The truth about modern communes
Today's communes are a far cry from the free-loving, dope-smoking
hippy havens of the Sixties. But can they really solve the problems
of the modern world?
By Charlotte Philby
Saturday, 10 July 2010
It was on a summer's afternoon in 2005 that Paul Wimbush made his
decision. He'd spent the day celebrating Lammas, the original Celtic
harvest festival, with friends in a field in Pembrokeshire; as the
sun began to fall, a group of them sat down to discuss the
implications of a proposed local planning act known as Policy 52. If
this neatly titled initiative were to get the go-ahead as hoped,
there would for the first time since the introduction of the Town
and Planning Act of 1947 be a piece of legislation in the UK to
support the kind of "low-impact communities" that many believe could
hold the answer to a number of very real environmental and social
problems faced in Britain. "It was," says Wimbush, now 38, "simply
too good an opportunity to be missed."
At a time when the fight against climate change, rising levels of
unemployment and the breakdown of national industry were high on the
political agenda, environmental campaigners argued that the
possibilities of this potentially groundbreaking policy must not be
under-estimated. And so, convinced that the new law would be given
the go-ahead, those present in the field that day wasted no time in
setting out their masterplan. By employing systems of permaculture
an agricultural method that originated in Australia in the 1970s
which maximises land productivity by emulating natural eco-systems
they would build a brand new rural community that would, among other
things, massively increase bio-diversity in the local area, as well
as boosting the output of organic food and land-based produce, and
cut carbon pollution.
Over the following months, the group pulled together details for an
ambitious eco-village called Lammas, in an area of mixed pasture and
woodland on the edge of the Pembrokeshire National Park. As well as
offering a workable alternative to the heavily fossil-fuel-dependent
and "fundamentally unsustainable" way of life which continues to
typify most of the Western world, the new community would create
opportunities for affordable housing and the development of new rural
livelihoods, while simultaneously preserving and protecting the
natural landscape and its precious bio-systems. And Wimbush and the
other members of the collective didn't stop working away at their
idea until they had every inch of the proposed site accounted for.
By the time Policy 52 was finally passed in 2006, Lammas was all but
ready to go. But even with the law theoretically now on their side,
it would be three years before they saw their plans put into action.
Part of the problem was that some critics of the project couldn't get
past the words "community living", which immediately conjured up
images of 1960s-style acid-fuelled love-ins: "Not in my back garden!"
came the response from those expecting a sudden influx of soap-averse
drop-outs and such concerns also drove a pocket of officials, who
seemed intent on challenging the development on the slightest detail
at every stage.
While this reaction may not have been entirely surprising, the basis
of the opposition on both counts was misguided. Firstly, the
free-spirited hippy communes of old and the new type of highly
focused community represented by Lammas are diametrically opposed. If
the old-school commune was about creating an escape from reality then
this new, environmentally-driven community is about facing up to it;
it's not just about accepting that we need to find another way of
doing things, but actually taking the steps necessary to effect that
change. And that involves a hell of a lot of hard work. Secondly,
from the beginning, every single detail of the project from the
dimensions of the buildings to the topography of the soil was laid
out in minute detail. If anything, Wimbush and other similar
communities could be accused of being too rigorous in their planning:
nothing would be left to chance. Today, regular progress meetings
attended by the project's accountant, managers and outside
shareholders monitor even the smallest potential developments and how
they might be funded.
Fortunately, as well as amassing its fair share of critics, the
Lammas project attracted a lot of support, both locally and at a
governmental level, with volunteers offering help with all manner of
tasks. Finally, after a gruelling three-year battle with the
authorities which culminated in a public hearing, in which the
group showcased more than 1,500 letters of public support for their
project the project was given the green light last year. From that
moment on, it has been onwards and upwards. A few months later,
Lammas won a £350,000 UK Government grant to build an education
centre at the heart of their eco-village, which would act as a focal
point for the research and promotion of low-impact development. Over
time, the cooperative borrowed £210,000 from supporters in order to
purchase their little corner of Wales, but has since recouped the
money plus enough extra to fund part of the infrastructure by
issuing 1,000-year leaseholds to tenants.
Five years after its inception, those who'd opposed the project on
the grounds that the land would simply be turned into a doss-house
for work-shy hippies may feel relieved that their fears have been misplaced.
