'England’s villagers have very often been the butt of the joke.' Our Country/BBC
In the latest edition of News & Views, the local pamphlet delivered to all houses in the little constellation of villages on the Lincolnshire-Nottinghamshire border where I am from, the editor praises the “snowdrops, daffodils and crocuses” which have sprung up in April’s verges. He excitedly recounts that “planning has already started” for the annual gala, garden show, and even the fireworks display in November; he adds, sombrely: “As I write this, world events are rapidly evolving in an apparent downward spiral. One can only hope that common sense and maybe a bit of good diplomacy prevail.”
Within is a jamboree of bin collection dates, updates from the cricket club, bingo and bowls (“newly retired? Looking to meet local friendly people?”). There’s a recipe for bacon bolognese, a dispatch from the rectory, and a gallery of Anglo Saxon brooches (decorated tinfoil plates) made by children from a local primary school.
It’s difficult to imagine this sort of conscientious localism anywhere in London; if such a newsletter exists, it will be buried beneath an avalanche of Domino’s flyers. Rare is the villager who has forgotten the Bus Stop Incident a few summers ago, in which evidence of what appeared to be a hit-and-run soiling was the subject of outcry on the local Facebook group for weeks; suspects were pictured, timestamps were provided, witnesses were corralled. Such a fracas would probably be met with weary dispassion in the capital, where all that and more goes on in the perennially piss-fragranced Vauxhall underpass. The difference is a question of two Englands: one urban, anonymous, globalised; the other rural, community-centred, and populated by both lifelong residents and grateful rat-race retirees.
The concerns of England’s villagers have very often been the butt of the joke. At best, they are portrayed as endearing, bumbling bumpkins — think of Kerry and Kurtan in the BBC’s much-missed sitcom This Country, or the attendants of car-crash meetings of the Dibley parish council. At worst they are paranoid, cultish and incestuous, tropes sent up by both The League of Gentlemen and Cold Comfort Farm. The stereotype of conservatism does, I think, hold water; it’s borne out by voting patterns which indicate that while British rural populations are more likely to vote Conservative, they are comparable with city-dwellers in terms of “democratic satisfaction, political trust and authoritarianism”, unlike in many other Western states where the countryside has been found to bubble with resentment and tend towards extremism.
As Reform UK and the Conservatives battle for the soul of Middle England over the coming years and in the local elections on 1 May, they would do well to respond to a growing anti-urban appetite. This is palpable among the young — whose tastes are traditionally urbanite. Now, as the season turns, TikTok has been flooded by clips of bucolic England, ivy-swamped cottages, sandstone Cotswold villages, foxgloves framed by little windows (“wtf is Dubai”, says one, shuddering at that soulless shopping centre in the desert so beloved by Turkey-toothed young Brits). Many are set to the sound of Robert Browning’s Home Thoughts, from Abroad, a perhaps surprising trend: “Oh to be in England now that April’s there,” it rhapsodises over picture carousels of country lanes. Understanding this urge as simply aesthetic misses the point: running towards village life means running away from the collapsing project of metropolitanism which is everything the fantasy cottage is not — grey, loud, unsafe, dirty. The rejection of a politics which has compelled the young into those cities comes hand in hand with lusting over thatched roofs. A return to the countryside — even if only imaginary, going as far as sighing over TikToks — is a retreat to political ur: the city fantasy of a way of life that is ancient and unchanging.
To some extent, this is true — many of the villages around here crop up in the Domesday Book a millennium ago. The setting is relatively stable, unlike the churn of cities forever throwing up new student accommodation and opening and closing vape and betting shops. Renters are shunted around different boroughs, rarely forming local attachments; neighbours don’t speak, save in the event of a misplaced Amazon parcel or an early morning noise complaint. No wonder young people are longing for a slice of rural England.
The problem with divining an archetypal folk “Englishness”, a distilled sense of its values, is that the diviner is never free from preference. Think of Cecil Sharp, the Edwardian folk revivalist who collected traditional songs from England’s regions at the turn of the century, and whose pursuit of “merrie England” could not resist bowdlerisation. According to the folk singer Shirley Collins, Sharp had a habit of sidelining the “raw and real”; he would “pretty up” folk songs “for middle-class parlours”. Her renditions, including Hares on the Mountain, which Sharp collected in Somerset in 1903, favour the “lived-in” feel of vestigial Appalachian versions over Sharp’s formal, Victorian stylings. Then as now, dreams of an “escape to the country” had more to do with middle-class romanticism than realism.
