An idealist with a vision

Bede looked up at the turbine. He ran his hand over the texture of the wood, recalling hours perfecting the delicate scaffold. It wasn’t particularly tall; he thought about the white giants taking possession of hilltops and how they wanted to do it differently. This beauty, carefully situated to catch the prevailing wind, was enough for what they needed. He checked the safety harness yet again, then, trying to remember climbing trees as a boy to suppress the nerves he always felt, began to climb.

At the top he extended the platform, checked it was firmly locked in place and clipped the safety harness to the bracket. This fine day with just a hint of a breeze had come at the perfect time for him to service it before starting the job with Steve. They were quietly confident they’d get the contract and he looked forward to reviving their Sunny Days partnership. Looking back, it was hard to trace how after years of friendly banter, Steve had suddenly snapped.

Perhaps because when you were wallowing in self-pity and taking it out on everyone else wasn’t the best moment to bang on about how Sunny Days might be better than nursing internal combustion engines at the garage in Halbury but you still weren’t going to solve the climate crisis without more radical change.

If you can’t say anything positive… Bede barely batted an eyelid as he shrugged Joe’s nagging away. He had always felt that what they were doing was significant, and had tried to keep his growing cynicism light. Obviously not light enough, he had to acknowledge. He’d been stunned last autumn when they’d driven home from a job under a cloud and Steve hadn’t been back in touch. But over the last few days, they’d worked together on the hydro scheme assessment with renewed companionship, and it felt good.

He spread his arms, face raised to the light breeze, and momentarily lost himself to the elation of the height, the house and buildings below, the river winding its steady way through the expansive landscape. Their world. A movement on the road caught his eye. He watched Philip’s flash car pull into Kate’s drive and fought down a surge of anger. Maybe it was a good thing he’d been out when the bastard had called and laid into Elin. Maybe he’d have really given him something to complain about. Why did the brash idiot have to keep provoking him?

Forcing calm on himself, he put on his glasses and opened the side of the turbine, ready to concentrate on what he was here for: checking, cleaning, lubricating. He noticed someone walking along the footpath that crossed their land. Fearing the prospect of an interruption, he told himself, childlike, that if he didn’t acknowledge the approaching figure, they weren’t in the same world. They would simply walk on.

‘Hey, Bede!’

He muttered Silvan’s name by way of greeting and grudgingly paused in his tinkering. Walk on, don’t stop, just walk on.

Silvan stopped and looked up, a hand shielding his spiky-haired brow against the bright sky. ‘Is something wrong up there?’

‘Just servicing it.’

He took a step closer. ‘Mind if I—?’

‘I do mind, yes. Need to concentrate.’

He turned away, his fingers involuntarily checking the safety harness carabiner, each slight movement seeming to make the structure sway although he knew it was perfectly sound. He didn’t have to look to know he was still being watched. He took a deep breath, willed Silvan to go, and tried to think about the job in hand.

‘That looks really—’

‘Please.’ He barked it out like a teacher to a disobedient child. He had no desire to talk, to explain, to be a show. ‘Elin’s in the house if you want something.’

Turning deliberately to concentrate on his work, he tried not to let irritation snare him into carelessness.

‘All right, all right, I can tell when I’m not wanted. See you later.’

He paused long enough to make Bede feel guilty before trudging on down the hill. Why should he feel guilty about wanting to be left alone?

A little later, he headed back towards the house, replete with the satisfaction of a job well done. As he passed the fire pit, he paused a moment to gaze out at the river, lifeblood of the land. The water was higher than usual for this time of year, but the greenness of the spring fields beneath the peacefully drifting clouds gave the gleaming ribbon a promising air of fertility, its concealed threat distant.

Elin had suggested more than once that this would be a perfect location for a hut or a yurt, somewhere they could offer as a holiday let – make a little money, even have people to stay and help on the smallholding. Joe had been keen, too. Bede had always managed to deflect it while not refusing outright. He wanted to like the idea, but the reality of it made him feel invaded.

She’d even suggested it needn’t be permanent in her attempts to persuade him.

Can’t you at least give it a try?

An uneasy guilt crept up on him. His failure to share her enthusiasm wasn’t exactly outright dismissal, but it was another aspect of their lives where she quietly let him have his way. He’d never even learned Welsh well enough to hold a fluent conversation with her in her first language. And looking back over the last two years, he was aware how close he’d come on several occasions to pushing her away. Yet she’d stuck with him, and he’d vowed more than once to make a better job of letting her know how much she meant to him. He had an uneasy feeling that on their recent holiday exploring north Wales she’d been giving him a last chance, and he was relieved they’d finally turned the corner. It occurred to him now that the escape to the country they could provide for others might be a mobile one, offering Elin and himself the chance to escape more often. He wasn’t insensitive enough to think that this was as important as some of the other issues that hovered between them, but it would be a gesture.

