My old man is eighty four
His generation won the war
He left the farm forever when
They only kept on one in ten
Landed gentry county snobs
Where were you when they lost their jobs
No-one marched or subsidised
To save a country way of life
If you want cheap food well here's the deal
Family farms are brought to heel
Hammer blows of size and scale
Foot and mouth the final nail
The coffin of our English dream
Lies out on the village green
While agri-barons cap in hand
Strip this green and pleasant land
Of meadow, woodland, hedgerow, pond
What remains gets built upon
No trains, jobs
No shops, no pubs
What went wrong
H.J. Massingham called it "willful murder". We can look to Labour for the latest manifestations of it, but it's been going on a long time. When the land lost the Faith, there was nothing to constrain the wealthy and powerful from taking everything for themselves.
It's that simple, I think.
(Thanks for reminding me Elinor.)
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