Precisely because it is subject to fantasy, rural England’s reputation for quaintness means it is often a flashpoint for the encroachment of modernity, the downsides of health and safety or bureaucracy or globalism. Last week, the church tower in Askrigg, the Yorkshire Dales setting for All Creatures Great and Small, was given the “landlord special” — painted bright white for no particular reason. Talking to the press, the embattled vicar said the crumbling tower could only be saved by a limewash; it didn’t stop locals busting out the usual phrases “out of keeping” and “eyesore”. What ensued was a war of words in which residents and the Rev Dave Clark argued over whether the tower was in fact the colour it so clearly was: “With my hand on my heart I can say it is not white,” said the reverend. Of course it is, but it will soon weather, and the drama will subside. But these things matter because, even for locals who in all likelihood have never set foot in St Oswald’s, some things are worth preserving.
In this, there is a kernel of wisdom. There is an understandable perception that city-dwellers privilege global issues over local ones, particularly in moments of diplomatic crisis (as over Ukraine and Gaza). Yet the priorities of individuals rarely correlate with grand geopolitical projects: in England, potholes, bin collections, and unsightly new developments are, rightly or wrongly, among the top priorities of the average taxpayer. One party that seems to understand this is Reform: Nigel Farage launched the local election campaign by riding into a Birmingham rally on a tractor. Potholes, he said, were the “perfect symbol for broken Britain”, and councils were “asleep at the wheel”. Of course, the reason potholes are never fixed is a lack of funding and council incompetence, neither of which would be helped by a Reform victory — but other parties must nevertheless not leave the “petty concerns” of localism to Farage. These concerns are real, and worth untold votes.
Much like the church tower fiasco, a comparable panic has ensued around the construction of a £2.5 million “supermosque” on the edge of the Lake District. Again, the facts of the story do not hold up to hysteria: it is outside of the national park’s boundaries in Dalton-in-Furness and not, as many as TikTok has suggested, slap-bang in the middle of the craggy Ice Age landscape. “RIP the Lake District 8000BC-2025,” says one video. There are already three mosques in Cumbria. Yet the outcry speaks to a larger fear of the transformation of rural England into something resembling our “Yookay”-ified cities: Whitechapel’s Bengali tube signs, machete fights in Birmingham, signs banning ski masks in Westfield. It speaks to the desire to contain globalisation within major cities where it might be ignored; the countryside will always be a flashpoint for immigration, because symbolically it is meant never to change. The nightmare image of the Lake District mosque is fearmongering, but centrist politicians must address these anxieties before the far-Right does. Sir Ed Davey is canny in making a counterintuitive punt for Middle England in the local elections, but Reform has an edge in being the only party which seems to address immigration directly.
As the Right eyes a comeback in the UK in coming years, the symbolism of rural life will grow in importance. (For a Labour Party which has continually proven itself intolerant to the concerns of “normal people”, you sense that the game’s long gone.) The wisdom of hyperlocalism and its newly fashionable instincts towards populism which prefers, like the editor of my local newsletter, “common sense” over detached, complex ideology, are developments politicians would do well to take on board at a time when what many perceive to be the worst excesses of liberalism — DEI, gender legislation, a welfare state groaning under ADHD diagnoses — are jettisoned. If village politics, and village life, is about resilient simplicity, neighbourliness, a fine balance of community and self-interest, then it makes sense why many yearn for it in a confusing, entirely self-interested, anonymous urban landscape. This is not just an opportunity for the Right; it is in traditional Labour heartlands that the most closely knit communities have fallen apart, and the co-operative instincts of the Left must kick in if Keir Starmer hopes to avoid losing Middle England altogether — a real prospect as local elections play out. What politicians must provide is not a manicured hedge, or a gambolling lamb, but a sense of rootedness, security and identity: these are the lessons Westminster must learn from village life.
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SubscribeThe thought of Mosques being built anywhere in England gives me the creeps, but the thought of them being built in the countryside makes me feel angry and very sad.
Yes indeed. Not far from my home is a very pretty, quintessentially English village, or rather it was quintessentially English. A few years ago some farm buildings on the edge of the village became a mosque, so it’s perhaps not surprising that the last census revealed the population of the village to be 25% Asian. Meanwhile, not far away, an old pub deep in the woods has become a Hindu “studies centre”.
But I do live in Slough – 25% white British at the last census – and not far from the London Borough of Hillingdon – 48% white – so perhaps this encroachment, dismaying though it is, is unsurprising.
Read the article: not in the countryside but in a town, like where churches are repaired, sometimes.
In my rural idyll elections have been cancelled by the Labour national government at the request of the local Conservatives.
