Sometimes change takes place quite rapidly. More often, as written so eloquently by John Steinbeck in his book Sweet Thursday, "change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass".

Outwardly, my own birthplace Winster seems to have changed very little over the years. The same small stone cottages line the streets. The old Market House still projects out into the road. The Hall stands as impressive today as when it was built in 1628. The old Dower House commands an uninterrupted view of the main street as it has done since the seventeenth century. In many ways the buildings of the village are better preserved today than in the nineteen forties and fifties when I grew up there. On the face of it things appear much the same, yet are they?

It is on the approaches to the village that the changes are first noticeable. The small stone built shelters which were once warm havens for cattle and dry storage for hay have been allowed to fall into disrepair. The roofs have long since fallen in, the crumbling stonework open to the elements. Almost certainly these were not large enough for today's modern farming methods. In their place new steel framed farm buildings have been erected. These, although functional, are not so quaint and attractive. It seems a great pity that these old buildings are neglected in the drive toward bigger and more productive farms, in particular since they are reminders of a bygone age. An age when many villagers owned a plot of land, an acre, or acre and a half, on which they kept a few cows, pigs or hens.

Of course a village is more than just bricks and mortar. It is a community and it is in that sense the changes become more apparent. The village in the forties and fifties was still a working village. Much of the employment was found in the village, or within a few miles radius of it. Few married women worked. They remained at home to keep house and look after the children. Once the children had been taken to the village school the women did their shopping, often meeting friends in the street and stopping for a chat. Because refrigerators and freezers were expensive many families still did not possess them. Thus perishable goods had to be purchased almost daily. In consequence frequent deliveries had to be made by the suppliers to restock the local shops. The main street was a busy bustling little street. Particularly so on Friday and Saturday when shopping had to be done for the weekend. Many of the men worked in the local industries, farming and mining.

The village supported three butchers shops, two general stores and a drapery shop. Two newsagents were also in business, one of these also curiously, selling bicycles, radios, and the early television sets. The Post Office sold children's clothes and stationery. The bakery provided the village with fresh bread and confectionery. The fishmonger also sold fish and chips in the evenings. Three Dairymen were also in evidence. It was possible to purchase much of the average family's shopping without going out of the village.

Drivers could fill up their cars with petrol at any one of three village petrol pumps. Local farmers visited the village to stock up on provisions and fuel for their machinery. The garage owner would repair not only cars but also many other types of vehicle including lorries and tractors.

The three pubs were kept pretty busy on a Friday and Saturday night, each pub having its own regular patrons. The main pub pastimes were darts and dominoes and on most Saturdays you could join in a sing along around the piano. There were other forms of entertainment such as Whist Drives, Beetle Drives and Dances. These were held in the Village Hall or in the clubrooms above the pubs. Sometimes on a Friday a travelling cinema would use the Village Hall to provide an evening of entertainment. I remember well seeing my first Laurel and Hardy film at such a show. Annual events included Pancake Races on Shrove Tuesday a Summer Carnival and in October the travelling fair arrived. The village Morris men performed at various fetes and events throughout the summer. This, in a village with a population of only 800.

Today a visitor to the village during working hours will find the main street more or less deserted. One or two cars may be parked, but the street will be mainly empty. It is possible to walk the entire length of the main street and not see a soul. Most of the shops closed down long ago and are now private houses. Revisit the street in the evening and you will find both sides of the street lined with cars bumper to bumper but the main street will still be empty of people. The village has become a dormitory accommodating people who work in the surrounding cities.

The biggest single factor in the change of village life has been the upsurge in popularity over the last fifty years of the motorcar. My birthplace is a pretty village and is easily accessible from many of the surrounding major cities of Sheffield, Manchester, Nottingham, and Derby. Town and city dwellers looking for a more relaxed lifestyle are attracted to the village. They find it worthwhile despite the extra effort and expense to commute between the city and the country. With modern transport even Manchester and Nottingham are only a drive of an hour or so away.

The new residents shop at the supermarket on their way home and fill up the car with petrol at the supermarket filling station. They have the car repaired whilst they are at work in the city. This means much less work for the local garage. Shopping for clothing etc is done in the Shopping Malls on the outskirts of the city. DIY materials and hardware are purchased from the big out of town stores rather than the local ironmonger.

As villagers died or moved, their houses were put up for sale. The new arrivals bought them for prices far in excess of those the local people could afford. Some of the properties were purchased for holiday homes some for holiday lets. Young people have difficulty finding affordable accommodation in the village and so they move outside the area. The tragedy is that these young people would have been both the present and future community.

To be fair to the new arrivals, many have a genuine interest in the village and are trying to create a new community spirit. Numbers of like-minded people have formed groups like the local history group. The village Morris Dancing team dance on. The village even has a site on the World Wide Web. They have also produced a book recording some of the memories of the older inhabitants.

So where does this leave us, can the Village community be recreated? Well the new arrivals are making some attempts to do just that, but I somehow doubt that it can be achieved. Communities are sustained through people living and working together over generations. Working in the same environment day by day and socialising in the evening. This creates close ties within the village. Loosen those ties and the community spirit begins to evaporate. . Thirty years ago when I visited the village it felt as though I were coming home. Now I feel like a stranger.

I realise change is inevitable and to resist it would be foolish, but I would suggest that as a country we need to be more selective in the changes we allow to take place. Perhaps we need to look at other countries, France for example. Not all change is good.

We should change the things which need to be changed and preserve the best of the old ways. In our headlong rush to experience new things, to develop new technology, find new ways to do things there is a danger that we embrace change for changes sake. Perhaps we need to just ask ourselves, where are we going and what do we want?

Change? Well there certainly has been change. Is it change for the better? Well, only history will be able to judge.

 

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