Today, lammas stands in a picturesque pocket of north Pembrokeshire,
a 20-minute drive from the nearest train station, Clunderwen. On a
bright Saturday morning in June, the site all 76 acres of it is a
hive of activity. While the natural landscape throbs with birdsong,
insects and wildflowers, ducks and geese splashing in and out of a
central millpond, some 300 visitors have descended for a tour of the
community, which is in the process of a mind-boggling transformation;
some have travelled across Britain to learn from the work taking
place here; others simply can't resist the chance for a snoop, to see
what all the fuss has been about.
Either way, the first thing that strikes visitors other than the
sheer scale of the place is the extent and intensity of the
construction process. Just 10 months after work began, the landscape
is undergoing a massive reshape and restructure, with a new network
of track-ways, ditches and reservoirs in the process of being built:
by the time the project is complete, which should be some time in
2012, the community will be sourcing its own water, household fuel
and electricity, and it is already producing the majority of its own food.
The Welsh Assembly is one of the few authorities in Europe which has
an in-built statutory duty to sustainable development, and Jane
Davidson, the Minister for Environment, Housing and Sustainability in
Wales, has been supportive of Lammas from the off. She describes it
as a "demonstration community", one of a number of models the Welsh
government is hoping to roll out across the country as part of its
new environmentally focused One Planet Development scheme (the
details of which will be announced later this month), which looks at
ways to create new housing that "enhances or does not significantly
diminish the local environment".
More than anything, Davidson says, the value of Lammas is to "build
links with and inspire existing local communities". So in some
respects, open days like the one taking place this morning are every
bit as important as the work going on around the guests taking the
two-hour guided tour of the site the huge land diggers and teams of
men and women beavering away on a series of carbon-neutral homes,
barns and greenhouses, which stand in various stages of completion.
Each of the houses, visitors are told, is pioneering a different
system of innovative technologies and techniques, including passive
solar-heating systems and willow-fuelled domestic appliances, some of
which are demonstrated along the way.
The open day is just part of the agenda this morning. Paul Wimbush
who now acts as the group's business manager spent the early hours
working in the fields before a meeting with the organisation's
accountant. In that department, things are looking good: before
Lammas bought it up, this land was worked by a tenant sheep farmer,
and pulled in just £2,500 a year. By year five, Lammas is expecting
to create £108,000 worth of produce on the same area. And that's just
as well. Maximum land efficiency is not just a bonus, it was one of
the key conditions set down by the Welsh Assembly when the project
was approved.
Accordingly, each of the families here must contribute to a communal
kitty by providing some sort of land-based produce be it farming
worms, growing soft-fruit or making craft or textile products half
of which is sold at the Lammas visitor centre, in local shops, at
market and online, while the rest is consumed by the community
itself. If anyone wants to hold down another job outside Lammas, they
are free to do so, and keep any income from that for themselves. The
other part of the agreement is that anyone who lives here must
substantially provide for their household needs including food,
income, energy and waste from the land.
As long as they abide by these conditions, residents can stay here as
long as they like without so much as attending a meeting or a single
group meal. "We're not a hippy commune," Wimbush insists at several
points. "We operate according to a conventional village model; when
residents are ready to move on, they can simply sell their leaseholds
on the open market." And they can rest assured that there won't be
any shortage of takers. Ever since plans for the Lammas development
were first announced, the community has been over-subscribed.
Originally, it was proposed that as many as 20 families should live
here, but having consulted the residents of Glandwr, the next-door
village, which is itself only home to around 50 families, this was
reduced to nine families a figure the existing community felt would
be appropriate. Now Lammas has roughly 40 residents, with children
ranging in age from six months to 18 years; some attend the local
comprehensive, others go to a nearby Steiner school, with one family
home-schooling.
Each household has its own private area, spread apart at some
distance and divided by a series of ancient or newly introduced
hedgerows and trees. At the top of the hill stands the only house now
fully completed. It belongs to Simon Dale and his wife Jasmine; Simon
is an established figure in the natural building world, known for his
spectacular Hobbit-like woodland homes which pioneer the latest
low-impact design and building techniques and with its sculpted
organic forms and exposed round-wood timber jointing, their place has
certainly set the bar high.
Further down the site, Katy and Leander, who moved here from a
terraced house in Liverpool and had no previous experience of
low-impact living, have just started construction on their
timber-framed roundhouse. In financial terms, if nothing else, Lammas
seemed like as good a place as any for them to start a new life.
