In ten years I will have forgotten that TV licences for 75 year-olds were once buckshee but anytime now I will mourn, selfishly, the revocation of the Cranford Protocol.
The protocol has an unlikely history and it is amazing it has been honoured for so long, since the British government has a long history of ratting on deals when they no longer suit. Imagine, if you will, a meeting of the Cranford Residents’ and District Amenities Association on a sultry evening in July 1952. Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford is a fictionalised version of Knutsford in Cheshire where she was brought up and nothing to do with the Cranford with which we treat today. Our Cranford dates back to before the Doomsday Book but sadly now has been subsumed into Hounslow, one of London’s less recherché boroughs. It lies on the easterly boundary of Heathrow airport. On that summer evening in 1952 bees buzzed and Cranford residents droned. A senior government official, no doubt eager to conclude the meeting, said – he only said never wrote – that the north runway would only be used for take-offs in exceptional circumstances as ‘planes would fly low and noisily over Cranford. The Cranford Protocol was more or less respected until the Labour government rescinded it in 2009 to allow Heathrow to expand. The following year the coalition government briefly cancelled the expansion but then changed its mind. The matter is unresolved but the Cranford Protocol is probably toast, not least because Windsor and Maidenhead will have fewer ‘planes over them. Windsor and Maidenhead carry more clout than the ancient village of Cranford.
As you may know, I do not live in Hounslow. However, I am a recent beneficiary of the Cranford Protocol. Cranford Park has some 150 acres of grassland and woods, a car park and a medieval church. The church is rarely open but has some exceptional monuments that I’m keen to see; meanwhile it is perfect for Bertie’s perambulations. A river separates the park from the airport, the Crane, from which Cranford derives its name. ‘Planes landing and taking off are just far enough away to make no noise thanks to the Cranford Protocol. Now I have discovered this unlikely, tranquil park it will soon be as noisy as the Thames towpath but Bertie’s floppy ears and my deafness will insulate us both to some extent.
I see from Wednesdays Court Circular that the D of Gloucester was at Cranford Stables. He then went on to Cranford Village Lock Up, which doesn’t sound too promising.
Did your paths cross. Perhaps he has invested in a young hound as well? Will you both be demonstrating, perhaps sharing handcuffs chained to a digger?