A Northamptonshire high street in the good old days. Credit: Fox Photos/Hulton Archive/Getty Images
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The Costcutter in the middle of the village of Long Buckby in Northamptonshire, Moore and Sons, will soon be changing hands. Not many people will notice. Nevertheless, it will be a significant moment in the life of the village. The shop has been owned by the same family since it opened in 1919. Trevor Moore, the grandson of the founder, has been running it for 40 years, and is looking to retire, and his children have left the village to pursue different lives, so he can’t hand it on. When he sells up, it will be another marker of the change that’s overtaking Long Buckby; the way the old village is giving way to something new.
My family called Buckby home for most of the last century. They arrived by horse and cart from nearby Crick, my great-grandmother carrying their prized possession, a carriage clock, on her lap as she travelled. My grandfather’s brothers, who were killed in the First World War, are commemorated on the memorial there; my grandfather himself never met them, having been born as a kind of replacement the year after Moore and Sons opened its doors for the first time. He and his wife, my grandmother, bought a plot of land when they both came home from the Second World War (she worked in Glasgow and London; he served in the Free French Navy) and built a home there.
My uncle and my father were born in the house they built, and grew up there. For nearly 70 years, it was the centre of our family diaspora, the still point around which all of us turned. We sold it a couple of years back when my grandmother died. Now my grandparents are buried in the graveyard of the Baptist church, in the grave that was already shared by my grandfather’s parents. Their names are recorded on a plaque on the side of the church. And the moment of our being there is already fading.
What’s replacing that era, though, is strangely uplifting to me. Over the past few years, Long Buckby has begun to grow. The village is on the train line between Coventry and Euston, and you can be in London in under an hour. Until recently, the station was separated from the village by half a mile of open fields, ideal land for development, so Buckby became a site for new housing for Londoners drifting out to the ‘burbs. When the first new streets went up, they named them after some of the people commemorated on the war memorial. So my grandfather trekked down the hill in his best suit to attend the unveiling of Norris Mews, which was named after his brothers. The housing’s OK; it’s one of those slightly Tim Burton streets, where every building went up at the same time so it looks like a film set. But there’s parking, and it’s quiet. The place is alright.
Most of those houses will be dormitory homes, lived in by people who don’t work in Buckby. But the new population is still having an impact on the village itself. There’s a place that sells good coffee now, and a pub called the Badgers Arms that opened just three years ago on the premises of an Indian restaurant that went bust, which now wins awards for its cider. Because Buckby is in Northamptonshire, the county whose council went bankrupt during the austerity years, the library was taken over by the local community, who will now need to come up with ways to make money and keep it open.
But I can’t help feeling that they might just find a way. In a village with a rapidly expanding population that seems to spend enough money in the local area at weekends to support good pubs and cafes, you can’t help but feel optimistic. Whenever I visited the village before lockdown, what I felt, more than nostalgia, was a kind of excitement. This was always one of the most lovely places in the world to me, set in beautiful countryside and offering everything a person could need. Not flash, not showy, but enough. I feel glad to think that other people, new people, are going to get to share it.
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Subscribe‘… unsustainable energy consumption will be stripped back… Given there is enough fossil fuels to last us until God retires, and then there is nuclear, the term ‘unsustainable’ is nonsense.
However. Less energy is used per capita in cities than spread out populations. Obviously, less need for transport of any kind if shops, businesses, entertainment, work, etc are nearby. Cities are warmer, requiring less heat energy during Winter. High rise buildings are cheaper overall in cost, resources and energy required for construction than scattered dwellings, ditto for services: electricity, gas, drainage, phones, water, roads, transportation.
Cities result in better and less land use leaving much more room for Homoattenborous to roam wild and Village Man to isolate himself.
And whilst it is the case that city-life is not everybody’s cup of tea, a lot of people do like to live in cities.
Lovely
leave the city, go to a town and spend thousands of your pittance traveling back to the city to work
Another piece of lifestyle advice from a rich man
And complain bitterly that the taxpayer is not paying more to subsidise your season rail ticket.
Good article to some extent, and I have been thinking much the same myself for some years now.
But surely this is largely a function of age. My godson was just as keen to get to London last year as I was all those years ago. I now do all I can to avoid the place, and the small towns of north Staffordshire and the Peak District seem to be a miracle of peaceful reason.
That said, there is a madness in the way that cities like London are growing in terms of population. I know Amsterdam very well and the same is happening there, although at least you are safe on a bike. And with the internet (assuming it works and is powerful enough) you no longer need to be in the city. I have worked largely from home for over 20 years and now consider commuting to be a form of utter madness.
Barney Norris refers to a mobile population driven by unsustainable economic forces, but what exactly are ‘forces’? I liken them to a head of water running downhill. To ascribe all economic behaviour to supply would be simplistic, but no more so than to ascribe it all to demand, as conventionally. The piece is unavoidably ambiguous about the role of mobility. Digital communications combined with infection risks might encourage what UWE social researcher Glenn Lyons terms ‘Global Locals’. In fact, over half his research community favour this prediction, while only a third expect a ‘Travellers Paradise’. However, one might have predicted similarly with the invention of the telephone, or after the ‘Spanish’ flu pandemic. Cheap oil, the low economic inertia and high leverage of motorised transport, and the inherent need for supervision under division of labour, have combined with inexorable logic to produce pressure on immobile resources and open-plan offices surrounded by acres of car-parks fed by expressways. Where risk is not immediate, moral rectitude around the virus is already wearing thin. Utopias tend to be static, and we all crave some stability. But the extractive socio-economics to which the author refers are dynamic. The task, when everything returns to ‘normal’, is to control a torrent when new lines of least resistance keep opening up. So I am not optimistic. But re-imagining lifestyles is good in itself, even if it only casts light on what underlies present behaviour.