses, and perhaps half as many pigsties, and several farm yards, directly or indirectly, flows into the water which the people of Oxhill have to drink.

Access

Travel – and the condition of what passed for local roads – of course, wasn’t such a problem in the 1890s. Most villagers rarely strayed from their place of birth; with only occasional forays to the local market town. Even Joseph Ashby – with his extensive tours of the local villages for his Warwick Advertiser articles “by train, penny-farthing bicycle and on foot”; and as a travelling lecturer in one of the English Land Restoration League’s ‘red vans’ – didn’t venture much beyond the county boundaries.

Regardless, Joseph Ashby’s life was remarkable – in many ways. We should therefore be prepared to learn from him, his beliefs and his actions, as we gaze out at Tysoe from atop his erudite giant’s shoulders. Like him, we must build on our history, our context, our roots. We must defend those causes we know he would also have fought for. We must therefore not lay down our arms easily, assuming – as some did with the initial planning hearing – that – because Gladman have appealed (although they in no way can be described as actually being ‘appealing’), and a public inquiry is being held – all is yet lost. Instead, we should respect his memory, as well as the village he left behind, by championing his values, as they apply to our times.

A steady spirit, regularly free…

It is not the entwining ivy, the golden jasmine, the clinging honeysuckle, and the trained rosebushes, with their delicate perfume, to which I desire to introduce the readers of the Advertiser, but the real life lived by the labouring poor in the villages of Warwickshire.

– Joseph Ashby: Warwick Advertiser (24 December 1892)

I have in front of me a book that has existed as long as I have; written and signed by an author whose very roots spiral deep into Tysoe’s soil – (Kathleen) MK Ashby, the daughter (and biographer) of Joseph Ashby of Tysoe 1859-1919: A Study of English Village Life.

Just opening it – and breathing in that musty-but-sweet perfume so redolent of old pages, old literature, old lives – instantly connects me more firmly to the land I live on, the village I live in (as well as whisking me back to the libraries of my childhood; the encumbered shelves of my parents and grandparents). Reading it – and admiring the wonderful, insightful, unique narrative and style – I am immersed in the history of our village: seen through the eyes and experience of a man whose knowledge, wisdom, understanding, ambition and graft – and importance – I can sadly only appreciate from afar: as he was born just over a hundred years before me (and his biography).

He would, though, I am sure, have made a good, lively and true companion, wandering and riding around the highways and byways of his village… – although what he would make of its current manifestation, and the threats it faces from developers, I can only imagine. I believe he would have fought such menaces, though: as he always did so keenly for the causes he so strongly believed in – with “an economy of indignation… saved up for the big things and kept turned in the right directions.”

Time showed in fact that Tysoe men could not be won for vast schemes; they wanted this wrong righted, that foul spot cleared, and reasonable scope for a man’s activity. They had, the best of them, wise inherited attitudes outlasting the occasions of learning…. But though they were sceptics, they saw that there were good men in all ranks and grades, and moreover, that in all but the worst time, everybody, just and unjust alike, contributed something: the foolish amused and the wicked instructed. They saw men as members one of another.

Early in her book, Kathleen Ashby describes the situation of Tysoe in the mid-nineteenth century: the small world her father emerged into (fatherless) – not that so much of our topography has changed… – setting it against its neighbours:

Compared with all these Tysoe had some high distinctions. It was large, and composed in a rare way. Its trinity of hamlets, Upper, Church, and Temple (or, as the old maps had it, Templars’) Tysoe were large groups of houses strung along the foot of the Edge Hills. These, with their minor clusters and lanes, stood on small brooks flowing down parallel courses some quarter or half mile apart. The hills themselves were unique and, moreover, sacred. They looked high and straight, fully their six or seven hundred feet. From their ridge, they are seen to be the edge of a plateau, not straight but a series of curves, forming great amphitheatres, suitable for giant Roman dramas and spectacles, but no one in Tysoe thought of those. For [many of the villagers] they were biblical hills – steadfast, a glimpse vouchsafed of the foundations God has laid, the bastions he has built; yet sometimes skipping like lambs, while clouds that are the skirts and fringes of God’s raiment sweep along them.

Such beautiful, expressive, poetic prose (anything but prosaic): which she also implements in fluently and naturally capturing the villagers’ argot – and without any fuss, pretentiousness, or exaggeration. It rings real and planted; consistent and true… – although she knowingly contrasts this “local mode” with her grandmother’s use of “book language”, when required! She also builds foundations for her writing on those of her parents’ possessions important enough to her sentiment and identity, but essential to the verisimilitude of their lives – such as Joseph’s first personal books: bought in Banbury with three shillings wisely and affectionally gifted by his mother, Elizabeth, from the family’s scant harvest gleanings – delving for documentary evidence; handling them affectionately and with reverence: much as I now do with her creation (and which, with her scrawled dedication, produces similar significance and interconnection).

In a recent post, I asked of our forebears…

How did those people live and work? Why did they stay – or move away? What attracted them? What made it hard for them? What made it hard for them to stay or move away?

…and Kathleen’s A Study of English Village Life goes a very long way to answering that: stretching back centuries in a precursor to – and analogue of – Ronald Blythe’s wonderful, immersive Akenfield: another book that I believe is fundamental to understanding the evolution of rural life; and its frequent foundation in poverty, as well as in tilth.