By the time he reached the yard, he was smiling to himself as he looked forward to telling her of his change of heart. A soft, intermittent murmur of voices drifted out through the open window together with a hint of the rich fragrance of brewing. Elin listening to the radio as she worked was part of the soundscape of home, and he liked the way the hoppy scent of natural creativity warmed the house.

After a few moments in the switch-room checking and reconnecting the system, he stepped outside to watch the turbine blades beginning to turn majestically. The movement was only slight because of the calm day he’d chosen for the work, but it was there, ready to continue ensuring their independence. He increasingly believed that his main defence against a world whose ways he resented was to distance himself from it. Elin still dreamed of changing the world.

Back at the house, he realised one of the voices floating through the window was hers. Not the radio, then. He heard her laugh and tucked the holiday home away behind the defensive wall the second voice conjured. Walking in, he savoured the smell of hops as he would a glass of the beer it would become. Elin was in the utility room, putting the beer to bed ready for fermentation in the large vessel they’d rigged up together. Silvan was leaning against the wall, watching and idly fondling Kip’s ears. Honestly, that soft dog would suck up to anyone.

‘Hi, Bede,’ Elin said into the kind of silence that hinted they’d just been talking about him. ‘All sorted?’

‘Fine.’ He nodded at Silvan and forced a smile before going over to the sink to wash his hands. ‘Running like a dream. How’s the ale coming on?’

‘It’s going to be a good one.’ She chatted about the new hops she was using and adjustments she’d made to the recipe as they followed him into the kitchen. ‘There’s tea in the pot, but it could be a bit stewed.’

‘Don’t worry; the stronger the better.’ He sat at the table, placing his mug to form a neat triangle with the two already there, and enjoyed the welcome weight of Kip flopping at his feet beneath the table.

Bede looked at Silvan. ‘You have my undivided attention now. What can I tell you?’

Elin flashed him a look. His words had come out more harshly than he intended.

‘You what?’ Silvan frowned.

‘You were interested in how the turbine works. I was preoccupied.’ He caught Elin’s eye again. ‘Sorry if I was a bit…short with you.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ He waved a hand, whether to accept the apology or dismiss any sign of interest, Bede couldn’t tell. ‘I just fancied joining you and having a look. I don’t know much about mechanical stuff but it looked fun up there.’

‘Fun.’ Bede raised his eyebrows. ‘Sod principles and common sense – savings on fuel bills, even. Maybe we’ve been going wrong all these years – we should be switching people on to clean energy by emphasising the fun side of things.’

‘Nice one.’ Silvan grinned. He put on a TV presenter’s voice. ‘Why not give the kids a novel climbing frame and power your house at the same time?’

Bede smiled uncertainly and sensed Elin relax slightly.

‘I’ll start thinking of some designs,’ he said. ‘Could be on to a winner.’

He drank a mouthful of tea and pulled a face.

‘Shall I make some more?’ Elin said.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Bede turned back to Silvan. ‘So, how’s life on the Northcote estate, grooming pheasants and the like?’

‘You don’t honestly think—’

Bede laughed. ‘I don’t mean their magnificent plumage. The sordid kind. Readying them for the satisfaction of men’s dark desires.’

‘If it’s a way of venting those dark desires so they don’t get unleashed elsewhere, that can’t be bad. Anyway, it’s only temporary and I’m learning a lot. I bet you didn’t pick up all your skills on that idealistic commune of yours.’

‘True.’ Bede frowned at Elin. Had she really told him about Calsthorpe Wood? It had been years ago, but certain aspects still rankled and they rarely talked about it themselves, let alone to others. ‘Just make sure you use what you learn for the right things.’

‘Oh, I intend to.’ Silvan leaned forward with an air of mystery. ‘I could be useful to you. With Northcote. Eyes and ears – give you early warning of his intentions.’

Bede frowned. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I like you two and it pisses me off the way he singles you out. I know you have your disagreements, especially with the drilling proposals, but there are plenty of others involved in the objections. Why you? I don’t believe you had anything to do with vandalising his property, either time, so why’s he got it in for you?’

Elin glanced at Bede and he widened his eyes in a silent warning. ‘Apart from the obvious,’ she said, ‘Bede’s uncle Joe was friendly with Philip’s mother, Marjorie – do you know her?’

‘Haven’t met her yet.’

