A little digression

Property ownership can bring a change in a persons attitude to land. I feel the suspicious eyes as I cross private land. There is also the stares of corporation housing tenants as strangers pass through. Where one feels at home or at least at ease is a measure of ones class. I grew up on the edge of a private suburb in north leeds called alwoodley. Nursery lane was the dividing line and below there were council houses and maisonettes. So we were perched twist one and the other. My school took in children from both estates. We were placed in to classes where the most working class took a quick path through towards hopefully working with their hands. This separation of work of the hand and work of the head perpetuates today despite the death of British manufacturing. The truth of the matter, as anyone who has built anything from a chair to a house or repaired anything from an old motorbike to an air rifle will know that the brain and body are not seperate fields of human existence. One simply won't work without the other. To even suggest there is a separation between the two is to miss the central nervous system and the whole point of how the human organism operates. Feelings, emotions take place in the body and no cognitive sense can be be made without them. Where this separation began lies way back in the mists of time though Descartes and his idea of dualism, a seperate mind or soul from the physical body. The entirety of what science has revealed suggests that Descartes myth is wrong.
The top two classes in each year were pupil led entirely from the private estate. These children studied o levels. The middle two classes took a mixture of o levels and CSE, a lesser qualification. Those from the council estates took CSEs. There fate was set. None would be going to university.
Under Margaret thatchers right to buy campaign, the better off working class people were offered to buy the houses they rented for a fraction of their value. The effect on these neighbourhoods was profound. Even the most ardent socialist would find it hard to see that the lawns were mowed. The joinery painted. Cars polished of a weekend. Within the ex council estates the better properties entered a new class of home ownership and neighbourhood pride.
Perched on the edge of the private estate my father had married above his station. He had done well at school and got a job in a bank. Later changing to sales for a stainless steel company. My mother was middle class and her family were disappointed with her marrying below herself. I think she liked our estate but my dad was a fish out of water. He walked the gauntlet of the lawn hosers and car polishers in his proudest suit, heading for the council estate pub. Once my mother had gone from cancer he found himself alone, severed from his peers through his aspirations and endeavours to provide a private middle class's home for his wife, and never accepted by the private neighbourhood.
As children I never knew where I fit in class wise. Mother middle, father working. Skinter than all the neighbours. Holy clothes, no car, no phone and frequently no power as the bills never got paid.

So Sunday arrived and I joined a small band of property owning locals. They a
L have views as to how the neighbourhood should develope. Social housing backs on to our private back street of traditional workers cottages. The two terraces end at a much larger house and the impetus for battle with the council is orchestrated by them. An archway that formed a natural path for all around here towards town was closed off, gated and keyed for new tenants. Because no complaint came in within four years this legally permits the alteration. Two on our terrace took the property to court but foolishly accepted an out of court bribe of a key to the gate and personal access. This has left a path behind Keyford heights old people's home. Personally I like this ginnel as we call them up north and the traffic is benefits people who live in the social housing. The solution to my mind involves a little vandalism but would bring the happiest result. If I get a hacksaw and cut a gate above our street entrance this would allow the commoners that our middle class neighbours find offensive. I shall try this guerrilla operation one dark, rainy night and see what happens. Personally I don't see why the two social classes shouldn't be forced to I tract through the organic spread of human pathways. Despite the best efforts of town planners with their regimented and researched footfall routes i am always fascinated and quietly celebratory at the unpredictable and natural human flow that forms natural pathways.
The alternative suggested is a steel barrier that will sit between two council borders. A horrible conception.