- CRITTER TALK
- NEWS I FIND INTERESTING
I have been looking at properties in villages in Suffolk, although, the wife has now advised me that Devon will be our new home. I was looking vaguely north east of London when I should have been looking somewhat south west of London. Typical. I never did have any sense of direction – which made being a driving instructor infinitely more of an adventure.
Our plans are not unusual of course. People often move when they retire. They move away from the hustle and bustle of city life for a more tranquil rural existence. Our reasons for moving comply with that theory but, given that we love our current house, something else had to push us to the decision.
The thing that pushed us is something that, invariably, causes debate, discussion, accusation and often outright anger.
Or, to be more accurate, uncontrolled immigration that has completely changed the demographics of where we live and turned it into a place that, frankly, has very little left for us.
I did suggest that we moved north towards my birthplace. Not my hometown of Oldham as that is just as bad as here. Somewhere on the Pennines. There are some lovely villages up there. Sadly that isn’t an option. The wife is London born and bred and, like many Londoners, she might get a nosebleed if we go too far north.
So, it appears that Devon awaits.
I strongly suspect that we will both shed a tear or three when the time comes to close our front door for the last time. So many happy memories. Our daughter was born here for one thing. We have been extraordinarily happy here. Arguments have been virtually none existent over our 35 years together – primarily due to two little words I am most proficient in uttering. “Yes dear”.
It does sadden me that our primary reason for ‘upping sticks’ is that, at least indirectly, we are being driven out.
The only English shop left on our towns main road is the undertakers – and I would rather not spend any time in there thank you very much. All the rest are Asian food shops, halal meat shops and African clothes and food shops. Not exactly the kinds of places we would do our weekly shopping then.
Our adopted hometown can no longer cater for us. It caters for Africans, Asians, and Eastern Europeans. It caters for Muslims, Hindus, and Sikhs. It caters for every Singh, Khan, Kowalski, and Mohammed around but, it no longer caters for us.
Well, not unless you count McDonald’s, which we hate, a couple of charity shops that seem to have an inordinate amount of second-hand saris or the undertakers – should one of us shuffle off before we have got the hell away from here.
So, do you see? Do you begin to grasp my views on immigration at all?
I’m certainly not against it. Indeed, The UK couldn’t survive without it. Doctors, nurses, skilled workers in so many fields. We would be screwed without immigration. Unfortunately, for decades, the word ‘controlled’ has never been placed ahead of the word ‘immigration’.
As a result, many towns and parts of cities are now no more England than they are Mars. As this happens, the ‘English’ move out. Not because they are racist nor xenophobic but because their areas no longer cater to them. Indirectly as it may be, they are driven out as we have been.
So Devon here we come then! The rest of my life eating clotted cream with scones and drinking myself silly in a village pub with a thatched roof. Bliss.
It is an absolute scandal that consecutive governments, regardless of political persuasion, have for decades and decades allowed this to happen. Why they have is a mystery to me. Certainly, there are politicians on the left who have publicly stated in the past that ‘we should allow uncontrolled immigration to rub the right wings noses in it’ but, surely, no sane person would really believe in such nonsense? Even less, actually allow such a thing?
Well, somehow it was allowed. It may well have ‘rubbed the noses of the right’ in it – whatever ‘it’ is – but, as a consequence, ordinary people who just wanted to live the best life they could have been driven away from the place they were quite happy living.
Well done consecutive governments. Jolly good show what?
I’ve found a cottage. Exposed beams, an open log fire, a stable door from the country cottage kitchen to a glorious garden. Built in 1820. I wonder if it’s haunted? Anyway, fully modernized, rewired, replumbed and brought up to date for the 21st Century but with all the character you could dream of.
Even better, it’s a five-minute walk to the nearest village pub – and a fifteen-minute stagger home again.
A village store and post office, a village doctor surgery and a village duck pond.
My idea of the England I now want to live in.
No halal meat shops, no Asian food stores, no Eastern European shops (albeit I like Polish sausage), no African clothes and food shops, no mosques and, yes, I suppose, no immigrants – well, apart from the Indian restaurant and even there, the front of house staff are local villagers.
We will miss our neighbors. The Mahmoods, Ravinder and Anita, the Poles two doors down, the Sikhs across the road. They are lovely people and very good friends as well as neighbors. You know the odd thing? They want to move too. They love the village pictures I showed them. You know why? They are not just British but English. Most of them were born here into families that had embraced Britain and so do they. They aren’t immigrants – well, they couldn’t be if they were born here – but they are just like us.
You don’t have to be white English to be driven out. Just ask the Mahmoods, Ravi, and Anita.
You don’t have to believe a word I’ve written of course. By all means, dismiss me as a ‘little Englander’. That’s what our far left call people like me. I’m uncertain what they would call Ravinder or our Polish neighbors on discovering they agree with me.
I don’t care to be honest. We’re moving back to England.