Why I’d always choose suburbia

In the wake of Covid-19, people are fleeing city flats for greener, cleaner options further afield. Flic Everett explains the appeal

‘Suburban” has long been an insult flung by a certain type of city-dweller, to imply parochial, small-minded, curtaintwitching and unambitious. For those who have swapped crime, pollution and noise for neat gardens and neighbourliness, however, there’s nothing negative about suburban life.

News this week that renters are flocking from city centres to the suburbs suggests that in the grip of Covid, we long for space and peace – and the long-vaunted proximity to work, culture and entertainment offered by city living has become less vital now so many are now working from home. According to a new survey from online lettings agency Mashroom, 60 per cent of Londonliving Brits are reconsidering where they live as a result of Covid, with half of London’s office workers craving a better quality of life. Dream destinations included Brighton, Margate, Devon and Cornwall; 43 per cent said they were searching for a quieter lifestyle, 41 per cent want better access to clean air, while 35 per cent longed for “a better work-life balance”. Over summer, a quarter of rental moves were from a flat to a house (up 16 per cent in early 2020) – one lettings agent described it as “a race to the suburbs”.

Some of course, are committed to city life no matter what, with social media divisions already opening up between urbanites and those heading for, in their view, a more boring life in the ’burbs. But the abandonment of London (and New York, and Paris – by early summer over a million people had already left the French capital) in favour of home-working to the sound of bird song continues.

Department for Transport figures show that in the last week of August, passenger numbers remained at just over a third of usual levels; meanwhile, “commuterland” towns such as Hitchin, previously the preserve of those wanting to be close enough to both get to the office and feel as far away from it as possible once the working day is done, are seeing a resurgence. With workers staying home, the high street is thriving.

New shops have even opened during the pandemic – one local business manager last week told The Economist that he had done five ribbon-cuttings within the space of six weeks.

I’m no stranger to the modest thrills of suburban life. I have lived in the city centre, the suburbs and the countryside, in Sheffield, Glasgow, Sale (a suburb of Manchester) and, much more recently, in Bath, and then Manchester again.

City living may feel briefly exciting in your 20s, when all your friends are constantly available, your life revolves around gigs, clubs and pubs and you want a social life a pizza-box’s throw from your doorstep – even if someone has left something unmentionable on said doorstep overnight, and there’s regularly a drunken flight on your street corner. I well remember the wailing sirens carving through the night, the 6am rattle of shop shutters as delivery lorries belched diesel outside, the yelling as the pubs emptied and the constant traffic – and of course, space is at a premium in cities, with the average one-bed flat in London’s central zone costing well over £1,300 a month.

Pollution, too, is dangerously high in the capital, with over 80 per cent of sites tested last year exceeding limits set by the World Health Organisation, and other large cities including Manchester and Birmingham also way over the recommended maximum.

Indeed, it was pollution that led to the construction of the suburbs in the late 18th century, as industrialisation pushed the wealthy out of cities towards greener land, and in the 1860s, when the railways began. By the 1950s, north-west London’s “Metroland”, celebrated by poet John Betjeman, was a hugely desirable place to live.

I moved to a quiet street in Sale aged 29, and for the first time as an adult, I suddenly had a garden and a spare room. There were children living in the adjoining houses, and they’d all tip out on to the cul-de-sac and play for hours, supervised by whichever parents happened to be free.

There were shops half a mile away, trams into town and a walk to school past squirrelly parks and flowery gardens. The neighbours were welcoming, the streets felt safe, and when I moved back to Manchester six years ago, I found I could afford a large three-bedroom 1920s semi with a front and back garden, for the same price as a one-bed flat in the city centre.

Sophisticates may mock the suburban Waitrose dinner parties and cheery garden barbecues – but they’re a lot more relaxing (and cheaper) than negotiating a city night out.

My closest friends in the suburbs were our neighbours from across the road, who had kids the same age as ours and a similar attitude to wine on a weeknight (a big yes). We’d throw Hallowe’en and Christmas parties for all the kids, and pop in and out of each other’s houses uninvited, like something from a Seventies sitcom.

Suburban living isn’t a dull closing down, it’s an opening up – of a social life on tap, childhood freedoms, gardens and parks and more space to breathe.

Nowadays, I live in the deepest rural countryside – and while I love it here for different reasons, I miss the ease of suburban life; the passing neighbourly chats, the way there’s always someone who’ll happily feed your cat and “keep an eye on things” while you’re away.

Increasingly, as Covid bites harder and our cities struggle to adjust, it’s no wonder so many are heading not quite for the hills, but for the cosy avenues nearby.

Admittedly, the suburbs can be claustrophobic, and there will always be a certain number of Smug Marrieds. But successful suburban living is what you make it – and luckily, net curtains are no longer a requirement.

Over summer, a quarter of rental moves were from a flat to a house