Fordyce Maxwell: ‘Some people never need pomposities about a Big Society – they just do it’

I ESTIMATE that the £2,000 raised by a small village towards a new hall 50 years ago would be the equivalent of more than £50,000 today. That’s a thought.

But, inspired by a hard-working committee, the money was raised from dances, raffles, jumble sales, 6d-a-time record hops – yes, there I was – tea parties, a clay pigeon shoot and small donations. Not forgetting the wheel of fortune made by committee member and village shop owner Tom Ford – roll up, roll up, numbers one to 20, win a prize when the wheel spins – that made a sizeable contribution towards the £2,000 on its own. They said “Yes we can” before Barack Obama. Or Bob the Builder.

I reflected on the efforts of that committee, of which my father was an innovative member, when I spoke at the recent 50th anniversary celebration. One reflection was why a new hall was needed. Answer: the second-hand wooden hut erected at Cornhill-on-Tweed at the end of the First World War was by the late 1950s, (and even without the health and safety diktats), a health hazard. Full of memories – children’s Christmas parties, concerts, dances – but also full of coke fumes and with floorboards liable to split during a Strip the Willow. What would a foot through the floor be worth in compensation now?

Another reflection was how some of the committee managed to find time while running one-man businesses such as a shop or farm. Partly it was proof that if you want something done, ask a busy man; partly that some people never need a lecture on the public good or pomposities about a Big Society – they get on and do it.

An unspoken reflection was that memories can fade, and those that remain can differ. Looking at a photo montage and report from the local paper, I’d forgotten the feudal nature of that opening night – a speech by the squire, a prayer from the vicar, a plaque unveiled by an Hon Mrs. But Colonel Collingwood was one of the squirearchy’s good guys, the vicar was a First World War veteran and the Hon Mrs had been heard to say of her farm that she could drink the profits. And did. But one thing everyone remembered was the temporary power failure, proceedings continuing by the headlights of my father’s Fordson tractor, parked strategically, until the hall lights came on again.

That blue tractor is now the centrepiece of a commemorative tapestry that I unveiled with Tom Ford’s elder daughter, Joan. Not our usual line of work, and little effort compared with the original committee, or those who have kept the hall at the centre of village life since, including the terrific stint put in by my sister Elspeth. But on a night of almost too many memories we were proud to do it.

I had a last unspoken thought, as I pulled the ribbon, about what members of the committee half a century ago have in common. They’re all dead. They’d be pleased to know their efforts have not been wasted.