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/