The Dunwich fire that has swept across the heathland neighbouring my house is both terrifying and tragic for the environment and the wildlife there, but it has ignited something other than tinderbox-dry brush. A Blitz spirit has emerged in our village. Yes, it’s a much-used cliche, but when it happens it is wonderfully life-affirming and so very British.
News spreads as quickly as flames. Once fire-fighters started evacuating around 200 people from campsites and caravan parks from the Suffolk coast around Dunwich, our village of Westleton sprung into life. The village hall, of which I’m a trustee, opened its doors on Wednesday night and around 80 evacuees turned up – some without transport (they had been given lifts by the emergency services), and others in pyjamas and barefooted.
They were housed that night, not on the floor of the hall but in the homes of locals who, via WhatsApp groups and word of mouth, didn’t hesitate to let couples, families, pets and anyone who needed it have a bed for the night as well as food and, in some cases, a stiff drink.
Volunteers spent the night at the hall in case of late arrivals, sending out calls for help the next day. James Finch, a chef who lives in the village, came in and cooked a full English breakfast for 80 people. Tea, coffee, cake and lifts were provided too. The village shop, a nearby farm shop and the local Waitrose and Co-op sent enough food to feed a small army.
The council chipped in with bedding, toiletries and co-ordination between us and the emergency services for updates (if only they could get the bin collections working as efficiently), and helped those who needed it get medicines from local pharmacies.
Residents signed up to serve, feed and – that most simple but often neglected skill – chat. As word spread and we were bombarded with TV cameras, local and national newspapers and, er, Greatest Hits Radio, offers of accommodation came in from further afield in places such as Aldeburgh and Snape.
For once, I was on the other side of the media fence, giving interviews or linking journalists up with evacuees and local councillors for quotes. We have a Reform county councillor who lives in the village, a Labour district councillor plus a very good Labour MP, Jenny Riddell-Carpenter. All were represented here during the day or turned up in person.
But the most important people were not the politicians, the volunteers or the press but those turfed out of their caravans, tents and lodges in the middle of the night not knowing when they would be able to go back or if there would be anything to go back to.
Naturally feeling anxious, even terrified, our guests soon came to realise they were not only safe but comfortable and well looked after and have been generously appreciative in return.
And let’s not try and hide the fact that doing something good is enormously beneficial for our own self-esteem. To quote Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse’s famous DJ characters: ‘I do a lot for charity but don’t like to talk about it.’
What has happened in our little village feels exceptional
The idea that Westleton might be overtaken with Blitz spirit isn’t far-fetched. The average resident here is in their mid-seventies, while some are in their nineties and a couple are over 100, including a delightfully charming 102-year-old man who was the rear gunner in a Lancaster bomber during the second world war and had a life expectancy of around two weeks when he joined up.
Perhaps it is having so many older, clear heads that enables communities to have the right reaction to such dramas. We noticed some younger folk driving past our home to get to Dunwich in order to take photos they could post on Facebook. At least a dozen or so fire engines were also trying to use the same, single-track road to get to the blaze.
What has happened in our little village feels exceptional to be a part of, but it probably isn’t. Any village, any close-knit community, would do the same when called upon. It’s just what we do.
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