How I Thwarted the Great Land Grab.
Mr B.J.Murphy, Chief Planning Officer, North Norfolk
Autumn ‘92
Hello Mr Murphy, Sir!
And how have you been bearing up for the last three years? Well, I hope. “What does this dizzy bugger want now?, I hear you cry. Well, I’ll tell you. At first, you might wonder how it involves you, and I must admit it doesn’t, directly, but you are right in there among the ramifications. It’s all right; you’re safe enough. Nobody can get a clear shot at you. It will help if you can keep sight of the enclosed plan as we go.
Bottom left is the Smalley home; next door the Filgates fronting onto Limes Rd., the pubic carriageway ends at the farm gate, beyond which lie White House Farm fields, both sides of the private track. Opposite is the corner of a council housing development- Canon Wake Court. Now this parcel of land was sold for development by the N.N.D.C., by Mr Gardiner of White House Farm. Mr Gardiner made certain conditions which were enshrined in the title deed and subsequent planning approval. One of the conditions was that there should be no access from the development into Limes Rd. As you can see, a buffer zone was created at the rear of the council properties, consisting of a tight screen hedge of Leylandii now some 15-20 ft high, and a belt of less concentrated deciduous woodland stretching to the old, field hedge line, so creating a no-go area some 10-11 ft deep, outside of which lie the old bank, drainage ditch and verge, in all another 10ft or so in depth.
The short run of close-boarded fence opposite the Filgates was occasioned when the conifers were only chest height, and Ann Filgate took exception to certain council house persons being able to look into her windows (God knows what she’d been getting up to) and the Council gave her a screen to do it behind, or perhaps it was the sight of old Sam Beales wandering about in his string vest that snirped her up.
Now, concentrate your attention on the Grapes household. The single storey extension, at the rear, was built some years ago by Mr Grapes- Steve- since ousted in a military coup, and replaced by a nameless, faceless boyfriend in a sharp suit and a ten quid haircut. Shortly after completing the extension (where was the building inspector when Steve concreted and grassed over his sewage inspection chamber?) Steve tried an unsuccessful land grab over his rear boundary. He cut down all the trees, levelled the ground straight through to the lane, and stretched his fences round the lot. Then the NNDC Cavalry forced him back onto the reservation, but not before he’d sold two loads of top soil off of it. They made him reinstate the bank (sort of) and re-plant with some totally underwhelming shrubs. That was over five years ago. The area is still somewhat short of bosky.
Now we come to the present, or within a couple of days of it. You’re wondering why you’re still pinned down in the ramifications without a decent drink or a smoke- keep calm and keep your head down. Mrs. Purchard arrived home the other day, to find a card on her mat, which read (it still does, in fact- it’s here in front of me) “NNDC. While you were out, a representative called to see you regarding land at the rear of your property. Please telephone David Williams at no.- Housing Dept.” Well, here’s another ‘sooner’ who likes a nice day out. He drives all the way down from Cromer on the off-chance, spends 30 seconds filling in his card, then drives all the way back. I’d like to know how long he was logged out and how much he booked for his lunch, and every time his mile-ometer nudges a white one he squeaks ‘that’s another 50p in the holiday fund1’ Why couldn’t the card have gone in the post?
So Chris (Mrs. Purchard) phones this geezer, and he tells her that the Grapes (Bev. and NFBF) want to buy their council house, and the parcel of no-go area behind them, and the bit behind the Purchards, and the bit behind Sam Beales! Shockhorrorbloodyhell! Chris nearly dropped the teapot full of gin all over the Axminster! Then that boy Williams asked if they had any objection and did they want to buy their bit, themselves? Well, as you can imagine, Chris didn’t quite feel up to giving him a decision right there and then, but she did manage to ask if Sam had been consulted. Now I don’t know whether he had or not, but the answer was something like ‘He’s hardly ever there, and he doesn’t seem to be in a state to care, either way’.
Now the boy Williams could have got that direct from Sam, or it could have been fed to him by Bev. and, if it’s the latter- well with the right prosecuting counsel, that boy Williams could be looking at the wrong end of six months, and a couple of grand fine for defamation of wossname.
Now- knowing what devious buggers we’re dealing with, the question arises ‘what do the want the no-go area for, and what are they going to do with it, and to it? It’s two thirds full of trees! Well, get ready for a googlie- some time ago, Bev and NFBF expressed an intention to buy a caravan. But they’ve no-where to put one.
Yet.
But with the no-go area (three slices!) they could house two – and get them in and out over the culvert break- after they’d chopped down all those trees!
