Well, it’s cheaper than South Western Railways….

Dear Readers, well, here I am on the 9.13 from Dorchester South to London Waterloo, heading home after my time in Dorset. It’s a misty morning, and already I’ve seen roe and sika deer in the flooded fields as we gallop past. Nothing wrong with flooded fields of course – as I’ve mentioned before, much of the land around Dorchester has been water meadow for generations, with seasonal flooding, and the fields were managed for grazing on the new young grass when it appeared after the waters had subsided. There has been a long-standing plan to build housing on or close to the floodplain, which seems like madness to me. And what of the poor souls who would buy those houses, only to find themselves flooded out? Our meadows and wetlands are often the main protection from rivers breaching their banks or a storm surge piling in.

A little bit of seasonal flooding

On the subject of housing, though, I am sometimes shocked by how the words ‘social/affordable housing’ are whispered by some folk in Dorset, in much the same way as my Nan used to mouth ‘Cancer’. I sometimes say “Yes, and that’s exactly the kind of housing that my family would have been glad of when I was growing up”. This equivalence between poverty and crime is invidious, especially as there is already council housing in Milborne St Andrew, and many of the carers, nurses, car mechanics and other people that provide such needed services live there, often helping the very people complaining about the new houses. I guess that nobody ever wants change, and the media and the government don’t help with their messaging about skivers and ‘illegals’. Plus austerity left many folk, who would otherwise have been inclined to be generous, to feel that there wasn’t enough to go round, even for the people who were already here. I also think so many good, kind people are actually afraid of what might happen to their beloved village if new folk moved in. Yet they were so welcoming to my Mum and Dad when they arrived, and in truth the vast majority of people that I meet are not Dorset born and bred, but moved here from London or some other metropolis. How do you fold new people into an existing community? Making them feel welcome would be a good start, but it’s difficult to do that if you feel terrified of what they represent. And yet, many of the villages have largely ageing populations, and you need new people to keep the schools open and to go to the community and the sports centre, and to shop locally. We desperately need new housing, but nobody wants things to change. It’s something of a conundrum.

Some wet grass! You’re welcome.

In other news, I passed the house where a jackdaw was making a nest last year.

But it won’t be making a nest this year. I guess the wall needed repairs, but it does seem like a shame, especially as jackdaws reuse their nest sites. Still, at least there are other sites in the village, and no shortage of jackdaws, with their chuckling cries and acrobatic shenanigans.

There does seem to be a theme about hospitality, and welcome, running through this piece today though. It’s strange how pensive a two and a half hour train journey can make a person. I should probably do this more often.