After all, the average set-up, for what amounts to an eight-acre
holding, costs approximately £80,000. That includes an 1,000-year
lease, building costs (you have to construct your own home, but there
are plenty of experienced builders on hand to offer help and advice),
and the means to set up your own business.
If reassurance were needed that life in a commune really is a
plausible alternative to more conventional ways of existence,
remember that for years several of these places have been proving
their viability across Europe. And one of the most established of
these, Brithdir Mawr, is just a short distance from here, on the
other side of the Pembrokeshire National Park.
On the northern edge of the Preseli Hills, set against the slopes of
Carn Ingli or Mountain of Angels stands a 19th-century
smallholding. In one direction, unspoilt hills roll on for miles; in
the other, forested land stretches as far as the eye can see.
Brithdir Mawr's founding members bought this spot as a ruin back in
1994 and have since restored the main residence, a rambling
grey-stone farmhouse, to its former glory. Members either live here
or in one of the outhouses set across 80 acres of lush countryside
and unspoilt woodland, from which a small river leads to the sea
about a mile and a half away.
There are goats, ducks and chickens moseying around the site today,
taking a break from producing enough eggs, milk and cheese to supply
the 11 adults and four children who live here. This morning, some
residents are busy baking bread and making gooseberry jam and
chutney. There are no fridges or freezers, so it's all stored in a
cool room heaving with shelf after shelf of jars.
At first glance, the only sign of modernity comes from a series of
polytunnels, used to produce organic fruit and vegetables. But on
closer inspection, there are DVD players, wireless broadband and
power-tools, all of which are used sparingly and rely on
self-generated electricity the site is intentionally off-grid.
Heating the homes and generating hot water requires a number of solar
water-heaters and wood-fired boilers, sucking up as much as 36 tonnes
of wood a year; at the moment some of this comes from off-site,
though having just established a 4,700-tree coppice plantation,
Brithdir Mawr expects to be completely self-sufficient in this
respect by 2018.
Paul French, one of the community's longest-serving members, has
spent his morning tending to the horses used in the process of
hay-making and for carting around wood for fuel (and for the
craftwork to be sold for profit). He believes the key to Brithdir
Mawr's longevity is that it operates according to the systems of the
outside world (it is a limited company with all the necessary
bureaucratic systems in place to allow easy communication with the
authorities) and maintains "a good balance between communal things
and personal space".
There's a collective budget set at a group meeting last year it was
roughly £30,000 which goes towards general costs, like fixing
faulty equipment or buying the lentils, chick peas and olive oil
served at communal meals, of which there are between three and five a
week. As far as possible, the community is self-sufficient, growing
80 to 90 per cent of its own vegetables as well as producing eggs,
dairy products, bread, honey and jam, and generating 100 per cent of
its renewable resources from wind and water turbines and solar panels.
Unlike at Lammas, which Wimbush says is not so much a commune in the
traditional sense as a group of individuals with their own private
space working together for the sake of maximising land efficiency,
French is quick to emphasise the importance of living as a community.
Although residents at Brithdir Mawr are encouraged to have their own
personal space (each unit has its own kitchen, sitting room and
bedrooms, while the bathrooms are shared) "by working, eating and
laughing together", he believes they can ensure their "ecological
footprints are as light as they possibly can be".
Dan Thompson-Mills, a resident at Devon's Steward Wood community,
which is currently celebrating its 10th year, agrees that the
solutions to some of our most pressing predicaments lie in the basic
concept of sharing and mutual cooperation rather than the selfish
individualism that got us into this state in the first place: "Where
we go from here in terms of facing environmental issues," he says,
"is as much as anything about rediscovering the art of community."
Wimbush, however, seems reluctant to talk about his community in
terms that might be interpreted as off-puttingly "New Age". And one
can easily understand why. In his view, there is so much at stake
and if we are to create any sort of future for ourselves, we need to
embrace "a complete, radical restructuring of virtually every aspect
of society". It's all very well calling global summits and stroking
our chins, he argues, but the reality is that we already know what we
need to do, and communities like Lammas are proving that it can be done.
At the same time, these very modern pioneers seem to be providing
invaluable new possibilities for housing, employment and industry in
Britain. And if that isn't incentive enough, Wimbush concludes,
looking out of his window at the rolling countryside below, you might
try asking yourself what's really important: "For me, living in a
beautiful forest garden, surrounded by my family, is infinitely more
rewarding than living in the rat-race could ever be. And that is a
choice open to everybody..."
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