The ballad of broken Britain

Spectator

6 days ago

In my corner of Bristol, alongside drug dealers, shoplifters and street drinkers, we now have our very own pyromaniac. They started small – an abandoned office chair, a clothing bank and an old telephone box – before moving on to bigger things. Half a dozen cars have been torched over the past few months, including two on my road, and, most recently, a derelict pub.
The other Saturday, hearing a commotion outside, my wife jumped out of bed and flung open the curtains. The scene that greeted us was apocalyptic. In daylight, on a narrow suburban street, the arsonist had set fire to three motorbikes parked in a row, which in turn had set alight a car and a hedge. It was pandemonium. People were wandering around in their nightclothes, some barefoot, having been advised by the police to leave their homes.
The bikes and car were engulfed in flames, and thick clouds of black smoke billowed over the houses. The fire brigade arrived quickly and soon had things under control, but the resulting carnage was like West Belfast circa the 1970s after a mortar attack.
Setting vehicles alight is a serious criminal offence, not to mention incredibly dangerous, yet the police response was sluggish. For weeks, charred motorbike frames and the blackened shells of cars sat on melted tarmac. Wandering the area felt like disaster tourism.
Eventually, after mounting complaints, a meeting was called with councillors and police in attendance. However, what was meant to be a discussion about the fires quickly turned into a free-for-all on rising crime. It was a comically British affair – lots of blustering and cries of: 'Do speak up, we can't hear you at the back!' There also seemed to be a few budding local sleuths who'd uncovered some quite extraordinary goings-on that the police were unaware of.
Notwithstanding our resident Miss Marples, if we'd gone looking for reassurance, we didn't get any. Although we were told we could report incidents online and expect a response within 72 hours. Amazing. You'd hope the issue would be resolved by then. Still, there were tea and biscuits – so that was all right.
In effect, the mostly middle-class crowd came away with the impression that it was down to them to manage the situation: 'You can apply for a council grant to install CCTV at your house, or buy one of those camera doorbell thingies.' The police, it seems, don't have the time or resources.
One thing we were promised was increased patrols, but our local 'cop shop' is only open a few hours a week, and I don't think I've seen a policeman on foot in the 20-odd years I've been here. You do see the occasional PCSO, but they engender about as much confidence as a Boy Scout left in charge of an anti-aircraft battery.
Thankfully, I recently escaped to Menorca for a week. There's very little crime, no graffiti, no litter, and the sea – a major draw – is crystal clear. The overall impression is of a laid-back, prosperous, well-run place that the inhabitants are proud of. Coming back to the UK was a kick in the Balearics due to the stark contrast. It felt like returning home to find the front door bashed in, the house ransacked and someone cooking crystal meth on the stove. Within hours, we'd seen drug deals, masked youths speeding about on electric motorbikes and drunks stumbling in the road. The usual dope smoke, graffiti tagging and filthy streets completed the picture.
If we lived in a more affluent part of Bristol, or some rural idyll, perhaps the return wouldn't have hit quite so hard. But I still wouldn't have been able to escape the headlines: water company bosses pocketing millions while pumping effluent into rivers and seas; polls suggesting almost half of the public think Britain is becoming lawless; a justice system in crisis; dire public finances; a government desperate to avoid another summer of rioting. The sense – to borrow one of the Prime Minister's favourite phrases – is of a country in managed decline. Except the decline isn't being managed very well.
Yes, Menorca is small and sparsely populated – easier to keep pristine. And yes, coming home from holiday is always a downer. However, the overwhelming impression was of returning to a country that had lost its way.
A 16-year-old boy was recently arrested in connection with the pub fire. Dozens of cars have since had their tyres slashed, and someone took a machete to a row of saplings – so, irrespective of whether or not he's the arsonist, we're not out of the woods yet. Although, thanks to the idiot with the machete, there won't now be a wood – or even a copse.
In Richard II, John of Gaunt laments: 'That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.' Hasn't it just? And, as Abraham Lincoln observed: 'A house divided against itself cannot stand.' So, while tea and biscuits may long have been a social lubricant in Britain, there are times when cohesion is so frayed, we need more than that – and I'm afraid this is one of them.
To be honest, though, you'd probably get bored with Menorca after a while. All that sand – it's a bastard to get out of your shoes.