When her father was alive, the Act of Parliament that was passed in April 1796 “for the enclosure of the open fields of Tysoe” – almost the last parish in the area to succumb: and, therefore, with little apparent resistance – was a recent and living memory; the end of an era (with even the “Red Horse itself… penned up within hedges, without even a footpath past it”). Many of the pre-enclosure rituals were still enacted at harvest, though; and many villagers were still aware of the location of their family’s ‘lands’, or ploughing ridges – a passive, subtle, but behindhand rebellion against “a visible sign and symbol that rampant family and individual power had gained a complete victory over the civic community.”

“Enclosures would have done good if there had been justice in ’em. They give folks allotments now instid o’ ther rights – on a slope so steep a two-legged animal can’t stand, let alone dig!”

But Joseph, as he ripened each summer, with the crops, was also interested in the wider world:

Three things came to him in this period; some idea of how events elsewhere affected his own home and village; some knowledge that other communities produced other manners and other men; and then the sense, to describe it as best I can, that under the wide acreage of grass and corn and woods which he saw daily there was a ghostly, ancient tessellated pavement made of the events and thoughts and associations of other times. The historical sense he shared with many of the men he met about his work. Their strong memory for the past was unimpaired by much reading or novelty of experience, and yet their interest had been sharpened by the sense of rapid change.

In many ways, Joseph – with his political understanding, cultural immersion and regular contributions to the (then very) local press – was the original Bard of Tysoe: more social and forthcoming than I, though; and with a more monumental and commanding presence – an organizer of men and causes, as well as of words and ideas.

Although “talk was his medium… he was a lifelong writer of one kind of thing and another.” Sadly, though, “there remain only printed fragments or faded manuscript sentences” – a fact that makes me hesitate, and then meditate on the future of my words, in a period when we no longer relish and rely on the almost-permanency of “old pages” and “encumbered shelves”; but commit our thoughts to flimsy, fleeting pixels, viewed transitorily, rather than stacked and cherished, to one day be visited again with delight at the conclusion of a successful forage for a familiar, half-remembered phrase or sentence.

“He liked to write as an onlooker, wide-minded and kindly, indulging, I think, in the fantasy of being at ease as to time and income…” – a sentiment, and an ambition, I empathize with (but have not yet attained). He also, like me, “must have found time to read books on history and rural affairs, or his writings could not have achieved their quality.” He wears his learning lightly, though; and always parallels it with action: using the conclusions he arrives at, with great thought, to understand, strengthen and animate the lives of his peers; to “arrive at the facts [that] would make ill-informed talk an anachronism.”

This devotion to knowledge, passed down from his mother, flowed naturally to his offspring, as well. He believed that “it was always important to notice how things appeared to children” – and his, inheriting his love of Tysoe, as well as his talents, “firmly believed themselves to live in an area of remarkable natural beauty. To them the Edge Hills were high, though not too high for one to stand often on their top and look out over the world.”

Kathleen – as his natural, bardic successor – reproduces, towards the end of the book, her first (although not childish) attempt at capturing the Tysoe she saw, felt, lived in, and loved:

We no longer see our country as did the old painters, the distance dark and threatening, the great elms near at hand admired for strength, their leaves individually drawn as each a sign of life and power…. Looking from the top of Sunrising our landscape is friendly to its bounds; we interpret its light and shade with the great Constable’s help to mean corn and plough and meadow.

From below our hills are high: “Man lifts up his eyes to the hills.” In the vale is a man’s home; the market and the milkpail. The poetry of these may be more profound than that of the heights but it is not easy to feel it so. On the hills is exhilarating wind. There in June the harebells and thyme “waft prayers and adoration to the azure”, the firs on Old Lodge toss their boughs in a rarer, quicker, air. Here a few romantic young folk load the wind with shouted poetry. Many through the nineteenth century have thrilled to feel their minds expand with the wide view. “Yonder see the Coventry spire”, they say, or “as far as the Severn”, but what they mean is that here the soul is large and free. These long-sighted folk are mostly men taking a Sabbath walk. On Sundays village women are busy dressing each member of the family, in Sunday best, and then afterwards cooking the finest, largest meal of the week, but here they come on summer weekdays gathering mushrooms or blackberries. It is difficult for them to shed the numerous and pressing cares of the household, but gradually in the keen air sight and smell become heightened, hands fall idle and the gatherers note the tiny flowers and the cloudlets in the sky. It is animal life that attracts the little children; they like to frighten the clumsy sheep – so often it is they themselves who have been afraid. They fly with the birds that are freer even than their holiday selves. The bigger children remember that they came here in February, when the wind was at its keenest, to chop boughs and pick up chips from the trees that had been felled. The pale sunlight and the pale primroses asserting themselves against the cold had promised summer and now the promise was fulfilled. Very soon the visitors to the hills return to their life of custom and work in their homes below, but they will come again when time and labour permit, to look outwards and heavenwards.

However, her “study”, written half a century later, concludes with these words – bringing us back to her father… – words which I cannot better:

It has been the special destiny of Englishmen to be at once good citizens and highly individualised – to be very serious pilgrims, like Bunyan’s, but telling fine tales on the way, like Chaucer’s. The scale of our lives is different now; for us all the world is our parish; all the more need to practise our wits and skills in Joseph Ashby’s way, on the home acres.