Car Sickness!

Courier Column for 23 January

New Roads Ruin Pub Sign Cricket

It was my grandparents who bought the house I live in now, and my earliest memories are of motoring down from London to visit them in deepest Kent . It was something of an undertaking. There was no M25; no by-passes at Sevenoaks or Tonbridge or Pembury or Lamberhurst. A journey that might take an hour now could, back then, consume a large chunk of the day. The A20 was little better with the massive queues through Swanley (until it got its by-pass in 1968) and there was always the danger of a race at Brands Hatch which would hold up traffic for hours.

            So you might think I’d wholeheartedly applaud all the improvements to the roads since the 1950s and be right behind this newspaper’s campaign to extend the ‘dualling’ (ugly word!) of the A21 from Kiplings Cross to Lamberhurst.  And I am. Sort of. In fact you could argue that it’s inexcusable that there is no dual carriageway or motorway all the way from London to Hastings. There is to Brighton, and that’s marginally further away. Yes, it would make life much easier for drivers and, possibly, aid commerce. But on the other hand...

            Anti-roads campaigners are adamant that new or improved highways simply generate new traffic and produce more carbon monoxide. Generally the faster the traffic the greater the noise pollution. And what about the trees you’ve cut down and the countryside you’ve concreted over? Surely we should be discouraging car journeys and you’ll not do that by building better roads!

            In Hastings you sometimes hear another argument. The very remoteness of the town is what makes it so special. People may grumble that the railway journey to London takes up to two hours, but it certainly discourages commuting. And that, with the slow and winding road up the A21, means the town remains relatively cut off. Which keeps property prices down and enables a flourishing artistic community.

            I know it’s a difficult line to sustain, and heaven forfend that anyone should think I’m against progress or change. But there was something rather wonderful about sitting in the back of our ancient Austin A40 and playing pub-sign cricket (a run for every leg on the sign and a wicket if no lower limb was shown--making the fox and hounds a batsman’s delight) as we meandered though various villages back to London. But then I wasn’t doing the driving…