Neighbourly love
Tony Milne of Rough and Milne Landscape Architects reflects on the nature of comradery, privacy and a lockdown spent in the company of good neighbours.
‘Our house, it has a crowd
There’s always something happening
And it’s usually quite loud
Our mum she’s so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down, and a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street.’
Madness’s Our House is a classic 1980s pop song about family life in working-class London. One of those tunes that sticks with you, the lyrics are quite apt given the last three or so months. It has been remarkable how quickly we learnt to live wholly in our house, without those external things that our lives typically revolve around.
Many embraced the opportunity presented by lockdown to learn another language, piece together a Wasgij, read poetry, do a few downward dogs and sun salutations at the crack of dawn, make a pot of china white tea, grow a kombucha scoby, exercise snack every hour, bake sourdough every other day or take up line drawing. The only thing I managed to do was cut the lawn edges a couple of times.
One of the things I have enjoyed most has been the comradery of our immediate neighbourhood, at a safe distance. Cliffy from over our back fence also introduced me to the Lighthouse Brewery, following which fresh beer was delivered to my doorstep weekly. That has been pretty good, too.
So, what makes our neighbourhood tick? I have previously introduced you to our neighbours Derek, Chris, Cory, Cliffy, Trevor, Stu and Nigel. Toss in Joy, Marie, Penel, Julie, Cheryl, Kay and Tina and their respective children, and you have the human face of our immediate neighbourhood. While they are all good people, and there is a secret admiration of each other’s lawns, barring ours, I believe it is the design guidelines of the development we live in that helps foster our neighbourly engagement.
When we think about the neighbourhoods we live in, privacy is sought and attained in several ways. Visual privacy typically relates to the interface between the public and private realm. Walls, fences, and planting whether they be permanent barriers or filters, allow individual control of our privacy and interaction.
Rather than a simple duality of privacy or no privacy, there is a spectrum of privacy needs. Interestingly, academics have distinguished up to seven types of privacy. One of these is known as ‘not neighbouring’ (i.e. avoiding contact with your neighbours). A good mate finds solace in this, and I understand that too.
The best thing about the guidelines for where we live is that we are not a neighbourhood dominated by excessively high front fences – very much a preference of many who reside in the city of Christchurch. Maybe I am looking at this through the rose-tinted glasses or one too many riggers of Lighthouse Dark Horse Imperial Stout, but we have good street life and vitality.
Our neighbourhood presents opportunities for social interaction, which in turn engenders a greater feeling of safety through more ‘eyes on the street’. Possibly not so useful if you are trying to sell a tinny through a slot in your front fence, but brilliant for inter-street rugby conversations with Derek.
We enjoy our little slice of the city, we know the names of our neighbours, we enjoy the prospect we have over the street, we love the chat over a leaf rake, and we love a beer and quiz on someone else’s front lawn. Never mow your neighbour’s lawn though.
Which brings me back to Madness’s ‘Our house, in the middle of our street’. For me, Covid-19 has been a reminder that in the end, it is your own home and family that keeps you safe and your neighbourhood, too.
