Why I can never feel safe in the country

JULIA JAMES, the police com- munity support officer discovered murdered on a rural path last week, had been enjoying the beauty of the May countryside with her loyal Jack Russell.

A recent picture shows Julia on an earlier such walk, standing on a mossy bank, clearly delighting in a carefree moment with her dog.

There is a small pond bordered by reeds and you can practically smell the wild garlic and hawthorn. There are so many English spots of si milar t ranquillity, but the scene of Julia’s final walk will forever now be tainted by t he knowledge o f what took place there. Any sense of safety eroded.

We think of the countryside as restorative. The space and emptiness can be a panacea to an overloaded life and the frantic crowds of cities.

But as a Londoner, I’ve always found the quietness and solitude of the pathways and woods faintly threatening. When I regularly run in London, I am surrounded by people, on the pavements, in the parks. And even on a rare empty street, there is passing traffic. I’m never really alone.

A few years ago, we spent some time in Aldeburgh in Suffolk. There was a beautiful run alongside the marshes near the sea. It was completely flat, for me always a virtue in a run, and a perfect picturesque circuit.

Along the thick hedgerow- l i ned path there would be occasional dogwalkers, but my catastrophising self could never quite shake off the idea of the predator t hat could be l urking unseen