The Other Half

I was asked the other day, "How do we go about reconciliation: how can I be reconciled to someone whose views are so diametrically opposed to my own?"  I had to say that I have no direct answer to that thoughtful and probing enquiry ... but maybe what I had already decided that I would write about this weekend will throw out a pointer.

Earlier this week, I spent an afternoon and two mornings delivering letters.  Given the nature of the task, one of the few comments that I received - though unnecessary, given my casual clothing - was certainly not out of place: "You're not the usual postman, are you?"  Quite apart from the physical exercise that this gave me, I found myself walking in new ways.  I trod paths that - despite having now lived in this town for nineteen years - I had not trodden before, and viewed scenes upon which my eyes had not previously gazed.

I discovered anew what a variety of dwellings there are within only a few hundred yards of my home.  There were small cottages that possibly had seen little maintenance since they were built shortly after the First World War.  There were suburban semi-detached houses from the 1930s, each pair subtly different from its neighbour, thanks to either the architect's whim or modifications made by one owner or another down the years.  And at the other end of the spectrum, there were properties big enough to boast a driveway with separate 'in' and 'out' gateways.  As I walked up to the door of one of them, I realised that I couldn't even afford a mortgage for the deposit on such a home!

Perhaps these last illustrate best the point I want to make.  They are not palatial edifices standing in parkland at the end of a private road; they stand perhaps 30 or 40 yards from the public highway, one after another down a road that begins not five minutes' walk from the town centre.  They are well-built, substantial dwellings inhabited, not by the lesser nobility, but by ordinary people who happen to have progressed through life and are now 'comfortably off'.  At one such door, as I fought against the brushes inside the letterbox, I became aware of a sympathetic tug at the other end of the envelope.  I looked beyond my reflection through the window beside the door, and saw the lady of the house assisting me in my endeavours.  The task done, we went our separate ways with a cheery smile and a wave.

I grew up on a local authority housing estate, and then lived in a succession of small cottages before the sequence of flats that have accommodated me in recent years.  It's not surprising, therefore, that I have what might be described as a traditional 'lower class' social attitude, one that is often marked by a jealous lack of understanding of those who appear to be privileged and who live in the sort of homes I have just been describing.

As I made my way round, not for the first time coming up close and personal with a small copse by the side of a shingled drive, I pondered what might be involved in looking after such properties.  The nearest thing I could imagine in my own history would be the wooden gate that had rotted, or a door needing a new coat of paint.  These places, it seemed to me, require at least some idea of estate management!  The owner would need either the time and variety of skills to effect all the necessary work himself, or at least the knowledge of what tradesmen would be required to perform the tasks commercially.

I realised how blessed I am, to be able to sit at my computer most of the time, doing a minimal amount of housework, and not have to worry about keeping the garden tidy, mending a broken fence or, as one of my friends had to tackle last year, having a leaking roof re-tiled!  Gone are my envious feelings about the owners of large houses.  I realise that, if I were suddenly to be wealthy enough to afford such a place, I wouldn't have the first idea of running it; couldn't imagine what might require regular attention, or have the inclination to do anything about it.  Such concerns would definitely interfere with the things I want to do with my life!  It's surely a case of 'horses for courses'.  While an early start might provide sufficient experience and an appropriate awareness, it seems to me that there's a certain intuitive preparedness for such a lifestyle that is inborn.

I need hardly explain the nature of the letters I was delivering.  These were an early salvo in the campaign leading to the local elections in May.  While I have no envy of people who live in big houses, I would like them to espouse my views of tolerance, openness and equality of opportunity, and to use their social 'clout' for the benefit of their fellow citizens, many of whom are less able to provide for themselves.

Such views will also explain the unscheduled 'extra' post on this blog yesterday, as I join the campaign to achieve the long overdue reform to our electoral system.  Enough said.