I want a life of splendid isolation in a dying rural England – so here’s how to help villages thrive, not just survive

Over the last 20 years the life has gone out of many of our areas in the countryside: pubs close; families move out; holiday lets move in. I’ve seen the process firsthand

The key to rural life is a balance between isolation and communication (Shutterstock)

My life is about to change dramatically. After 40 years, I’m leaving a remote Yorkshire valley and moving to Norfolk, to a ramshackle house miles from a road, surrounded by water, hares, marsh deer and free roaming cattle.

It might seem a drastic step to take at an age when most people would be opting to live in a town or something that’s a lot less effort, but I’m not bothered, in fact, I’m exhilarated. From now on, I will make sure I am part of a community in spite of living in isolation. A good life in the countryside means knowing your neighbours and patronising local businesses. I know that only too well, after 30 years in one valley – Upper Nidderdale.

The first thing I did on arrival in Norfolk last week was to find the nearest village shop in Thurlton. I bought newspapers, and a very nice marrow for 50p. Excess produce donated by locals from their veg plots is a big feature and this enterprise is staffed in rotation by chatty and enthusiastic people.

Yes, it’s exactly like The Archers – owned by the villagers! Now I know I can be at home in Norfolk. I have a hub that’s not part of a chain, a quirky community store with a table for reading and a coffee, a post office, and well stocked shelves – from fuel to baby food, cleaning products to tins and dried goods.

I could drive the same distance in the opposite direction to a dreary Tesco Express, or a petrol station mini shop, but why bother? Rural shops are the absolute key to nurturing a community, a place to talk, to offer help and to feel part of your neighbourhood.

Over the last 20 years the life has gone out of many of our rural areas – I’ve seen the process firsthand. In North Yorkshire, bus services got cut back, then only ran on Sundays for visitors. The local town is full of tourists who like sweet shops and fast food but the local greengrocer closed and the local butchers, bakery and delicatessen are all under threat from supermarkets 15 miles away.

Tourists often bring their own food when they camp or come in caravans – and they’re not around for half of the year. The banks closed and now the only cashpoint is in the petrol station. My nearest village shop and post office went because the owners were elderly and no one was willing to take it on. The nearest post office, doctors and shops are 10 miles away, impossible for older residents to visit without a lift. Villages in rural areas like North Yorkshire are full of holiday lets, cottages that are dead for 90 per cent of the year.

The countryside is in danger of becoming a place for the old and the very young, hardly a balanced community – so what can be done to breathe life back into Britain’s biggest asset? Rural areas can’t just be a theme park for tourists.

A “survival” guide has been published by the Prince of Wales’ Countryside Fund, to help struggling communities find ways to regenerate their area. It’s packed with sensible advice, like how to set up community shops (like the one I found in Norfolk) and how to set up a focal point or hub for a village – which could be in a pub or the village hall, the church or a shop.

This is particularly relevant. I have never understood why pubs remain empty for 90 per cent of their time. Village halls should be used for after-school activities, playgroups, they should be open every Saturday and Sunday for tourists to visit and get a cup of tea, not just for flower arranging, whist drives or jumble sales. Village pubs are closing rapidly and will vanish unless landlords realise that boozing is on the way out in rural areas, unless you want to lose your licence.

They should open from 9am for coffee, host playgroups and offer postal and parcel services, be the place to collect benefits, pick up cash and pensions. Rural pubs could allow local guest cooks to cater themed dinners. Not everyone wants fish and chips or a quiz night or burgers or curries. We all watch Masterchef, why not try it out in our village pubs or village halls?

The key to rural life is a balance between isolation and communication. Vulnerable neighbours need to be looked out for and those with memory loss discreetly monitored through a network of caring locals. It might even be something as simple as wearing trackers.

I grew up in inner London, but luckily my mother was determined that my sister and I would be in touch with our Welsh heritage. We spent every single holiday until our teenage years with our granny in a small village in north Wales, where Welsh was the first language and locals all tottered down to the Co-op on a daily basis, not just to do their shopping, but to gossip and exchange news.

Since then, I have spent half my life outside London, choosing solitude for working and thinking time. During that time, villages and small towns have expanded dramatically, with toytown estates plonked on green fields where the locals can’t see the developments most of them vigorously opposed.

But new homes should be welcomed. They mean new blood, babies and younger first-time buyers. A chance to reinvigorate ageing communities. But what kind of welcome do most incomers get?

Unless there are shops, buses and a vibrant hub to the local village or town, new residents end up living in no man’s land, reliant on a car. They will visit superstores weekly to stock up and bypass village life except to drop the kids off at school. To regenerate, communities have to club together and campaign – we did that in North Yorkshire to get broadband. To get grants to improve playing fields, restore village halls and keep the church open all day long, all requires militant action as a group.

The most precious asset in Britain is our villages and small towns, they can’t be allowed to wither and die.