Life in a Small Village

I love living in the back of beyond, on the edge of nowhere, most of the time.    

However, there are occasions when petty squabbles and misinformation create something of a bubbling witches cauldron of high emotion and one can be splashed and scalded for simply standing too close to the pot.

Little Bunting is a tiny village.   We have three roads, although one is a small street, another, a lane, and the main road through is nothing more than a country lane.   No church, no shop, just a pub and a very small village hall.

Even a very small village hall needs a committee to run it.
A committee needs meetings,
and committee meetings require that the people on the committee are willing to give up their time to sit in a village hall and talk/listen, plan, volunteer and commit yet more time and, often, their own money to make things happen for the people who live in the village.

The local pub enjoy doing Halloween, so we are not planning to do anything for that, wouldn't want to encroach.    However, they don't really do anything for Bonfire Night.   So we are organising a good, old fashioned, Bonfire Night Party.

Nothing fancy just a huge bonfire, a very few fireworks,  and some simple food - jacket potatoes, vegetarian chilli, and possibly some parkin if I get around to making it.    One committee member has kindly agreed to let us use his paddock and barn for the occasion, others are using their contacts to get lots of wood for the bonfire, and the rest of us are providing gazebos, food, etc.   All the details which go into making an event happen.

What would really make it a great experience is if some people turn up to support us!

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Little Bunting is on the verge of losing our street lighting.    Soon the men from the council will be around to dismantle it and take away the poles and we shall be plunged into darkness.

This was dealt with by another committee, the Parish Council.   I'm glad I don't have to take the flak for that one.    

We live right at the end of the village and our street light has often been out for months at a time, so it doesn't really make much difference.   I have got used to taking my torch out with me and "wearing something white at night" even if it is just a big scarf because there are no footpaths to our end of the village, so we have to walk along the lane and there is no verge to speak of.  

Some drivers are very courteous; some even pull over to the other side of the lane and slow down as they pass, many don't.  

Last night I walked to the committee meeting in the village hall, it's not far... less than half a mile.    It was dusk when I walked into the village and I was treated to the sight of the lovely barn owl patrolling Arnold's old paddock.    I saw the owl and rejoiced; I saw the empty paddock and the house and felt sad.

Onward, to the village hall.   The Chairman and another committee member were struggling to open the door.   It is always like this, the lock has been a problem forever.     Eventually, the door was opened and we trooped in to set up a couple of tables and pull out the chairs.

Almost two hours later, a meeting which could really have been concluded in less than half that time, finally ended.   We went our separate ways.

My route takes me past Owl Wood.

A wonderful, joyful place in the daylight but by nighttime it become the Witches' Wood.    Trees creak and groan, their long bony fingers reach out and tap one another and mysterious rustlings make one think there is something there.   I speed up and think of home and hot chocolate, anything but witches or bubbling cauldrons.

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The photograph shows our village last night.    I took it as I was making my way to the road which takes me home.   Soon those lights will be gone and the village will be plunged into darkness once again.