Showing posts with label Oxhill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oxhill. Show all posts

Friday, 10 April 2015

The Pard of Avon (ye seconde parte thereof…)


Blow winds and crack your cheeks…

Time had moved on. And the experience had made her vow never to do it again – what with all the packing; still-unopened cardboard boxes; complicated fees; broken Emma Bridgewater crockery; crooked solicitors; and estate agents who wouldn’t recognize any version of the truth if it poked them in both eyes with a hot poker. This time, she swore (for the umpteenth time), it was permanent: even if the cottage had proved not to be quite as perfect as it had first looked on that bright spring day; and all the paint had obviously been applied hastily with a thick roller by a one-legged moose. Especially the skirting-boards. This meant that it was now winter, of course. (Nice carpets, though. And extremely well fitted.)

Flakes of snow were therefore dutifully drifting lazily down outside The Peacock, in Oxhill: so lazily, in fact, that some of them just couldn’t be bothered to land; whilst the majority took the shortest route to the ground possible, whilst still trying to look as ballerina-like and graceful as they could: imagining they were in some wonderful Disney cartoon (and wondering when “whilst” took preference over “while” in a sentence).

Inside, two familiar-looking oldish gents (you might have to saw them in half and count the rings) were sat in front of the log-burner: which didn’t so much roar, as just hint at the odd, low, unthreatening growl. Our two subjects were long past the coat-steaming stage; and well past their first pints of the night. They were the only customers, though.

“No: I didn’t mean the plays and sonnets weren’t any good, when I said that. I just implied that, having been around this long, it’s just slightly easier to keep them in print, and help build importance, and an industry around them – that’s all. I mean, there isn’t a Royal Jonson Theatre, is there? Although I’m sure that would bring the Yanks over here even more! Or the Royal Marlowe Company? All it takes is the very occasional, very little nudge. Obviously I don’t make any money from it… directly. But the fame’s nice.”

“So how do you survive – er, financially, I mean?”

“I used to, er, help out at the Birthplace Trust. But, at the moment, people seem to think I’m some sort of retired archaeologist, ‘off the teevee’ – which isn’t that wrong, of course; and I, for one, am not going to convince them otherwise: especially if it gets me free pints of ale…! Another?” he asked, clinking his almost empty glass against his greying, close-cropped companion’s. “I must do some research, though: they seem to expect that I should always wear badly-knitted, colourful jumpers….” He stroked his stubbly, white chin with his free hand.

“Don’t mind if I do,” replied the other, a ruminative smile on his face. “Mind you, I’ve got to get back home, later; and look at it,” he said, glancing outside into the darkness; and then lifting his darkened spectacles – which didn’t help. “Two miles. In wellies. And with my gammy leg….”

“No problem,” his friend grinned, then laughed, at the obvious ploy. You can bunk at my hovel. But shouldn’t you be writing more of that Kenneth Grahame eco pastiche rubbish…?” Just at this moment, a gaggle of middle-aged women entered, snow piled like advertising-manufactured dandruff on their hats, hoods, and thick coats’ shoulders; and, after a ritual removal of said items, scarves and gloves (but not necessarily in that order), they plonked themselves down around the large ‘Reserved’ table in the window of the pub: some of them snuggling amongst the cushions on the large bench; others choosing and shuffling chairs around, governed by some innate, feminine law of organized chaos – including a couple from under the gentlemen’s table: who courteously nodded their tacit agreement in return, touching their long-eroded forelocks politely. “Oh bugger,” suddenly whispered the older one, with the wispy hair, after rising from his seat. I don’t bloody believe it.”

As if on command from some invisible sergeant-at-arms, all the women [see subsequent book description] had removed various editions of King Lear, of various ages, and in various states of repair, from their handbags [ditto]. “Hello, Book Club!” welcomed the barmaid. “Hello, Linda!” they all replied in unison, cheerfully; and then a discussion followed – literally over the gents’ heads – about the sudden change in the weather; the inaccuracy of forecasts; would they be having their usuals, or something a little more warming; and were they happy with their food orders. “I think a couple of extra bottles of that nice South African Merlot would be nice!” chirrupped one of them (as the others nodded, sagely). Somehow, it was obvious that this (obviously Waitrose-shopping, Boden-wearing, Range Rover-driving) slightly older, less rural-accented lady, was the leader of the group. And it would become more obvious as the night wore on; and the snow deepened, dependably.


