Maybe I’m getting more…
intractable as I get older. Maybe I mourn something that never truly existed but
I’m certainly becoming more frustrated by things these days. People seem less
respectful… I don’t know.
A dear friend of the family
passed away a couple of days ago and I’m re-assessing things, as we contemplate
the possibility of new neighbours.
I have lived here my whole
life; I was christened in the church and my mum & dad courted here. So we
have deep roots and in that time there have been many changes; changes that
even I am more than aware of. Originally the village served the farms in the
area, and the manor estate. My granddad toiled the land; these were people
that, by and large, worked for a living. They worked to make ends meet and it
was even called ‘making a living’ back then. There was none of this concept of
free time that everyone seems to prize so highly. People lived off the land,
were respectful and mindful of it and others. There was a sense of community,
or so it seemed.
(I am well aware that,
being heavily myopic, my sight could well be rose tinted, but these are only my
own observations.. coloured, if you will, by my experiences. They are not
presented as fact, per se –just an opinion. I’m more than willing to put
forward the suggestion that I am biased and not the most forgiving of people; or
the most tolerant.)
Jon, my next door
neighbour was the soul of the community, was well read and admired by all those
that came into contact with him. But as
the farms dwindled and the original villagers died or moved away, they were
replaced by a different crop of people; those who had only ever seen a village
on televisual documentaries. They didn’t understand or appreciate him; they had
an idealised vision of what country life was and sought to make the reality
conform to those whims; often at the cost of other people.
Times change, and what was
once considered poor and working class somehow shifts to become the property of
the rich elite and forbidden to those who once had nothing else. I use oysters
as the metaphor here…. Once part of the stable diet of the true working class:
beef and oyster pie was a recognised cheap meal; the oyster actually helping to
pad out the meat. But soon the rich recognised the ‘subtle textures’ of the
oyster, making up a ridiculous myth that, when eaten raw, it had aphrodisiac
properties; and soon the poor could no longer afford such a luxury item. Had
the oyster changed at all? Had they become more scarce? No, but the perception
of oyster had shifted.
This could easily be
applied to living in the country.
And one can understand
why. I would never want to work in
London. The incessant pace and mindset of that wretched city (and all cities
are wretched) would drive me insane. So imagine living there…. I couldn’t do
it.
Of course, there is a new
breed of person. I don’t know them. Behind me I hear the excessive shouts and
catcalls of children, unheeded and ignored by the parents. Children seem much
louder and out of control now. The parents being but babes themselves… I was
never allowed to carry on like that as a child, and the nearest I got to
boisterous behaviour was thrashing stinging nettles with a stick. I certainly
had more respect when it came to my elders. This new breed don’t seem to have
any –even for themselves. They seem to believe that the world owes them, that
they have rights over and above everyone else.. and woe betide you if you think
anything to the contrary.
It’s greatly upsetting to
me. My home is now an island and feels so vulnerable. Jon was like a rock, the
one stable place left of the old village;. of the old world. I sit here and
although the sun is out, warm and shining there seems to be a cloud brewing over
this particular village. It’s not the same as it never was.
