WHEN we moved to Low Etherley in 1979 the main attractions were some lovely people, a number of traditional pubs and rural peace and quiet.

Not any more I’m afraid, the lovely people are still there but the rest has gone to that other place in a hand cart.

The pubs are closed and the introduction of the sat-nav has led to our B road being used by heavy goods vehicles as a rat run to Teesside and the A1M.

And then, to put a tin lid on it, eight years ago a renovation began on a house in the village. Each autumn brings the speculation, “Is this the big push to be in by Christmas?”, but no, the work continues inexorably.

Every weekend and most evenings bring a compressor cacophony and clouds of dust.

One outer wall has so far entailed four years hard labour which might be justified in the Sistine Chapel or some country house but does seem excessive for a plain stone wall.

The idyllic English country village was often only an illusion conjured up for those 1940s black-and-white films, but presently I ache for some bygone rural solitude even if it was often accompanied by rickets and pungent bucolic aromas.

VJ Connor, Bishop Auckland.