Last month I sold my 20-year-old Land Rover and bought a two-year-old Toyota Hilux. It seemed a pretty good swap. Uncomfortable two-seater for a comfortable two-seater.
The hedge fund manager who bought the Land Rover loved the stories of its past, too, and will revel in its authentic country status.
In Hertfordshire, the commuters are looking more like farmers than the farmers do.
But driving a Defender, listening to Farming Today and buying a Riverford veg box doesn’t mean you know which end of a five-bar gate to climb over.
See also: Public access in rural areas – how to avoid and deal with problems
So I wasn’t surprised by the NFU’s recent survey that found nine out of 10 visitors to the countryside break the Countryside Code.
Farmers shouldn’t take it too personally. It’s not exclusive to farmland. I understand that at the local golf course, the fairways have become footpaths during lockdown.
And to challenge a walker’s route is ordinarily received with the grace of Will Smith at the Oscars.
Not so long ago, I caught up with a walker and politely mentioned my most used but least confrontational line: “Ahem… Just so you know for the future, where you are walking is not a footpath.”
I don’t suppose I was expecting an apology. A little bit of contrition, perhaps. But a barrage of, “you should have signs telling me where I can’t walk” caught me slightly by surprise.
I have reflected on his outburst. Initially I thought how ignorant (that’s a lot of signs) and disrespectful (well, I still think that a bit).
But if we apply his logic to our everyday lives, it is fair to say restrictions are often signposted. Lines on the road or bollards tell us where we are not allowed to park.
Streets where we can only travel in one direction have arrows to inform us. Libraries where we aren’t allowed to talk, instruct us to be quiet.
In society, there appear fewer and fewer instances of where we aren’t guided by signs or instructions, leaving us to trust our instinct or intuition.
The beauty of the countryside is something we should all be able to enjoy for escape. Enrich it for visitors, don’t ruin it
Church springs to mind. If I am sat right at the front of the congregation, how do I know when to stand and when to sit down? I guess. The countryside is much the same.
We must be so careful not to berate people who are new to it. Don’t make people feel foolish, or they will kick back.
Of course, it is difficult because their actions can have consequences beyond the unlatched gate. But as my wife tells me, it is a lot easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar.
So when encouraging visitors to heed the Countryside Code, think of sweetness, not sharpness.
Excuse yourself, welcome them, tell them a bit about the farm and why in future you would like them to use the footpath.
If we don’t attempt to share and educate, the conversation is no more than a telling off, which is seldom a pleasant experience for either party.
The world is a pretty rubbish place at present. The beauty of the countryside is something we should all be able to enjoy for escape. Enrich it for visitors, don’t ruin it.
The commuter with his new Land Rover will no doubt tell his friends all about the countryside and how to climb a five-bar gate.