Once the hubbub had resolved itself, and all were back at their respective tables (and Linda positioned behind the bar, of course: after many trips to and from the kitchen), the two men listened in on the discussion; realized it was probably growingly obvious that they were doing so; and ordered some food, too, so they could eat in silence, and listen some more. “They just don’t get it, do they?” muttered the senior of the two, chewing appreciatively on a chunk of gravy-coated Charlecote venison sausage. “Honestly, it’s not that complicated – it’s just about a bloke who goes senile; his nasty, greedy, dysfunctional family; and a critique of mental healthcare. The rest is just filler. Oh, apart from the storm. Everyone loves a good storm – I mean, look at them… – special effects will make everyone forget the dross; and a sad bit at the end – especially someone or three worth caring for dying (and the more the merrier, if you see what I mean…) – that means that those with hearts leave the theatre in a turmoil, knowing that it moved them, and therefore must have been really good. Honestly, it’s just a formula. Well-written, I’ll admit; and cleverer than Jonson or Marlowe, of course; but nothing particularly original. You could even set it on a council estate, now, if you wanted ‘edginess’, or modern relevance….”

“What about the Fool?”

“In this winter and rough weather? Mind you: the ‘mango and lime’ one sounds rather nice! Perhaps followed by a large cup of coffee?”

His companion sighed. And not for the first time. Nor the last. Not by a country mile. Or twain.

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

A walk on the mild side…


Hi,
Just a quick email to say how useful I've found the blog, particularly as a prospective Tysoean (or Tysoenese, I defer to your experience in such matters). I’m moving your way, you see, and was wondering if you had any tips on where to wander first, what to look out for etc? Local intelligence and any advice much appreciated. No obligation, of course, but my wife and particularly poorly behaved collie want to put the right foot first, if you see what I mean.
Kind regards and keep up the good work,
Tom

Dear Tom –

Many thanks for your wonderful email – which I’m pretty sure is the first piece of ‘fanmail’ that I’ve received, in a year of writing (mostly) about the place I live; the place I love. You’re obviously possessed with excellent taste – both in writers and in villages – so feel free to give yourself a pat on the back; and why not treat yourself to a pint, the next time you find yourself in one of our local pubs!

Seriously, though, I’m glad the blog is both useful, and being read by people who don’t already live here (“Tysoeans”, I think – although that makes us sound vaguely mythical or mystical; inhabitants of an almost 21st-century Shangri-La: which, of course, isn’t too far from the truth…). I’m also pleased that it hasn’t dented your attraction to the place.

You may have to go elsewhere for “local intelligence”, though… – but, as to “advice” on where to wander: well, you’ll be spoilt for choice! When we moved here, we ordered an OS Select map from Ordnance Survey, centred on our new home: and we immediately discovered that there are footpaths galore spiralling out from the village, connecting us like a beautifully-designed walker’s web to our neighbouring villages, and beyond. Alternatively, you could grab yourself a copy of the local OS Landranger Map (151: Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwick & Banbury) – which will give you a wider range of places to explore.


So, where to go first? Well, although it currently lacks both its sails and its stocks, the windmill – on the appropriately-named Windmill Hill, between Upper Tysoe and Compton Wynyates – is an obvious landmark; and it’s up a hill (d’oh): so good exercise for all three of you! At 181 metres above sea-level, it is also a great place to survey your new domain – with wonderful views particularly north (overlooking the three Tysoes) and west (towards Shipston-on-Stour and Chipping Campden) – or, on a warm day, to have a leisurely picnic. (What do you mean: you left the wine chilling in the fridge?!)

Should you wish, instead of returning to the village, you can then wander over the far side of the hill – with your rucksacks lightened and tummies filled – down past the stunning Compton Wynyates house (sadly no longer open to the public), and across the fields – on the flat – to Whatcote or Oxhill: both of which have the requisite pub – the friendly Royal Oak and my favourite (especially for fine food), The Peacock, respectively.

If you take the path to Whatcote, you will eventually join the Centenary Way (which leaves Upper Tysoe via Tysoe Manor, one of the village’s many listed buildings). This path is well worth exploring in both directions: and, if you don’t mind the odd gradient, clambering up by Old Lodge Farm is the best way to get to our nearest National Trust property, Upton House – which has wonderful gardens, a great restaurant, and one of the best interiors of any stately home I know (especially if, like me, you’re a fan of interesting art and comfortable chairs!) – or even further along the Edge Hill ridge (famously overlooking the first pitched battle of the English Civil War).


Depending how new you are to the wider area, it contains a plethora of local National Trust properties (although not many will welcome a “particularly poorly behaved collie” I’m afraid – otherwise I would have raved about Charlecote Park: which is home to a herd of fallow deer and a flock of Jacob sheep); and Stratford-upon-Avon itself is good for gentle strolls down by the River Avon, or up into the Welcombe Hills. (Have a look at my online Warwickshire photo gallery, if you need further inspiration; or take a peek at my list of Local links.)


