Where everybody knows your name

"Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got."

You probably recognise those words from the song that announced every episode of 'Cheers' on TV. It was set in a Chicago bar "where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came".

Much like my home in Ringmer, I reckon. And not like the neighbouring town of Lewes.

Yes, I’m continuing my campaign to praise the advantages of Ringmer over Lewes.

I'm not saying Lewes is unfriendly. Given the volume of tourists the town sees, most retailers are innately sociable. Customers are greeted with a friendly smile. Even the bus driver is happy to change a £5 note (although trying to pay with Lewes Pounds didn’t go down so well).

But there's something missing. The truly personal touch.

I'm not just talking about the barman at my local pub offering to pull me a pint of Harveys whenever I walk in. That could be a lucky guess... or a shrewd marketing move.

It's the sense of community.

Up here in Ringmer, you feel as though you belong to the place. That doesn’t mean everyone agrees with everyone else – the Village Hall extension appeal is a good example of local discord, as is the rumoured arrival of a pizza franchise – but there’s an atmosphere of us all being in it together. Whatever it is.

Lewes seems a bit too big for that. Pubs, clubs and societies may have loyal memberships but I can’t imagine walking through the town and having the same sense of belonging that tends to happen with a village.

There is, however, a downside to all this familiarity.

My mother was brought up in a little Sussex village that wasn’t much bigger than the bar in ‘Cheers’. All the residents knew each other. And all the residents knew about each other.

One of the villagers had a child. That child was called... actually, I don’t know his real name. You see, as a toddler he had a tendency to take his clothes off and wander outside the garden into the street.

No harm done, you might say. A tight-knit community. Gentler times. All this is true.

However, because of his habit, the child was given a nickname. Let’s say that nickname was ‘Nudie’.

A couple of years ago, mum and I drove through the village where she grew up. We passed a middle-aged man walking uphill.

“Oh look”, she said. “It’s Nudie”.

At least he was fully dressed.

First published on vivalewes.com 30th August 2012: http://vivalewes.com/

Turtle recall

My mother phones from over the border in West Sussex. “I’m taking the tortoise to the vet”, she tells me. “One eye looks a bit cloudy and he can't find his food very well.”

Given that mum’s been treating the old chap to M&S salad, his inability to locate it is particularly worrying.

This, incidentally, is not my tortoise. Technically it’s not even my mother’s tortoise. He’s called Fred and was given to my brother as a childhood pet some decades ago. His equally-aged companion Susie is my tortoise but both are very much in mum’s care. I think it’s her way of guaranteeing I call round every so often. You don’t get the same longevity with a hamster.

“All very interesting”, I hear you saying, “but what does this have to do with your ongoing campaign to prove Ringmer better than Lewes?”

Well, mum’s phone call reminded me of a famous Ringmer citizen.

Take a look at the village sign as you escape from Lewes into Ringmer and you’ll see it features a tortoise. Not just any tortoise. No, that tortoise is Timothy Snooke.

Lewes, I'll grant you, has seen many illustrious residents. But while Lewesians speak reverently of Thomas Paine and Richard Russell, it’s Timothy who made more of a difference... especially when you consider the reptile had neither the power of speech nor the ability to write. Let me explain.

The story begins when naturalist Gilbert White visited his aunt, Rebecca Snooke, in Ringmer during the late 18th century. Mrs Snooke owned a female tortoise called Timothy. (Don’t get distracted by the gender issue; apparently it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re not a tortoise).

The Reverend White – for the naturalist was a curate – wrote about his local environment, including his visits to see Timothy, and later published these records in a book entitled ‘The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne’. It’s a study of British plants and creatures, with much of it focussing on questions of bird migration and hibernation.

Hang on a moment. Hibernation?  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  I reckon Timothy’s wintertime behaviour influenced Gilbert's ideas. She’s a tortoise that changed the course of scientific research.

But that’s not all. Gilbert White describes her by using prose that transforms his book into a classic of English literature. “It hobbles towards its benefactress with awkward alacrity”, he notes. A lovely turn of phrase.

In fact, Timothy was such an influential figure that Rev White adopted her when his aunt died. The tortoise was taken on an 80-mile carriage ride to live with him in Hampshire – an early example of domestic pets being permitted on public transport.

She’s a hero of naturalism. A literary muse. A pioneering polymath.

Thomas Paine helped found America. Richard Russell placed Brighton on the tourist trail.

But I’d say their achievements pale into insignificance when compared with the impact of Ringmer’s renowned reptilian resident.

After all, neither of those two citizens achieved anything while buried in a garden.

First published on vivalewes.com 2nd August 2012: http://vivalewes.com/