Civic Pride: How things have changed in ‘the big city at the edge of the Fens’

We are playing cowboys and Indians, running up and down the pavement and verges, in and out of the bushes that are next to the red phone box.

We take it in turns to be either cowboys or Indians. The cowboys are tall and brave and speak in a drawl like John Wayne or James Stewart. They carry Winchester ’73 rifles or Colt 45 pistols. The Indians are Apaches, sometimes Comanche or Sioux and carry bows and arrows and are attacking the stagecoach that is travelling from Denver to Santa Fe. They whoop and holler in voices so shrill and blood-curding they occasionally wake up Mr Cobb in the nearby bungalow as he has his after-dinner nap.

There are rules to the game. If you’re an Indian and get shot, you have to dramatically throw yourself to the ground and count to ten before you can get up again, remount your speedy piebald pony and rush off again. If you’re a cowboy you must play by the rules, be magnanimous and humble in victory.

The battle is fierce but fair, heroic and hard-fought. We stop when we hear a sound getting closer.

It’s the 307 bus from Dogsthorpe to town, not Denver to Santa Fe. The bus stops and we briefly talk to the driver as he waits for passengers, he’s a nice man and I think his name is Colin. He presents us with a reel of spare blank tickets and is on his way.

Nearly 65 years later. It’s 2024. It’s the bus stop in Midgate on a rainy Friday afternoon. I have just spent a couple of hours being interviewed by an academic researcher from the Open University who is working on a project entitled ‘Place, Community and Connection in the Fens’. He wants to know my views as to how Peterborough, the big city at the edge of the Fens, has changed over the years. He’s made me think.

I don’t know when the next bus is coming. The illuminated timetable sign in the bus shelter isn’t working – it could be five minutes or 35. Who knows? I get increasingly frustrated, waiting in the rain. No bus. I later find out that there has been a ‘police incident at Peterborough rail station’ that has affected things.

I look around and watch the world go by. The closed Ladbrokes opposite with its turquoise shutters and red wheelie bin outside. There’s the huge black Range Rover cruising up and down. There’s the bright and colourful window display in the Step Up clothes shop. Further down the road are the impressive chimneys on St Peter’s College which, in 1946, was the place where my father trained to be a teacher. I smile – the end of the building looks like Thomas the Tank Engine.

Increasing numbers of people are waiting for the bus. I hear a multitude of languages but none, as far as I can hear, are Apache, Comanche or Sioux. There’s a woman pushing a buggy, complete with toddler and bags of shopping, she’s on her way back to her homestead.

Whilst waiting for the bus I think about what could happen in Peterborough. Although the bus service is usually decent and reasonably punctual, I reckon it could do so much more to link places. How wonderful it would be if there was public transport that connected Flag Fen, John Clare Cottage, Railworld, Ferry Meadows and other local attractions. Just think how many more people, residents, visitors and those without cars would be able to access our many attractions. As the crow flies Flag Fen is a mile from the city centre but, in terms of access, it might as well be in deepest Norfolk.

I do know that council leaders and local movers and shakers are considering how our many tourist destinations can become more connected. Let’s hope that aspirations become reality.

I am jolted from my bus shelter musings. At last, here comes the No: 5. It’s a Stagecoach.