But you don’t always have to leave the village (Mrs Bard particularly enjoys exploring the area around the Epwell Road): as there are byways through, and connecting, all parts of it – and all pretty much on the flat – so, when I’m feeling less energetic (which is pretty much my default mode, at the moment), I’m happy just to toddle along the back lanes to the church and back; or, following the footpath beyond the church and primary school, stretch my legs as far as Lower Tysoe. As I’ve said before, “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…)”: so it’s no great strain, and there is much to be enjoyed (including a wide selection of wildlife) – whichever direction you head in!

Hopefully, this will have given you a few ideas, for once you’ve settled in (or just can’t be bothered unpacking the twentieth box of the morning…). Welcome to Tysoe! I hope the place brings you many happy times and memories.

The wheel of heaven turns above us endlessly
This is all the heaven we got, right here where we are in our Shangri-La.
– Mark Knopfler: Our Shangri-La

Sunday, 20 April 2014

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.

Saturday, 15 February 2014

One rule for one; another rule for many…

The Countryside Code is a set of recommendations (or rules) for all visitors to rural – and especially agricultural – regions of England and Wales. It has its roots in the 1930s: although was only really formulated, as the Country Code, in the 1950s; and was last updated in 2012 (the version quoted below, and linked to above).

A strong case can be made that Gladman Developments are only visitors to Tysoe. Once – or, should I say, if – they obtain the planning permission necessary to destroy a centuries-old field of ridge-and-furrow, they will then sell the land on to the company who will actually build the estate. Then their brief, virtual sojourn will be over: replaced by those who will only stop – albeit for three years (akin to Dante’s vision of all three divisions of hell) – to desecrate that field with concrete, bricks, and tarmac; and reap further profit in the process. They then too will leave… – and, in the process, leave a massive urban scar as memento.

Imagine, for a moment then, that the code covered not just individuals, but also such corporate leviathans. How would its rules apply? How would they be broken…?


The first part of the code is entitled Respect other people – and asks visitors to “Please respect the local community and other people using the outdoors. Remember your actions can affect people’s lives and livelihoods.”

It’s hard not to laugh with weary resignation when it comes to this request. Gladman have shown us, as a community, absolutely no respect whatsoever; have ignored the huge amount of registered objections we posted; and were, consequently, quite condescending (and ramshackle) in their representation at the planning hearing. Their actions will, in one fell swoop, wipe out not only a field soaked in history (and, quite frequently, deep, semi-permanent puddles), but the picturesque and popular pair of footpaths that run through it – one of the best places within the parish to observe the sun setting over Oxhill (sometimes perfectly in alignment with Oxhill Road).

The second section – Protect the natural environment – is, to my mind, a reference to sustainability: stressing that “We all have a responsibility to protect the countryside now and for future generations”; and asking that visitors make sure they “don’t harm animals, birds, plants or trees and try to leave no trace of [their] visit.”

Considering the damage that will be done to the local ecology – not just the birds that feed there, and the hedges they live in; but the badgers whose setts border the plot, and whose domains will therefore be blighted not just by excavating and building, but the continuing activity of its new residents – this is insult and injury combined. The development will also, of course, remove a large and productive grazing field from the local agricultural supply.


Finally, Enjoy the outdoors…

Even when going out locally, it’s best to get the latest information about where and when you can go. For example, your rights to go onto some areas of open access land and coastal land may be restricted in particular places at particular times. Find out as much as you can about where you are going, plan ahead and follow advice and local signs.

The only “advice and local signs” I can think of, that are pertinent here, will either be villagers’ placards, or more basic ones involving the holding up of one or two fingers. In a way, this goes back to the developer’s lack of respect, their arrogance… – but the development would also ignore the large number of objective reasons outlined in the briefing paper prepared by the Tysoe Residents (Neighbourhood Planning) Group: of heritage, sustainability, access, and suitability.

The only “enjoyment” of course, is one I keep coming back to: that of profit, of counting the readies made from “pure speculative development”. (I must admit that I really struggle with the use of the word “pure”, here; and would like to suggest that a few antonyms would be more appropriate….)

By turning that “outdoors” into eighty boxes of indoors, though, “enjoyment” will be removed from those who walk regularly through the field (and I count myself amongst those people) – and for future generations… – our open-air routes now fenced in; forced to plod along the tarmacked cul-de-sacs and pavements; views narrowed, framed, or even removed, by unsustainable, unsuitable, modernity.


Sadly, though, the recommendations of the Countryside Code do not apply to money-grabbing corporate entities: those who have no feeling, sympathy – or empathy – for the nature and community (far removed from their doorsteps…) that they would destroy; replacing it instead with yet more contributions to the climate change currently flooding our fields, roads and houses.

The Countryside Code, of course, is a set of moral and ethical principles – but there are too few moral and ethical (or principled) companies (or governments) in existence to deliver the transformations we should all be working towards.

“Respect. Protect. Enjoy.” Three words that, in an ideal world, would be at the heart of the way we all lead our lives. Three words, though, that are complete anathemas to a government and capitalist system that would tell us how we should live.

