The worst-informed people in any society are those who watch the most television. It is of course possible to learn a certain amount about the world by watching the news. But most news programmes only skim the outward appearances, usually without any explanation for why there are riots in one place or starvation in another. In any case, people who watch the most television do not sit gazing at 24 hour news channels - they watch daytime television. Their knowledge of the doings of humankind is thereby based on personal confessions of dysfunctional families, celebrity gossip, house redecorating and repeats of murder mysteries.
The murder mysteries, at least those shown on British television, are the most misleading of all. These show that the most dangerous places in this Kingdom are Oxford University, country houses, and villages in beautiful countryside. Fortunately, the victims and perpetrators of all these murders are restricted to a small number of members of the local elite, living in splendour, speaking upper class English, and surrounded by horses, land rovers and mixed herbaceous borders. The ordinary rural population of England do appear in murder mysteries from time to time, distinguished by their comic ways and all-purpose rural accents.
I have lived in a small country village for over a quarter of a century, arriving almost by accident because there were few houses on the market and one my wife and I could afford became available. There have been no murders and hardly any crime at all. But there has been a great deal of friendship, shared community activity, and effective local leadership. There is also the immense beauty of the West Worcestershire countryside, of hills, fields, and footpaths.
One late summer evening just after we moved into our bungalow, I lay on the small front lawn, looking through the woods opposite to the ancient country church, listening as the village bell-ringers rang the oldest complete set of bells in England. Later I watched the pipistrelles circle above me at dusk. I decided to stay. My wife and I raised two children in our small bungalow. They walked each day to the village playschool, then the primary school and finally to the local high school (also, fortunately, located in the village). They could play in fields and the quiet local streets.
Living in a village had its costs for me: each job was further away, and meant a longer commute. Traffic got heavier and the trains more crowded. But now I work from home, and look from my office window on the same trees and the same ancient village church, and see the seasons come and go.
The murder mysteries, at least those shown on British television, are the most misleading of all. These show that the most dangerous places in this Kingdom are Oxford University, country houses, and villages in beautiful countryside. Fortunately, the victims and perpetrators of all these murders are restricted to a small number of members of the local elite, living in splendour, speaking upper class English, and surrounded by horses, land rovers and mixed herbaceous borders. The ordinary rural population of England do appear in murder mysteries from time to time, distinguished by their comic ways and all-purpose rural accents.
I have lived in a small country village for over a quarter of a century, arriving almost by accident because there were few houses on the market and one my wife and I could afford became available. There have been no murders and hardly any crime at all. But there has been a great deal of friendship, shared community activity, and effective local leadership. There is also the immense beauty of the West Worcestershire countryside, of hills, fields, and footpaths.
One late summer evening just after we moved into our bungalow, I lay on the small front lawn, looking through the woods opposite to the ancient country church, listening as the village bell-ringers rang the oldest complete set of bells in England. Later I watched the pipistrelles circle above me at dusk. I decided to stay. My wife and I raised two children in our small bungalow. They walked each day to the village playschool, then the primary school and finally to the local high school (also, fortunately, located in the village). They could play in fields and the quiet local streets.
Living in a village had its costs for me: each job was further away, and meant a longer commute. Traffic got heavier and the trains more crowded. But now I work from home, and look from my office window on the same trees and the same ancient village church, and see the seasons come and go.