‘She offered Joe this place and—’

‘Then we came along,’ Bede intervened, ‘and before you know it, there’s a turbine blotting the skyline, a mill stream cutting across the land and the riverbank’s littered with a short-rotation coppice plantation that’s “not the way we’ve always done things”. Who’d have thought it? Native willows on floodplain land that’s not much use for anything else, helping to anchor the soil and keep flooding in check.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Disgusting. Northcote was at the forefront of every objection to what we’ve done, before he even came back to live here.’

Silvan nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard him on that subject. You know – any objections he made were through the proper channels, and he’s accepted the result. You lot, on the other hand—’

‘There’s no comparison!’ Elin said. ‘You can’t honestly—’

‘Hey, hey. Don’t shoot the messenger. I know where you’re coming from. Though when I came here, heard about his plans, I was swayed at first. He’s a decent enough bloke; he can be persuasive. Apart from the locals’ hysteria over the dangers—’ Both Bede and Elin were about to speak but he cut them off. ‘His words, not mine. The risk is tiny, he says – even non-existent, given proper test drilling – and local communities will be well compensated out of the profits.’

‘Bribery!’ Bede interrupted. ‘He’ll have a job on if he thinks he can buy Foxover.’

Silvan laughed. ‘I’m sure they’re not all idealists like you. Offer them enough… I bet even you have your price. Anyway, apart from all that, he reckons it’s cleaner than coal, way better than importing gas. A perfect opportunity to tide us over in the short-to-medium term.’

‘Medium term? Scientists have given us twelve years to get our act together if we want to avoid—’

‘Oh, he’s got an answer for that one too. Nothing to date has deteriorated anywhere near as quickly as the doom-mongers said it would.’

‘Doom-mongers?’ Bede thumped the table. ‘It’s happening as we speak! Do you, Northcote and your kind want to make a rational decision about how we move into the future, or wait till things finally go so wrong you bloody have to do something about it and it’s too late anyway?’

‘Don’t lump me in with him.’ Silvan remained irritatingly calm. ‘I’m just saying what you’re up against.’

‘We know what we’re up against.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Reading all that stuff on the Frack-Free Foxover website. I must admit, at first I wanted to just, you know, have a laugh at the nimbys and the hippies. But it made a lot of sense. I’m impressed – you know your stuff.’ He looked at Bede with open admiration.

‘I’ve done my share of research,’ he said, ‘but Elin’s the one studied environmental science. She put most of it together.’

‘Kudos.’ Silvan grinned at her. ‘Anyway, like I said, I want to help.’

‘So come to our meetings,’ she said. ‘Write to the planners. There’s still time.’

‘I can’t do either of those. I’d lose my job.’

‘Can’t understand why the fuck you want to work for him.’ Bede picked up his almost-cold tea and forced down a gulp, wishing he hadn’t refused Elin’s offer of a fresh brew. She gave him another stern look.

‘Everyone’s entitled to change their mind,’ Silvan said. ‘I’m looking round, but in the meantime I’ve got a living to make. I can do my bit, you know, in other ways.’

‘Let us know if you hear anything useful, then.’ Bede exchanged a look with Elin. He seriously doubted Silvan could do much, but had no desire to burst the bubble of a new convert.

The beer was just coming to life, tiny flocks of yeast and impurities beginning to rise to the surface as the fermentation process began. Elin breathed in the scent, thick enough to be a taste, as she heard Bede come in. It had been a busy hour; Tamsin had arrived on her way home from the school bus just after Silvan left. Elin smiled as she recalled how the timing and the girl’s flushed cheeks suggested they’d crossed paths. She had no sooner arrived than Frank Barnham had appeared at the door, telling Bede breathlessly some sheep had got onto their land. The three of them had gone out to help round them up and patch up the fence, and they’d offered to help with more permanent repairs the next day.

‘That’s got rid of that lot,’ Bede said as he brought a waft of cool evening air through the door. Kip wagged his way over to remind him it was teatime and it had better be a good one to make up for taking second place to a bunch of loose sheep. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.’

‘What Silvan was saying?’

‘Way more important than that.’ She flashed him a look of reproach but noticed the mischief in his eyes before rising to it. ‘More…personal, anyway. Do you fancy a bonfire after dinner?’

‘Sounds good,’ she said. ‘Might as well make the most of a gap in the showers.’

‘Gap? This is the onset of summer.’ Bede spread his arms. ‘Prepare for drought!’

