Ray Freeman Cycles, founded in 1890, was a lovely family-run business that served Norwich with all its cycling needs for over 125 years. Nestled at the end of Heigham Street, this charming shop with its distinctive yellow sign and large front windows had a delightful Victorian feel – like the place Fred Dibnah might’ve adored. It was based on traditional, socially conservative communitarian beliefs. Everyone who worked there knew your name and family. It was somewhere you could go for a chat, as well as anything bike related. If you had a puncture, you’d go over to Ray’s. Whether you’d knocked your chain off the gears or buckled your wheel, the guys there could fix it in no time.
I still vividly remember stepping into that shop as a child – the place felt like a treasure trove with its endless shelves of dusty screws, bolts, and tyres. The air carried that unmistakable, comforting smell of oil, and it all felt overwhelming and fascinating. When my bike was ready, one of the guys would show up in grease-covered overalls, give my father a firm handshake, and the two of them would sort out the price with ease. That all ended recently. Richard Freeman, the proud fifth-generation owner, decided to retire after fifty years of committed service to the community through bicycle maintenance.
Imagine if bricks could tell stories: Freeman Cycles survived the Great Depression, the fuel crisis of the 1970s, and the challenges of Covid for over a century. As the neighbouring road has become home to vape stores, hipster cafes and ethnic food markets, this quaint little store stood tall, figuratively speaking.
It’s a bit disheartening to see that empty store, a quiet reminder of how isolated and impersonal things can feel these days. Just a stone’s throw away, there’s a towering new Halfords, all sleek and sprawling, offering everything you could ever want. You can have a bike built from scratch, test-ride an electric one for half an hour, or even get a free bike check – but it’s all done in this cold, clinical space that feels more like a dentist’s waiting room with the part-time staff looking like they’re counting the minutes until their shift ends.
The British high street has undergone a rapid transformation. Within my relatively short lifetime, I have witnessed my city evolve to the point of being nearly unrecognisable. Once flourishing independent businesses, such as family-owned butcher shops, have steadily been supplanted, reflecting a broader societal transition influenced by the state-endorsed principles of multiculturalism. For example, on just one side of the street – though this is not an exhaustive list – there is now a Halal butcher, a Turkish restaurant, a West-African weave shop, a Turkish barber, a world food market, three American-style fried chicken takeaways, a Vietnamese restaurant, and two shuttered premises. Small privately owned enterprises like shoe repair shops have been replaced by betting shops and large shopping malls, all reflecting our atomised and individualistic society.
The rise of high taxes and soaring business rates contributed to this transformation. Yet, it is the prevailing culture of instant gratification that has deeply affected my local community, eroding its identity, traditions, and sense of belonging. We fervently pursue the updating and replacing of outdated products in accordance with the latest technological advancements. As such, the practice of repairing things has fallen out of fashion. The tendency to forego repairs in favour of purchasing new items, often cheaper and more convenient, exemplifies this shift.
A stark consequence of this trend is the rise in fly-tipping. A walk down my local high street reveals the absence of the common good in public life. It is common for pavements to be littered with trash, and parks and rivers to be used as dumping grounds for electrical goods, ruining the city’s aesthetic and harming the environment. There is a small woods five minutes from my flat that runs alongside the river. Walking through it, you might as well be in a refugee camp. Shopping trolleys dumped in the river, makeshift tents tethered to trees, rubbish everywhere, and drug paraphernalia litter the narrow trail that runs through the woods.
Local councils bear significant responsibility for this issue. Lacking sufficient central government funding – whether due to wasting resources on ill-conceived progressive initiatives or, as in Birmingham’s case, facing financial collapse following a contentious ‘equal pay’ ruling – they frequently exploit waste disposal as a revenue source. Many councils now impose charges for garden waste disposal while simultaneously reducing bin collection frequencies to fortnightly, or, in some areas, as infrequently as once every three weeks. Residents have no choice but to visit the local rubbish tip, but that comes with problems. In this area, there are only two sites, both located on the city’s outskirts, requiring a vehicle for access. Further restrictions have been imposed, necessitating prior online booking of a timed slot to visit the site.
My girlfriend and I encountered this problem recently, as we decided to declutter our flat. As a result, we accumulated a lot of household rubbish. However, neither my partner nor I have a driver’s licence. Hiring a small trader was the only choice, but it was expensive. Traders must pay exorbitant fees for disposing of trade waste, depending on the vehicle size. Combined with licensing fees and fuel costs, this pricing structure makes waste disposal difficult for many small business owners.
Given the prohibitive expenses and regulatory obstacles, it is not surprising that poor neighbourhoods frequently appear abandoned and dilapidated. This also explains why skips quickly get filled with detritus such as old mattresses and broken prams. Walking through such areas, it is not uncommon to see an old fridge freezer abandoned in a front garden. The problem is only exacerbated by those who display a contemptuous disregard for this country and the state of our shared environments as they mar them with piles of rubbish.
When something is not cared for, you are not likely to maintain it or preserve it. Cultivating a sense of civic pride is rooted in fostering respect and care for one’s community. Early evenings and Sundays, a resident who has lived on my street for thirty years heads out with a litter grabber, bin liners, and friends to pick up trash. This merry band of volunteers performs essential social functions out of goodwill and a sense of charitable duty. They are what Edmund Burke referred to as ‘little platoons’, carrying out the functions of a fully functioning state.
Tradition is a necessary defence against the relentless growth of a homogeneous global culture. All politics is local. As Voltaire observed, il faut cultiver notre jardin – we should tend our gardens. Culture matters: if society effectively decriminalises fly-tipping by turning a blind eye to it and removing any stigma, this will inevitably encourage it. Consequently, areas such as my neighbourhood will be transformed into permanent dumping grounds.
These dedicated local litter pickers deserve commendation for their efforts in maintaining cleanliness and order within our community. Their success is crucial for fostering social cohesion. Appreciating one’s community is not a zero-sum game; clean streets improve the quality of life for all residents.
For me, respect for my community is not so much about the abstractions of politics and economics as it is about having a sense of responsibility toward current and future generations. These islands are ours for only a limited time. We will soon have to hand them over to new people. And I aspire to leave this world in a slightly better condition than when I entered it.
