BAD things happen in threes.
First there was Sodom and Gomorrah, then came the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.
Now it’s Driffield’s turn for a damn good smiting.
Look around you.
In its hey day, Driffield was a thriving, bustling Capital of the Wolds. The main street was filled with shops and echoed to the sound of raucous laughter.
Neighbours were friends and men in white coats delivered food and drink to your front door with a smile and a whistle at 4am even though there was no one about to see them smiling and whistling.
Now the town is on the verge of desolation, the only people on the streets at 4am are burglars and the Book of Genesis has been rejigged to mention Driffield by name - its residents marked down as sinners who brought impending doom upon themselves by allowing evil and capitalism and sloth to triumph over common sense.
So far, Driffield has escaped a full-on fire and brimstone assault. Its current fate is more akin to smouldering torture as the flames of hard working private commerce and hope are extinguished one by one.
All that’s missing is a local councillor playing a fiddle over the embers (the emphasis here is on the word playing).
It’s not that bad is it? You may well ask and it might seem that way. But that’s because the decay is happening in slow motion over a number of years, which means that no one will take much notice – until it’s too late.
Think I’m exaggerating? Then look back a few years and remember what you had compared with today:
Rex Club. Gone.
Pegasus Club. Gone.
Highfield Country Club. Gone.
Four Winds. Gone
Cricketers Arms. Gone
Bay Horse. Gone.
Spread Eagle. For sale.
Lounge and Hooters. For sale.
Currys. Gone
Kwik Save. Gone
Theakston’s Arcade. Mostly run down.
The Viking Centre. Partly boarded up.
The Old Bridge Street Surgery. Totally boarded up.
The Old Post Office. Empty.
The former Cattle Market. Derelict.
The scrap yard. Gone.
The old chapel on George Street. Gone.
Driffield Methodist Church. Soon to be demolished.
This is just the tip of the used cotton bud and I’m sure there are many more valid examples of shops, businesses and facilities which have disappeared in recent years, never to be replaced.
One thing is for certain though – those buildings now long gone will not be the last to disappear. I’m sure there are quite a few others teetering in the background on the not too distant horizon.
Life was much better when England and Driffield were controlled by God, and even those who didn’t go to church were forced to toe the line and live by principles unfettered by the 21st century lust for money and power.
For example Sunday was a day of rest. Some people went to church while everyone else got a lay in. Courtesy of God.
Big shops remained closed, the streets smelled of succulent roast beef and children sat behind sash windows, watching wistfully as rain gently splattered the clean August pavements.
On Sundays, whole families gathered around the TV to watch shows beloved of all ages and people talked to each other instead of sending texts.
Then somewhere along the line, the Devil managed to get his own Government into power. Godless drones. And everything changed. Seven day a week toil.
The people of Driffield were led to believe that it was better not to go to church because it was boring and meaningless and instead they were presented with the chance to go shopping so that they could reward themselves with bright lights and shiny treats – all of it instantly free, courtesy of a rectangular piece of plastic imprinted with random numbers - mostly sixes - and a nice photo of a smiling cat.
Now there is no day of rest for the wicked and Driffield people die in road accidents on the way home from ironically named shopping centres such as Monks Cross (yes, he would be furious).
Driffield is devoid of most of its traditional shops because no one used them, banks have holidays named after them, paid for by you, and summer floods are a portent for pestilence and plagues.
And all because we allowed it to happen. Slowly, over several years.
Because, when our shops or pubs or businesses closed down we collectively failed to shout loud enough and insist that they were replaced like for like.
Because we all thought it might be fun to spend Sundays visiting out of town shopping malls populated by zombies hypnotised by shiny things paid for by money which didn’t exist.
Because we all thought that Driffield would be still here when we returned. Dependable and reliable and the same as it ever was.
Only it’s not. Driffield is decaying and dying. A terminal patient in a town without a proper hospital, where the only significant business growth in recent years has been within the funeral industry - which has doubled in size from one funeral director’s firm to two.
Try as hard as I might, I couldn’t think of any other business sector in Driffield which had seen 100% growth. How sad is that ?