Now we come to the ramifications, and you belly down in the middle of them. Well its time for you to come up onto the firing step. If you send someone down into the council bunker, somewhere under the dust, between the Guinness crates, there lies the original planning application and approval, with details of all the conditions and restrictions. When your gofer has retrieved that holy document, tell him to roll it up tight, go to Housing, and beat David Williams systematically about the head with it and all it contains..
You may think I’m being a bit hysterical about all this business. Well, consider this; clearly a proposal has been made and is being considered, albeit with a skimpy consultation of interested parties. I mean, I think the consultation could have stretched to the Smalleys and the Filgates. Now if such a purchase were implemented quickly and quietly, then no matter how many council officers were later to be deemed to have been negligent, no matter how much due process were seen to have been violated, no matter how much furore ensued, no matter how many heads rolled, that purchase would still stand!
But the trees wouldn’t.
So you see this is a matter of considerable urgency. That’s why I’m asking you to light a very big fire under this one, and if you aren’t at liberty to stick David Williams on top of it, then at least shove a couple of firecrackers under his shirt-lap, and if he says he needs a formal objection to even apply the brakes, then show him this letter and tell him he’s looking at one.
Now Mr, Murphy, your honour, I’m going to leave it in your very capable hands. If you see fit to delegate it, that’s fine by me- I know I can trust your judgement, and I know I can rely on your efficacious (whatever that means). I realise it will take a little while to come up with anything concrete, so meanwhile, if you could squeeze off an acknowledgement of receipt,, I’ll know that the postman has done his bit to start us off.
So, for now, God bless your honour’s lordship
And Slawncha!
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This drew a reply from ‘Housing’, to which-
Hello Mr. Cockaday,
Any relation to the ex Black Horse Gallery people in Cromer? Thank you for your letter. Shall we go through it together? Have you your copy handy?
1st Para: I haven’t heard from Planning yet, beyond an acknowledgement, but a copy of this letter might prompt something, if it isn’t already in the pipeline.
2nd Para: I am disappointed- in spades. Hopefully, Planning will do better; I wouldn’t throw your matches away yet.
3rd Para: You seem to be defending the consultative process when I haven’t criticised it- only its limited application.
4th Para: I know all about co-ordinated site visits; when me and John Wilson were working out of Sheffield for Sheaf construction, we did site surveys in two Scholl shops (try saying that when you’ve had a few) one in Glasgow, one in Edinburgh, on the same day and still fitted in a game of snooker in the firm’s time, so you see I know all about skiving too; you don’t have to feel guilty about it, tho’ I will say, in mitigation, that we were only denting the purse of a private fat cat, not a public one- see, you’ve got me making excuses now.
Still on para 4- ‘Telephone or write’- I never said that. I never said that. Didn’t even moot it. I said ‘Why couldn’t the card have gone in the post?’ Net result the same. And then the big one-
‘A certain urgency to proceed had been expressed’. Egg-zackly! Egg-bloody-zackly! That’s why I’m concerned! It’s no good just standing your ground and holding up your hand, when the steamroller is about to press your trousers, and you still wearing ‘em.
5th Para: Now this is odd. You’re claiming credit for affording me consultation, while admitting that you didn’t intend to consult me.- ‘would not normally extend to yourself’. When you saw my first letter, did you see the accompanying plan? If so, you may remember that my front boundary runs parallel to the land in question, for most of its length, with just 6 or 7 yds between them. So your consultative process won’t extend 6 yards. Hardly a sphere of influence, six yards, is it? You’re not going to illuminate much obscurity at six yards, are you? Hardly an ‘affected environment’, eh? Hardly an area of enlightenment, wot? I told you to hang on to your matches.
On the subject of the boundary (while we are) if the sale of no man’s land goes through, I shall require you to follow precedent, and extend the existing Filgate/Beales fencing along the entire frontage facing mine, to safeguard my privacy; I would bet money on the Purchards requiring a dose of the same along their rear boundary, and though Mr. Gardiner won't qualify, I’m sure he’ll be happy to put up his own 8ft fence across the field end. So don’t forget to include for ‘crating costs’ in the price, due to where the land will come in it’s own wooden box.
Final furlong- 6th Para: I’d like to believe you, Mr. C. I really would. I don’t doubt your sincerity or your intentions. I’m sure you’re a fine upstanding member of your trade, and a credit to your parents and your old school, but the trouble is you’ve fallen in with bad company. You’re working for a bunch of Scheisters who are desperate for money, and when I reflect on that, then your last para. sounds a bit like ‘every prisoner is assured of a fair trial before he is hanged’. We’ll see what Planning come up with.
P.S. You never mentioned Sam Beales.
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Eventually, I heard on the grapevine that the sale had been dropped by the N.N.D.C.,
but they strenuously denied being influenced by anyone outside the office.
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