‘Why would you want to study here?’ This was the observation made by one resident of the village on which this blog and related paper are based. From their point of view, not a lot happened there and, admittedly, it was a quiet, sleepy kind of village, tucked away in a fairly remote county in the East of England. This paper attempts to outline why it was important to look at and how the research unlocked the complexity of that social setting, describing its methods and some of its research strategies.
One of the main
challenges for sociology is to open-up to analysis what seems normal – even
dull. Hence key thinkers like Erving
Goffman apply incongruous metaphors, such as Shakespeare’s metaphor – the world
is a stage – to society (Goffman 1959).
This asks how can we see our society afresh if we see it as a set of
performances? Another strategy is to
understand that, as one of my undergraduate sociology tutors observed, the only
constant is change. Everywhere is
subject to some kind of change – the people, the place and what society is becoming
– so we can also explore that. So, for
example, one TV critic observed about a series that is was ‘set in
super-yesterday times’ and that hence had all of the privations of life in
Tudor England:
People said it was slow, but to be fair it was set before
cars, so the main bloke had to go everywhere on foot […] it must have been
knackering.
[…] if you think about it, they only lived in olden times,
so it wasn’t like they missed out on much, like they didn’t even have chips
back then, or Wi-Fi, or Mark Ronson or Broadchurch […] I mean there was nothing
to do back then, they were so desperate for stuff to do that for entertainment
they had to watch people sweep stuff up or poked cobwebs or read books. It was [a] total shithouse.’
There is a danger,
too, that because something seems normalised or has been that way for a long
time it may hide inequalities. Social
scientists, like Goffman, are also very keen to examine how power operates
(even at local levels) and with what consequences. In rural areas, attention has been paid to
inequalities relating to social class alongside the ‘rural penalty.’ That is, the opportunities or options urban
dwellers take for granted aren’t there – the modern-day equivalent to Tudor
absences (no mobile signal, no broadband and no shops open at reasonable
hours). It is also important, though, to
try and understand how such inequalities manifest themselves at the local
level.
An ethnographic
approach was used here. This includes
looking firsthand at what people do, rather than relying upon what they say
they do (Atkinson 2015). The style of
enthrophy adopted by the research was inclusive, that is, was primarily
qualitative but also included quantitative data. The core principle is that it seeks to understand
the lived experiences and perspectives of the social group/ world under study. Starting with the school (was it at the
heart of the village?), much bigger patterns of change began to emerge. For example, who was locally important – the
local squirearchy – had changed from long-term residents (villagers born and raised
there) to relative newcomers. The
challenge was to try and understand why.
Helping to get an insight into these changes, some ideas from Goffman
and also from a contemporary thinker on social space (Nigel Thrift), an
explanation emerged.
Key village changes
In previous research,
with Carl Bagley (School of Education, Durham University) we explained a number
of themes, including what had changed inside the schools, from very
long-serving members (28 years in one case) to a rapid turn-over of staff and
what implications this had for how the school was seen by the village. We also saw the impact of economic change –
the other case study village was a former coal-mining village in Co. Durham, UK
– influenced how the school featured as a force of continuity. We also were curious about and explored how
the school could be a centrifugal force for creating a sense of belonging in a
village – or inversely a means of exclusion.
The theme of exclusion and how social clashes and some forms of deviancy
are handled in rural areas, too, was a theme explored elsewhere.
One of the greatest
strengths of doing ethnography is its capacity to yield unexpected or
unanticipated results. By looking at the
recent social history, a change in guard seemed to have taken place. That is, who occupied the ‘front stage’ roles
of village life. Why had this so
markedly happened? In this new article
in SRO, I present findings from the ethnography and use it to comment upon what
rural areas are now becoming – is it a performance or does the sticky issue of
space’s influence upon us (even as a penalty) hold fast?
Putsch?
