Before I moved to London, I lived in a small village in Suffolk. Me and 500 other people. It was a charming village just outside Ipswich, complete with 14th century church, tithe barn and watermill. There was an old pub at the top of the main street, and proper half-timbered cottages painted chocolate box colours, and a millpond down by the river. You know, all the things that make a village utterly perfect. I was a lucky man.
Except that village life wasn't all roses. A major dual carriageway ripped through the river valley and severed the village from surrounding civilisation. The B-road through the village was a rat-run used by an endless stream of rumbling traffic. The local pub was a carvery, so it was full of roast-munchers who'd driven in from miles around. The watermill was a crumbling shell, held up with scaffolding while the owner and the local council battled over who should pay to restore it. The local bus service was one rattly coach every two hours (stopping before 6pm) so I was forced to travel everywhere by car. It was a village where nothing much ever happened - the social highlight of my three year stay was an exhibition of teatowels in the church hall. And, worst of all, it was impossible to buy a pint of milk.
My village boasted one community essential - a tiny post office squashed into half a cottage in the High Street. It smelt a bit funny, and it was very dark inside, but it was oh so convenient for buying a stamp or paying my TV licence or sending a parcel to Australia. The postmaster sold newspapers (generally a big pile of Daily Mails and one of everything else) and also organised a paperboy-based delivery service - it's the only place I've ever lived where I've woken up to a broadsheet on my doormat every morning. The remainder of the post office was given over to a small "shop", which sold all sorts of non-perishable goods that weren't quite useful. Tins of rice pudding, cheap plastic combs, packets of cake mix, that sort of thing. There was also a half-hearted selection of greetings cards for a handful of birthday and anniversary needs, most of them featuring a bouquet of flowers or a racing car on the front. But there was no milk. If I wanted milk I had to hop into my car and drive a couple of miles into nearby Ipswich. Living in the countryside is rarely as green as it sounds.
The post office closed down last year. It's now impossible for local residents to buy a postage stamp or a Daily Mail, and even those tins of Ambrosia creamed rice are unavailable. For elderly residents in particular, the loss is keenly felt. The bus service is still rubbish, and anyone attempting to walk down narrow lanes to the nearest outpost of retail civilisation is likely to be knocked down by a thundering lorry. The only items left to buy in the village are a pint of beer, a roast beef lunch and a guidebook to the local church. I think I got out just in time.
This week regional ITV viewers have been voting for community projects they think are deserving of "The People's Millions". And my old village has pulled together and submitted plans for a new community shop. The western end of the tithe barn, they think, would be the perfect location for an eco-store selling green products and everyday essentials. I agree. Local residents would be able to save time, and petrol, with this new service at the heart of the village. The project was featured on Anglia News on Thursday, along with a phone vote, and expectations were high. Would £80000 of lottery money be coming to rescue a declining community? Alas no. Viewers decided to give the money to a bunchof allotments in Ipswich instead. A new village shop will have to wait.
I'm lucky in London, I can buy milk at countless shops within walking distance. I don't need a car to buy a newspaper or a greetings card, or even a tin of rice pudding. I may not have a view of fields from my window any more, nor a tithe barn on my doorstep, but at least I can brew a cup of tea with ease. Meanwhile, back in Suffolk, my old village has lost out. Sorry folks, no milk today. Something feels very wrong when the future of a village hinges on a failed phone vote. The parish council may be doing a sterling job of maintaining a sense of local community, but without local services more and more people are going to find living in the countryside unsustainable. Let's hope that not everybody follows my example and abandons ship.