Along with beer bottles and glasses, they took the tarp and strung up a shelter against the curtain of rain that hung over the far side of the vale. Even if it didn’t come any closer it cast a shadow over the sunset, but she didn’t care as she laid and lit a fire in their stone fire-pit. Bede handed her a glass of beer. He took her hand, looked at the dust from the firelighting in the tiny wrinkles that mirrored the ingrained dirt contouring his own fingers, and talked about their day’s work as if they were the only people to grow their own food and brew their own beer, to harness the power of the sun, wind and water in defiance of a resource-hungry society. Just as she knew she was the first, the only woman he had ever loved.

‘So. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ she asked as she snuggled up to him and he put his arm round her.

‘Remember your idea of a holiday place here?’ he asked.

‘You mean the project you weren’t interested in because you’re, quote, “an engineer, not a builder”?’

‘Do you store up all my nuggets of negativity like that?’

He gazed out at the view over the rim of his glass. She felt slightly guilty.

‘Of course I don’t.’ He shook his head slightly and she continued talking to the silence. ‘I remember thinking, actually, you’re an idealist with a vision that’s worth sharing with visitors. I’d still love to give it a go. Bring in some more income, have a few more people around.’

‘Well, I’ve decided I agree with you.’

He surprised her by talking animatedly, hands sketching the air, about finding an old caravan – something they could tow away themselves, too, whenever they needed to get away – and breathing new life into it. He seemed to mean it.

‘What’s brought this on?’

‘I…I’ve been feeling bad about rejecting your idea. It was silly of me. It’s a good one.’

He kissed her. She brushed a wind-blown strand of hair from his face, letting her hand linger on his cheek. They drew apart and raised their glasses to the future.

‘But then again,’ Elin said, ‘it could all turn out to be pointless if that bastard’s going to ravage the land and pollute the water. If we’re going to have our lives taken over campaigning against it.’ She sighed and gazed over towards Holtwood, unable to believe it could possibly happen. ‘What did you make of the way Silvan was talking?’

‘Sounds like he’s beginning to regret who he’s working for.’

‘Philip Northcote?’

‘Who else?’

‘He could be here to keep an eye on us. Infiltrating.’

Bede sat up, drawing away slightly. ‘You do come out with some stuff sometimes, love. Foxover’s hardly a hotbed of anti-establishment dissent.’

She cuffed him playfully. ‘You’re so easy to wind up. But you never know. Remember Kelly at Calsthorpe? The one whose boyfriend vanished without trace and everyone was convinced he was a spy? It happens.’ She was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘Or it could be the other way round – Silvan working for a protest group, against Northcote.’

‘Nice idea, but that’d mean he’s on our side – surely he’d have told us.’ He turned serious. ‘Listen, El, he’s simply going to try and sneak into the Grange office and find out more about the plans. Just a young bloke adding a bit of drama to his life.’

Elin turned to look at him, his sharp profile softened by gust-blown wisps of hair. Her joking hid an underlying unease. ‘Maybe he can help us with something closer to home. Remember what he said – why us? I can’t help wondering whether Northcote’s actively trying to discredit us. Framing you deliberately.’

‘Framing?’ He laughed dismissively. ‘He’ll have to do better than that. Two trivial misdemeanours – I wouldn’t even call them crimes.’

‘Whatever. But he’s got his hands on Holtwood to one side and his foot in Kate’s door on the other. What if he’s after Alderleat? If the fracking goes ahead, God forbid, we’ve got land adjacent to his that would be useful.’

Kip came to settle at Bede’s feet and he reached out absently to stroke his coat. ‘So why wouldn’t he just make us an offer?’

‘Because he thinks we conned Marjorie into giving it away for next to nothing, so he’ll not be up for offering a market price. Anyway, what price would you sell at?’

‘I wouldn’t. No way. But bloody hell, love, there must be easier ways of getting people to leave. Are you suggesting he vandalised his own pheasant pens? Keyed his precious car?’

It sounded crazy when he put it like that. ‘Just thinking out loud. Even if attempting to drive us out is a bit far-fetched, he could still be trying to distract us, stop us kicking up a fuss. Or to turn people against us, discredit the protest.’

‘Those are quite some conspiracy theories. We just take each step as it comes. Listen to anything Silvan says and decide for ourselves if we want to act on it.’ He stood abruptly. ‘It’s happening again. The man and all he represents taking over our lives. It’s not what we came out here for.’ He picked up his notebook. ‘Let’s see to our own plans. That holiday home.’

Elin stayed where she was for a moment, watching his familiar stride as he paced the contour, her eye drawn from his purposeful silhouette to the last traces of sunset reddening the horizon.

