Lightbulbs
Ideas for Scotland
No 8

Photograph by Islay McLeod

Trust us

Catherine Czerkawska

In Pigot's Ayrshire Directory for 1837, we are told that the South Ayrshire village of Kirkmichael had a post office, a school, several inns (the later statistical account speaks with disapproval of 10 alehouses), grocers, a surgeon (who lived in our house) a blacksmith, a cartwright and joiner, a miller and a weaving agent, a dressmaker, a shoemaker, a tailor and a mason.
     When we first moved to the village, some 30 years ago, there were two pubs, four shops, three schools and a playgroup. Last year, Kirkmichael had a school, an underused village hall, and a shop and restaurant which were clearly failing. The post office, which had sustained the shop, had closed. The sole remaining pub had also been closed for some time. Then South Ayrshire had a blitz on its public toilets including those in Kirkmichael, leaving an ugly hole in the ground. Just before Christmas, Jock’s restaurant shut its doors for the last time, and the shop was clearly about to go the same way. There followed a number of public meetings, and an offer by the landlord to rent Jock's restaurant to the community, if we would undertake to run it as a shop and tearoom.
     Only a few months down the line, the place has been refitted and the shop is up and running, staffed by volunteers. We stock fresh local produce, at prices which are comparable with the co-op in Maybole. The small kitchen is being refitted (by volunteer labour) even as I speak and the cafe is due to open this month. We have been awarded a couple of substantial grants from charitable foundations, to help with start-up costs. These will enable us to employ a part time manager, which will relieve a little, but by no means all, of the pressure
     The rewards for the village are best illustrated by two examples. One couple, who volunteered to look after the window boxes at the front of the new shop, said that they had met more people in two months than they had in the previous two years. And last week, I heard elderly lady volunteers regaling wee girls with stories of how they used to eat their new tatties dipped in butter and oatmeal. Such benefits in terms of community cohesion are unquantifiable. Kirkmichael Village Renaissance is already thinking about seasonal events, including ceilidhs and open gardens.
     But all of these positive developments have meant negotiating a mass of regulations - some of them sensible, and reasonable, but many of them Kafkaesque.
     'You see,' explained a neighbour, who – fortunately for us – has extensive experience in this area, 'they like to say that they have x million pounds to distribute to community projects, and that sounds good, when reported in the media. But in reality, they don't want to distribute x million pounds at all. So we have to anticipate every possible objection.' Fortunately, we have people in the village who can do just that, people who are articulate, positive, tenacious, and bossy.
     Scotland has many rural communities like ours, but we no longer trust our local or national governments – of any complexion – to have our best interests at heart. So we have to learn to do things for and by ourselves. But nobody has infinite amounts of time and energy, most people have to earn a living as well - and for such projects to work, they have to involve large numbers of proactive people, young and old. Meanwhile, local and national governments pay lip-service to the need to 'cut down on unnecessary travel' all the while lopping off local services in rural areas just as fast as they can.
     Not long ago, we used to have a playgroup in the village, run by people from the village. Then the council stepped in and took over. A couple of years later, numbers fell. This was a temporary blip. There are already new houses and new children. But it was enough for the council to close the playgroup and bus the kids to a neighbouring village. So here's my suggestion. Governments, both local and national, must learn to trust communities. We’ll take on the responsibilities but we must have rights as well. We are democratic because we have to be. If we're not, we feel the repercussions – because they come from our neighbours. If they want us to get on with the job – and it seems that they do – my suggestion is that they make pretty damn sure that they give us at least some of the tools to do it.

Catherine Czerkawska is an author and playwright