Wild In The Country

Liverpool has it's fair share of people with whom one might not willingly share a bus seat. This is true of most places. Our thugs are no thuggier than anyone else's.

But at the moment, when those of you who read heavier matter than this will know, it's that time of the decade again; when city living feels more precarious than usual. Some of you may remember Desmond Morris, noted zoologist (not to be confused with zoophiles; people who seek curious romantic connexions usuallywith quadrupeds, although there was one case of a chap who had made a spiny anteater his beloved. A move that must surely count as unsafe sex . I  must point out,by the way,that Desmond's reputation in this field (or barn,or stockpen) remains unsullied. Well, Desmond's opinion is that city living is unnatural,and that is why people are behaving like mannerless eejits.

It is his view that if we all lived in little villages, none of the currant unpleasantness would be occuring.

 Hmmm. Let me draw your attention to a contemporary report on the Dole Riots in Selborne Village.

"On the Saturday before the disturbances, the labourers and paupers of Selborne were doled out their weekly allowance from the parish as normal. It seems that they received this from Mr John Harrison, who was the Master of the Poor House there.

We are not sure whether the recipients went down to the Poor House to receive their dole, or whether it was given out to them at some other location in the village, but on this particular occasion Mr Harrison recollected that some of them "expressed their intention of going round to the farmers to make them raise their wages." He said he "advised them not to do so, or they would repent hereafter." It could have been normal banter, but later events showed that on this day the complaints held a greater significance.

However, it was not the farmers who they went round to next, but Mr Harrison himself. He was obviously not a popular man. He was referred to by Holdaway's counsel as being "particularly obnoxious to the poor of the neighbourhood," and another correspondent recalled an incident "which exited a universal feeling of disgust" when it was discovered that some of the inmates were chained to the wall. The Times records that "about 12 o'clock in the night of the same day three guns, loaded with slugs, were discharged into the bedroom of Mr Harrison at the workhouse, and although the clothes and furniture of the bed were completely torn to pieces by the slugs, we are happy to say none of the family were wounded"

There is a lot more material of this nature. Passing with some regret over the question of what passed for "normal banter" in Selborne,and the peculiar usage  of the harmless (unless you happen to be a lettuce) slug,it is clear that unrest and grievance is not solely the preserve of the town or city.

Admittedly,when I say "contemporary", it was then; the incident took place around 1750 (ten-to-six our time), but if there is one thing I have learnt in a long and sinful life,it is that human nature does not change. One of the things the human does constantly, is want to be somewhere other than where it is.

When I lived in the Great Wen, various London friends would yearn to live in the countryside.Their little faces turned, like hopeful sunflowers towards the light , in the direction of a cottage somewhere in a peaceful village. Since the only village in which I could contemplate life would be a Gay Village (cottage optional), I was probably the wrong person with whom to share this dream.

I started to collect newspaper articles featuring terrible crimes committed in rural beauty spots, accounts of incomers being ostracised, and having ferrets pinned to their doors as dire warnings.
"Straw Dogs" "The Wicker Man" and "Withnail and I " acted as additional illustrative material. When a dear urban buddy became distrait after a trying week being shouted at by crazies on the Tube, or was exhausted after a seventy-hour week trying to earn the rent for a cupboard full of mould and madmen in Zone 4, they tended to come round to mine for aversion therapy.

I went to the countryside, once. It was full of soil and spiders. I was in a cottage full of highly-strung theatricals, so one might have expected some sympathy. But it was not forthcoming, as, alas, they had all been brought up in The Country. Even the Greek boy had, before coming here to play corpses in "Sherlock Holmes", been raised on the side of a hill, with goats. I had just managed to clear myself a web-free space near the gin bottle, when they decided that we should all go for a walk."What,outside?" I whimpered. "Don't be wet, we will go to the pub..it's only a mile or so (!). Unless you would rather stay here? With our spider collection?"

So we went. It was starless and decidedly bible-black . Every now and again something would flap, hoot, and gibber. That something was me.

Occasionally, a  car would careen towards us, lights blazing, seemingly hell-bent on reducing the sparse local population still further. "Keep near the hedges, Liz!", my jolly rural pals reminded me. Unnecessarily,as I was already clinging to a hawthorn bush in a ditch. In the end, they got me to the "Slaughtered Lamb", and I sat washing down Valium with some foul tincture,and swiping wildly at imagined midges. The villagers were impressed with my cool urban behaviour,and offered me a residence as their idiot.

The other time I went, I was given a vast pumpkin to take home with me on the train,having carelessly mentioned that I was planning a Halloween party. This well-intentioned gesture culminated in a series of incidents which I shall recount on another day.

So I am steering clear of anywhere that doesn't have a decent-sized branch of Boots,and counting my blessings. City living may be dirty, dangerous,and difficult from time to time. Unfortunately, I am in love with them, and this one in particular. We have fallen out,of course, and there are times, as in any relationship, when I am exasperated and despairing . Sometimes I have flounced off, and dallied elsewhere.But Liverpool and I are stuck with each other; and looking out of my window at her indestructible rain-drenched beauties, I feel that I could have done a lot worse.