25th May 2001

I spend most weekends going up to Calsthorpe Wood; it’s a great little place they’ve got going there even though we all know it’s only temporary – that road’s going to go ahead and then we’ll have to face the doom and gloom. Then again, who knows, this might be the time we win, the time the idiots finally see sense.

The average age of the community is about half mine, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone, least of all me – or Sophie, who’s the one that counts. I’m way more into the community than the campaigning, but that’s fine – my green fingers have proved invaluable (like, they have enough to eat now) and I like turning my hand to most things. I leave the politics to Graham, Sophie and the others. Grey likes to think he’s in charge, but it’s really Tig, his lady, who’s the earth mother everyone loves. There are shifting numbers, anything from a dozen to twenty or so. Fran who I met the first time comes and goes regularly with an ever-changing group from uni. I get on particularly well with Steve who’s taken time out to live here more or less permanently. He’s an electrician in ‘real’ life, about as handy as our Bede and not much older so there’s a bit of healthy rivalry going on there.

But it’s not all roses. (More a case of useful veg and herbs, ha ha.) I guess I’m turning to this diary again in case I get a eureka moment of what to do. I’m a bit worried about our Bede. Oh, he’s doing OK for himself. Renting his own little flat and he’s doing an apprenticeship as a mechanic at the garage where he hung around most Saturdays and weekday evenings when he was growing up. Even with no Markhams at home to escape from, he’s still never happier than when he’s making and doing. The rest of the time he seems to spend taking himself off on long walks, foraging or just being – observing, learning. God knows what the lads at the garage make of him, but he’s a good worker and seems well-liked enough from what I’ve seen.

He goes a bit further afield now he’s got the bike. Motorbike, that is. Loves the beast, and now he can take himself off to Calsthorpe Wood even at times I don’t. When I first offered to bring him here – I was feeling a bit guilty I hadn’t seen him for a few weeks – he didn’t seem too thrilled. Said the whole idea of going off by himself was exactly that – to be by himself. Apart from saying he needn’t get sarky with me, I convinced him that, like me, they’re the sort of people who understand if he wants to be left to his own devices sometimes. He’s made himself useful – you’d think a set of anti-road protestors wouldn’t appreciate a motor mechanic, but they’re kind of pragmatic and they still need to get themselves and their stuff around. And our Bede has a way of looking at a practical problem, something people have been scratching their heads over or ‘getting round to’ for ages, and just diving in and sorting it out – anything from an engine to an assault course for the kids.

But that’s exactly what’s worrying me. As the last battle looms – there’s an appeal hearing next week but I can’t see it going any other way – we’re preparing for an onslaught. Calsthorpe Wood will have to go. Grey’s determined not to take the king’s shilling of compulsory purchase money (which is nothing compared to the spiritual value anyway) until the last possible moment, so we’re morally entitled to be here even though we should actually have been gone ages ago. And in the meantime, the whole machinery – literal and figurative – is gathering ready to pounce.

So they’ve got this notion of creeping into the compounds and disabling their vehicles and equipment. The idea being if they delay the big inward surge to the site for as long as possible, we might be able to grab a few headlines, since if this appeal doesn’t work it’s the furthest we or anyone can take it in the courts and that’ll be curtains. Not sure if the good old British public has got bored or it’s a deliberate ploy by the establishment to keep us out of the media, but the wider world has been largely silent on this one and in my humble opinion it’s every bit as devastating as any that did make the headlines.

Bede told me about the plan after I arrived this afternoon. Faced with his great puppy-dog enthusiasm, I thought cool idea, but now it’s sunk in I’m worried. Injunctions, trespass, alleged breaches of the peace are one thing, but this would be criminal damage. Another thing that he, they, could get put away for. He’s 18 for fuck’s sake. What a start to adult life that’d be.

This sabotage needs to be done last-minute to rule out the chance of ‘them’ repairing the damage, so I guess I’ve still got time to talk him out of it, but my clumsy attempt earlier on turned into our first row.

I suppose he’s right that he doesn’t have to listen to me, and, shocked though I was to hear it, I also suppose he’s right that my main motivation for coming here in the first place was to get between Sophie’s organic cotton sheets. But if he thinks that means I’m not committed now, he couldn’t be more wrong. I just hate to think they’re using him, Grey in particular – making the most of his skills and abilities, yes and why not, but also getting him to go that bit beyond what anyone would consider reasonable, by playing on the fact he’s a couple of years younger than any of them (except Tig’s little ’uns) and feels the need to prove himself. And it’s not just to Grey and Steve. I’ve seen the way he’s been looking at the Welsh girl, Elin, one of Fran’s mates from uni who’s appeared on the scene recently.