This little church in Widford stands on its own in the middle of a field. It was once part of what archeologists call a ’DMV’, a deserted mediaeval village. Deserted when the plague killed most of its population and the survivors had no choice but to ship out to save themselves or, more likely, infect another village or town. Noone told them, I’m sure, about self-isolation or social distancing. And it would seem that many today are as nostalgic for those halcyon days as they are for the Blitz.
Making a difference?
The ’70s were for my coming-of-age time, as they were for Stuart Maconie, author of ‘The Nanny State Made Me’. It’s when I took my 0 and A Levels, went to uni and started my first job. My view of the decade will always be rose-tinted, I’ll remember the music, discos, student grants (wouldn’t have known what a tuition fee was) and monthly inflationary pay rises negotiated by unions of which I was not a member. The strikes, high taxes and IRA bombs were background noise to me and, yes, I was the first in my family to go to university and, yes, despite everything, felt more secure with a nanny state in charge than at any time since. I’d happily pay more tax to give my kids and grandkids the same.
