In defence of office girls

Thirty-five degrees in the sun at midday. Windy. White horses. Azure skies.

One of my neighbours has today been out and about with his bucket of mortar and a trowel, happily repairing stone walls and pavements. His sunny smile and generous ways are always a pleasure to experience. And the small (and not-so-small) jobs he often does around the village are always welcome.

Here in Carmine, the fabric of the village has been constructed and is usually maintained by local people and definitely not by the Comune. The last time I saw a communal tradesman up here was three years ago when one of the retaining walls was damaged and two masons came up to rebuild the dry stone walls and stone path.

The pavement on the tangenziale ovest was laid by F and G, using some extra paving slabs someone had lying around. Same story, different characters, for the lane along the south side of the village. The handrails, bridges, benches, signage, and steps were built and installed by members of the Gruppo Carmenitt. The staircase on the path to the Traversa doesn't flood every time it rains thanks to the work of F and M. And the paths out of the village have until this year been kept clear by us all, notably during the very enjoyable annual pulizia dei sentieri.

If it sounds to you like I'm about to launch into a rant against the Comune, you'd be very wrong. Local authorities can't be expected to be everyone's nanny. And besides, our taxes are better spent doing the things we can't do ourselves as individuals or community groups, rather than clearing up after people and doing tiny odd jobs. In fact I'm going to do the opposite.


In life, there are two kinds of people, I've found. There are those who see a rocking rock, mix up their mortar and spend half an hour fixing the problem. Who mow their own gardens and then take the strimmer out for that extra five minutes to tidy up the communal verges. Who find themselves in giro with a light bulb and a ladder and decide to replace the street light that's been out for a couple of weeks, so that everyone runs less of a risk of turning an ankle in the dark.

And there are those who see an inconvenience to themselves and then call the local authority to demand that "something is done". Angrily. Rudely. And with supporting legal chapter and verse. This type is not very good at getting out there and helping out, but really, really good at making life a misery for the poor overworked office girl at the other end of their many phone tirades.

Who takes the greater pleasure? Who has the higher self-esteen? Who has the thanks and smiles of his neighbours? Answers on a postcard, please.

In 1925, Irish writer and thinker George Bernard Shaw won the Nobel Prize for Literature. He wrote : "If only for a half hour a day, a child should do something serviceable to the community". If that maxim had been taken up in 1925, and every child had been taught to take responsibility for his own community, perhaps today there would be more well-maintained communal spaces, more ordinary people bursting with pride at their achievements and fewer harrassed and tearful office girls.