A Somerset Lad

Pitney lies three miles distant from High Ham. A tiny village tucked into the fold of the undulating Somerset countryside, it has suffered the fate of many similar villages. Its school is long closed. The church of the parish of Pitney Lortie, a compact medieval building, has not seen a priest of its own for decades. The village’s public house, a place of fine beer and fine food, lies out of the village, on the main road between Langport and Somerton; equidistant between the two towns, it is appropriately called Halfway House. A farm shop reflects the growing desire of shoppers to buy produce directly from producers. Pitney epitomises rural England, a place deep-rooted in the past that has adjusted to the Twenty-First Century.

Until last year, on the first weekend in July, Pitney held PitFest, its annual two day music festival; from lunchtime to midnight over the weekend there was non-stop live music.  Such events depend upon a mass of volunteers, from the organizing committee through to those who perform the numerous practical tasks, there were people who ran that festival as a labour of love.

Pitney’s festival, which has been cancelled again this year, was one among the hundreds that take place each summer in communities throughout the country. Music and dance, arts, literature, sports, history, vintage cars, steam engines, food and drink, the festivals are diverse and plentiful and reflect a vibrancy in rural communities.

Festivals are part of a revival of community identity. Parish councils have found a renewed sense of purpose in conservation and heritage and community-organisation. Details of meetings are posted on village notice boards and public gatherings are keenly attended.

It would be impossible to calculate the hours of time voluntarily committed within a single parish, if that time was extrapolated across the country, the total would be many billions of hours. Turn to government economic statistics and one will search in vain for any recognition of that voluntary work.

If events such as PitFest were evaluated for economic purposes, there would be the cost of equipment hire and refreshments and such other monetary payments that were made, but no value at all attributed to the work of those who were volunteers.

The paradox is that communities in rural areas were enjoying an unprecedented vibrancy, they might have had activities unimagined by former generations. In its failure to allow communities to resume normal life the government is failing to take account of the significance of countless events. Traditional  economics is inadequate to the current times; statistics need to include indices of things worth more than money payments.

Why do school students go backwards? Why do so many of the people who could hold a sensible and mature conversation in Year 7 become immature children who sit and giggle in Year 8, and diffident and uninterested teenagers in Year 9? Is it a question of expectations? Is more expected of those who are younger?

When I moved from Northern Ireland to Dublin in 1999, there were many things that were different. One of the differences that came as a great surprise was that children of primary school children might act as school crossing wardens. Groups of six children, in high visibility yellow jackets and carrying crossing patrol signs would stand in two lines of three across the road allowing younger children to cross the road between the lines.

Given the increasing concern for children’s safety and the desire to protect them from danger, it was a surprise to see school children performing such a responsible role. The children were from Sixth Class, an age group that corresponds with Year 7 in England (Ireland has Junior and Senior Infant Years before children reach First Class). Reflecting on the memory, I wondered if the law in Ireland still provided for Junior Traffic Wardens.

The Citizens’ Information Board, published its most recent guidance on the Junior Traffic Wardens Scheme in May 2019.

In many places, Junior Traffic Wardens (usually senior pupils of primary schools) operate in teams to provide the same service as the School Traffic Warden. Junior Traffic Wardens operate in teams of six and a signal requesting traffic to stop is given from both sides of the road. After traffic stops, the six Junior Traffic Wardens take up their position and guide younger children across the public road. All vehicles must remain stopped until all the Junior Traffic Wardens have returned to the footpath. To ensure that Junior Traffic Wardens can carry out their function properly, it is vital that they have a clear view of the road. Drivers should never stop or park in positions where they could obstruct the view of Junior Traffic Wardens or School Traffic Wardens.

How widely the Junior Traffic Warden scheme operates, I do not know, but it seems to reflect a maturity among the students that I would expect of their contemporaries in Year 7 in an English secondary school.

Were it possible to prevent the ensuing regression in behaviour, education would be a much simpler process and learning would be much more productive. Perhaps the answer is to find tasks that demand maturity.

Do not ask children questions about what they think if you are not prepared for truthful answers, they will tell you exactly what they think, untarnished, unmoderated, sometimes without thought as to what they are saying.

So it was on Friday that the fortnightly personal, social and health education lesson asked them about their experiences during lockdown and asked what caused them stress about the return to school.

They were uninterested in the sheet which invited them to use emojis to express their feelings. One boy screwed it up, others would have thought his response was not unreasonable. Nor were they interested in making lists of things to which they were looking forward. What animated them was being able to express what caused them stress.

“Teachers, sir.”

“What do you mean when you say “teachers”? What is it about teachers that causes you stress?”

The answers were numerous. “They are unfair.” “They have favourites.” “They pick on people.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you think that may be just the way you see things? Do you think that sometimes you might cause them to speak to you?”

There was a pause.

“Things are unfair, sir. We don’t get fair treatment.”

It was not hard to recall having similar feelings fifty years ago, but what point was there in complaining about what could not be changed.”

Striving to choose words carefully, I said, “we need to understand that there is an inequality of power, that means some people have all the power and we don’t have any.”

“I’ll explain what I mean. I switch on the television and I see stuff about football players and rugby players flying all around Europe and news about politicians and business people flying all over the world. They are rich people or powerful people and they can do what they like. On Wednesday, it was the first anniversary of my dad’s death, but I wasn’t allowed to go to visit my 83 year old mum.

“That’s what inequality of power is about and there is no point in complaining because there was nothing I could do about it.”

One student spoke. “I’m sorry for your trouble, sir. You should ask Boris Johnson why it’s like that. School is unfair, though.”

“School is unfair, but we all know that the world is like that. There is no point in getting into trouble about things we can’t change. Let’s keep our heads down and let’s just get through this.”