Sunday, 26 January 2014

Invisible to the touch…


I broached the subject of my health (or lack of it) in my recent post, All the diodes down my left side…; but left the social aspects untouched.

When people meet me – I was going to say: “and when they don’t know how ill I am”; but this also applies, in reality, to many of those who see, or know about, my walking stick and my hearing aids, etc. – they (still) judge my look, my cover: as most of my physiological impairments or differences are well-hidden – after years of hard-earned practice. Parts of me are, like the curate’s egg, though, “excellent”. However, it is those bits of me that are “bad” – and that would define me under the still dominant medical model of disability – which most people Fosbury-flop to their conclusions about: especially as those “bits” are, on the whole, so invisible.


When you set up home in a new place (especially if that location is an unknown, surprising delight), it too is a thing of an undiscovered quality and quantity.

How do you therefore find out about its hidden defects; how it differs from presentation or perception; what lies beneath? Do you visualize what is long-lost; and stare lovingly at twee old pictures of (what is now) your bygone village?

Imagine you are the new resident of (let’s call it something trite, like) Manor Close (leading to Ridge Way, and Furrow Cul-de-Sac, perhaps?). Do you even know that the village (its spirit and/or community) hates where you live; and fought long and hard to stop you moving here? Or do you accept (or ignore the fact) that all new housing developments – especially in what was countryside (which, basically, means every house ever built, of course…) – are (initially) despised; and its residents tarred with the same spite? Perhaps you put it down to NIMBYism (thankfully, mostly absent from Tysoe…); and are grateful for the lovely view, past the ridge, towards Oxhill, from your conservatory?

What if you did know all this, though? Would you feel guilty? Would you still have moved there (the house, is, after all, a fait accompli; and someone has/needs/wants to live there…)? How do you pay penance (if at all…)? Do you help fight the next development that comes along? Does this make you two-faced…?


I honestly don’t know the answer to any of these questions – although, usually (again, with “years of hard-earned practice”), I am pretty good at putting myself in other people’s sneakers… – and truly hope they remain rhetorical. But, to be honest, I don’t want to assume that I could know….

It would be easy to make assumptions, though; and imagine that we have that uncanny ability to know what other people (would) think and feel. It’s an easy – but, perhaps, well-concealed – heffalump trap.

When you look at me, do you stumble, headlong, into the same deep, dark place, I wonder…?

Tuesday, 7 January 2014

Water, water, every where…

With the floods trickling through Tysoe, last weekend, but overwhelming Oxhill (enough, so village rumour states, to transform the old treatment plant into a mere sieve – and causing the local water company to deploy two boxy, dark green machines, I presume in its stead: appearing, like cuboid alien spacecraft, out of the blue – and then dropped into it…), it would seem a difficult argument to make that “there is sufficient capacity” with regards to local drainage, and that dumping several hectares of concrete and tarmac on a field of ridge-and-furrow next to Oxhill Road is therefore “a low risk”.

It would also seem an odd time to cut jobs from the Environment Agency – partly responsible for building, maintaining and controlling flood defences – and then claim (as has the PM) that a reduced budget for these is actually an increase.


Villagers have long known – from experience, rather than desktop-bound “hydraulic modelling” – how devastatingly the run-off from local storms distributes itself: oozing out of well-maintained drainage ditches, to pool in local fields, threatening our farmers’ livelihoods; banishing all but the foolhardy, and those in 4x4s (not a mutually exclusive pairing), from our narrow, winding, and occasionally sinking lanes; and even the developer’s own engineers admit that the local “soils are poorly draining and therefore have a low capacity to absorb excess winter rainfall…”.

Additionally, it had already been revealed – before said developers came along – that the treatment plant was at its maximum capacity – which means that any storm discharge goes straight into Wagtail Brook, bypassing any treatment; and only a small proportion of sewage gets processed.


So where does this parallel effrontery – from both government and commerce (again, not a mutually exclusive pairing) – originate: that produces such barefaced assertions?

The easy answer, I believe, is greed. All a business, based over 100 miles away, cares for, is badly-needed profit. “Sustainability” is a mere buzzword; damage to the environment (local and global), and people’s lives, not even distant thoughts, mere wisps, or glimmers; not even a faint electric impulse weakly echoing around their little grey cells.

Ours is a society now based on self, on solipsism. The only reason to (pretend to) care for someone, to befriend them, is if they can improve your life. They can then be disposed of – as the land will be to those who think Peckham-style “urban grain” would look nice tacked on to a rural village of over 1000 years standing (rather than the integrated medieval field) – along with any mere wisps or glimmers of empathy, of altruism, or of the greater good. Of hope.

The only glimmer I can currently see is one of Tysoe’s rare street-lamps, reflecting in a pool of flood-water.