Fewer than 17% of the UK population live in what can accurately be described as ” rural areas” or villages. Which ever way the inhabitants vote or whatever their opinions are, they will never have as much sway with our politicians as urbanites.
“the reason potholes are never fixed is a lack of funding and council incompetence, neither of which would be helped by a Reform victory”
More likely, as in America, the reason infrastructure is always starved for attention and funding is that tax money is siphoned off into social engineering instead of civil engineering. In that sense, a Reform victory might well begin to turn the tide.
Lovely Poppy thank you. It does seem that English villages offer the only escape from grim national decline. However our Hampshire village is showing signs of creeping and unsettling change… the two over-sized care workers who cram into a little car and drive to administer ‘care’ to the unlucky elderly – in and out in minutes… the reckless drivers from Amazon and Evri…village feuds about the imposition of affordable housing… a new monstrous modern house to spoil the view…houses sitting empty as ordinary families appear unable now to afford four bedroomed homes with large gardens…. But the daffodils are heavenly.
As a native and resident of the north of England, i’ve recently had the opportunity to spend some time in a Hampshire village (not far from Winchester) and the difference in the quality of life was a real eye-opener, gorgeous and welcoming village pub included.
I hope your village survives the travails of what some call “progress”.
Poppy Sowerby is also proving to be an eye-opener. Having mainly written about the latest fads and trends amongst the younger generations (some of which, at least, was interesting) she’s beginning to expand her horizons; ironically enough, by reference to her roots. This article hits quite a few nails on heads.
It really seems like the price of housing is the cause, directly or indirectly, of half of our problems in the West.
Also, what’s with all the empty houses and apartments? NYC, where I live, is full of them.
Thank you, Poppy, for an acute piece of observation and analysis.
Really good piece.
Rather enjoyed reading this.
But really, Poppy : “sandstone Cotswold villages” ! A subtle April Fool’s wind-up ?
Correct. Oolitic limestone in fact.
“the reason potholes are never fixed is a lack of funding and council incompetence”
It’s because road maintenance is a licensed activity. and it’s illegal for anyone unlicensed to do the work. The certification is convoluted including things like a quality management system and audits in addition to the things you’d expect like material specifications. You can’t, as a competent adult, just fill in a hole.
The need for certification obviously limits the number of potential suppliers, which then, naturally, both pushes the price up and limits supply, creating backlogs due to the lack of sufficient certified suppliers. And since certification is an upfront expense, it acts as a barrier to entry for new suppliers, particularly for small businesses that do not have administrative ‘slack’ to afford to do the paperwork. Certification will always benefit larger suppliers as a result.
Now filling in a hole will need to comply with some basic standards, so it’s not a job for cowboys. But I would have thought a much simpler and cheaper process would be possible. Material could be bought ‘off-the-shelf’ to standards. Initial specific training just for pothole repair and how to do a good job could be provided for free by the council to interested parties (would it need more than a day?). And a council overseer could be employed to view the works as they take place to ensure they are competently done and then council certified for liability issues. A simpler process would allow smaller, local firms to offer services (perhaps at a fixed price), increasing supply, reducing prices and speeding up the number of repairs.
The ‘industry’, however would lobby against any such rationality – not only the existing contractors who have spent money on admin and training, but also the body of auditors, and all the specification and standards writers, the trainers, and the consultants and advisors who handhold the business through the certification processes. It’s in the interest of these groups to extend the requirements, possibly including hiring practices or sustainability. Certification becomes expensive, time-consuming and full of fees for ‘professionals’ and a long way away from the basic need to just fill in a hole.
Insightful comment.
We should definitely do as you say.
There is also, though, a question priorities. Until all the potholes are fixed, all MultiKulti outreach efforts and other non-essential council expenditure ought to be terminated.
Have you considered the issue of potholes identifying as Bumps?
I live in a village. We want our parish lengthsman back.
Oddly, all this bureaucracy over filling in holes brings forth exactly the very cowboys to do the job that no householder would ever employ. The road near me has had its potholes filled three times in eight years, and now awaits another load of tarmac sloshed roughly in the same holes
There was a scandal recently over the insulation of homes by registered suppliers, much of whose work was not only shoddy, but significantly below standard. And most of the work had been authorized and passed by council inspectors. Many of these homes are now unsellable. So even government registered suppliers are untrustworthy – as were the building inspectors at Grenfell.
How do we go forward when we cannot even trust our own government?
Aye, but who pays for it? 14 billion just to clear the backlog.
Reform and some of the Cons (the ones not in charge for most of my lifetime) are the only political movements that don’t actively mistrust and work to destroy rootedness, security and identity.