Is your village vigilante a good neighbour, or just a busybody?
A clutch of hi-vis warriors in Dorset show rural life is sometimes more intrusive than idyllic.
When I moved into a new house six months ago, Arthur (name changed for security purposes), who lives next door, popped around to ask whether I wanted to join the village Neighbourhood Watch. “Everyone looks out for each other around here,” he assured me. Every month, he emails a local police update (crimes tend to be along the lines of shop-lifting Mars Bars, but give me a thrill nonetheless). This community spirit instils the most extraordinary sense of security. Arthur and his all-seeing eye – the benign Sauron of Somerset, if you will – is as welcome, trustworthy and on the ball as any police patrol.
Our communities have been brought closer together by Covid, it seems, though they are perhaps more territorial. There may be a fine line between “helpful local” and “village busybody”, that most quintessentially English of characters, but either way, these investigative (or interfering) locals are having a moment in the sun.
And news yesterday about village vigilantes in Dorset will have rung bells with country dwellers. It seems a musician, Phil Dewhurst, was driving through Longburton when three locals in high-vis jackets yelled at him to slow down. After Dewhurst stopped his car, he was told off; there was even a suggestion – he suggests – that he might have stolen the vehicle. Clipboards were brandished. It’s hard to tell who was at fault here: were the villagers protecting the lives of locals or just power mad?
Yet is the post-covid city exodus now making matters worse, causing friction between those who know who sits where in the pub and the owners of shiny Range Rovers, who push up the house prices and fall foul of local parking customs?
“I live in a village of busybodies,” says Helen, 52, from Yorkshire. “The village Whatsapp pings so often I’ve had to mute it. You can’t do a thing without people having an opinion. Every time we do anything to our house, like paint it, there are complaints to the council. They set up a speed gun post outside our house, and to our eternal shame, they caught my husband going over the limit.”
Helen says that the control extends to naming and shaming those who break the self-imposed rules. “If we had village stocks, they’d be put to good use.”
On the other hand, she adds, “There’s a great deal of kindness; if anyone needs a plumber or electrician it’s quickly sorted.”
Oxfordshire-based Claire, 60, says that the power of local busybodies around her has a near Parliamentary feel, but without the controversies. (As most of the heavyweights are retired, they don’t have controversial second jobs.) “Any changes to the village are run past the older generation, who’ve lived here forever,” she says, using the word “elders”. “We wanted a change to the speed limit, but were told no, and there’s one man who goes on to properties to check that satellite dishes are in the right place.” Put a comment on the village Facebook group, Claire says, and you are likely to be shouted down. It’s fair to say that this is common to many village Facebook groups; righteous fury about dog poo, children playing loudly or boy racers can rapidly descend into abuse.
Firm village vigilante Kelly, 46, who lives in Surrey, says she’s proud of what she achieves as a modern-day Miss Marple. “It’s a running joke I’m a busybody, but I’m proud of it. You need people keeping an eye on things. We live just off the main road, and drivers were using our lane as a cut through. Within a few weeks of living here, I’d seen a cat run over, and I was campaigning for speed bumps.”
A year later, an unsightly sign appeared on a local Victorian bridge. Kelly positioned herself on the bridge every day, asking locals what they thought of it. “It looked as though it was made by a toddler, and there had been no public consultation. I rallied the locals, and the sign was moved.”
Most days, she says, there are neighbours to be texted, asking whether they were expecting window cleaners (“it could be anyone up the ladder”) or letting them know if strangers are entering their gardens (“usually lodgers or cleaners, but you never know”).
Sometimes things can seem to go too far. In 2015, a group of locals in Hampshire bought a speed gun and reported 3,500 motorists to police. The village was bitterly divided, with the vicar calling for peace.
As for me, I’d be cheering them on, albeit under my breath. I embrace the Marples of this world. The true busybody has the community’s interests at heart, and in these uncertain times, that’s something to be welcomed. As soon as the kids leave home, I’ll be buying a clipboard and joining the ranks.
‘Everyone here has an opinion... If there were stocks, they would be put to good use’