In first coming to
the village, where I lived for just shy of a month on three occasions with my
partner John and our two dogs, the layout immediately seemed strange. There were two main streets, in parallel to
one another and I could see what had been the heart of the village had closed
up (blacksmith and baker shutting), but a new store had opened towards the
A-road. I did a lot of walking in and around
the village – dogs can be useful fieldwork ‘tools’ – and from the housing stock
could see its layers of expansion. Census
data and the old Norfolk county trade directories confirmed that the village
had really grown – and mostly since the Second World War.
What was left in the ‘old’
village was its school and also a very fine church. Looking through their records – inside and
out of the church – several names cropped up again and again. Many English villages also have Parish
Councils and I compared and contrasted who sat on what and when (i.e. the
School Governors became the Friends of the School and former and present Parish
Counsellors). I got to know who were key
people in the village currently, speaking to the current head, former heads, local
business owners and newcomers and established residents alike. They were identifiable by the overlap between
who villagers themselves recommended that I speak to and the way in which
certain individual names cropped up repeatedly.
Payne (1996) observed
that, in his view, community studies always seemed to find the people they
researched were nice and got along with one another. Here it became very clear that the village
did not ‘gel’ and there was some historic rancour. The exploratory, open-ended character of
ethnography allowed me to explore this further.
Looking at the
records and speaking with residents and attending and interacting in events
across the village (spending time in school, at the shop, going to meetings and
talks and, obviously, walking the dogs) I identified two generic sides. These were the established residents – those
literally with relatives in the graveyard – and the people who had not lived
there for so long. Looking into this
further, it seemed there were two types of incomer – a ‘professional’ class and
those who – quite literally – did not want to be there. That is, they were in housing association accommodation
over-spilled from the nearest market town.
This
challenged a lot of the existing comments about rural life that suggest people
moved there to colonise or to sediment into a new lifestyle; that class lines
were purely about whether you worked on the land or owned it and that
gentrification was all about the people who lived there. I worked out that important people didn’t
always have the live there to have an impact upon what happened. For example, the former Lord of the Manor had
never been resident, but had influenced what the village became by relinquishing
key land around the village pre-WW2.
Also, given that there were fewer residential business owners (i.e.
blacksmith and baker has gone), those that remained were all the more
important. So the head was important,
but had not been resident since the 1970s – when the tied accommodation (aptly
named School House) was sold. Furthermore,
the second home ownership in the oldest (and prettiest) part of the village
meant people who weren’t there had influence –
driving up property values and living a lifestyle that was disconnected from the
village and its future. This created
parallels with my own, transitory relationship with the village – I was only
there for a few weeks, but looking at the guidebooks in one of the converted
barns I stayed in, nothing inside or of the village was showcased or
advertised.
Conclusion
So what to conclude from these changes?
First, the performance of the countryside includes co-location
(being there) and also co-presence (people backstage, with a different,
indirect connection). That is, what we imagine those spaces to be informs what
they become because we act according to our imagined view. As Chicago sociologist W.I. Thomas phrased
it, if you think someone’s great, then he [sic] is.
What was curious here was that change – and change was inevitable to
some degree – had really shifted the size of the village. Once
everyone could no longer know everyone else, a certain sociability had been
lost. It was present individually (after Payne, I did actually like
everyone I met during fieldwork, with one exception) but a collective synergy
or goodwill had been lost. Rather than end on a negative note, which
would be easy because this village continued to experience economic pressures
and poverty, I could too see how the balance of power had changed into the
hands of people who were likely to weave new threads of connection. These
included the incomers and the non-residents and – intriguingly – for the most
part they were women. I hope this piece of – admittedly small – research
shows that the global can be viewed through the local and the capacity of ethnography’s
exploratory spirit to engage with such themes (with or without the help of your
dogs!)
Further reading and references
Atkinson, P. (2015) For ethnography. London: Sage.
Goffman, E. (1959) The presentation of self in everyday
life. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Weekly Wipe (2015) ‘Philomena Cunk and Barry Shitpeas on
Wolf Hall’ Series 3, Episode 1.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P-hPLgXB-s [accessed 19 March,
2015]Read the full Sociological Research Online article here.
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