A Long time ago, Dr Beeching cut back on rural railway lines all round Britain.In retrospect, this seems to have been one of those futuristic ideas which turned out to be insufficiently futuristic. Nowadays, we wish we had more rural train lines.

But Beeching's work was not complete. Rural lines, thank goodness, did remain in some places - including in west Dorset.

The problem, in some places at least, is that the stations and halts that went with them have dwindled in number. Having a railway line without a station is rather like having a restaurant without a meal. It is a nice thing to contemplate, but it doesn't do much to relieve one's hunger.

One village in exactly this position is Evershot. The railway line is there. The trains run happily along the tracks. But they don't stop.

Once there was a halt nearby. The train stopped. People got on and off. Evershot had a train service. No longer.

Nowadays, if you live at Evershot, you have to get in your car or, if you are made of sterner stuff, on a bike and make your way to the nearest station afar off.

Some while back, I was approached by a worthy citizen with an admirable suggestion that we might seek to recreate a stopping place for the train near Evershot.

Inspection of the site of the old halt revealed that it wouldn't take too much work to arrange for people to be able to get on and off there again. And consultation with local people, including the two relevant parish councils, revealed there was considerable enthusiasm for the project.

We did not, of course, imagine anything in the way of a grand new station. Just a little place, perhaps with a wooden platform which would enable people to clamber on and off the train.

Inquiries were made. A helpful individual in Network Rail was identified. A meeting was arranged.

The first sign that something might be wrong was the letter explaining that Network Rail were surprised to be dealing just with an individual. Clearly, some very official delegation was expected.

The reason for this rapidly became apparent. It turned out that the cost of the most modest new stopping point for a train these days is... £2M to £3M. I should emphasise that this is not a typing error - I mean "million" not thousand.

Apparently, you cannot have a station of any kind unless it has a proper platform which is as long as the trains that visit it. And then, of course, you have to have all the other things that go with it.

So you end up with nothing at all, and the train goes on whistling past Evershot.

It seems that the modern equivalent of Dr Beeching is Dr Helfansafety. - Happy Christmas.

A Couple of weeks ago, I found myself doing something that the textbooks warn politicians against doing. I was on a muddy field, kicking a ball into a goal.The opportunities for disaster under such circumstances are, of course, huge. One slip, and you are down in the mud, with the photographers all over you. What should be a gentle clip for the local papers becomes a nice tit-bit for every diarist in the nationals. And if you are really unlucky, the cartoonists and even that dangerous Mr Bremner get to work.

I reflected as I kicked the ball (harmlessly, thank goodness) on the number of times when Prime Ministers and party leaders have got themselves very unfairly into trouble at such moments. Mr Kinnock's blameless but catastrophic sojourn on Brighton beach (or was it Blackpool or Bournemouth?) sprang immediately to mind.

And I recalled the time when I was addressing a group of Sikhs. Headgear is de rigeur when giving such addresses, and I was offered the choice of a turban or a handkerchief with knots in it. The TV cameras were whirring, and there was no time to waste.

Well, what do you do under such circumstances? Is it to be the turban or the hankie? Either is bound to be immortalised in a catastrophic and much reproduced length of film. Or should you head for the hills and for ever offend your smiling and well-meaning hosts?

But, as I say, on this occasion the ball proceeded smoothly from foot to goal. And I am glad to have done it, because it was all in aid of a wonderful little community group, known as the Loders Young Players.

Regular readers of this column will by now have noticed my enthusiasm for the vast range of little groups and social enterprises that do so much good in West Dorset. But none can be more worthy than this little band of young people.

Loders is only a little place. It has a playing field in what must be one of the prettiest locations anywhere in England, by a stream in the lea of verdant hills. But otherwise, the village is not particularly blessed with facilities for the young.

Undaunted, parents have established a sporting club - football, tennis, archery, swimming - with smart shirts of their own and a regular cycle of fixtures and events. They borrow facilities from people within the village and from local schools. And they have bred at least one champion so far.

All of this, of course, is purely voluntary - and it has taken place without anyone telling anybody to do anything. No expensive Government schemes. No plans from peripatetic play group leaders. No systematic monitoring or inspections of target-fulifilment. Just local enthusiasm, local good will and local good sense.

When one sees this sort of thing in operation, one realises just how real that much misused term, "community" can really mean - and how heart-warming it is when it does have real meaning.

It's enough, in fact, to justify that dangerous moment in the goal-mouth.

15:00 - 06 December 2007

Bridport is introducing rickshaws just as they are going out of fashion in Shanghai.I know this, because I found myself in one last week. I was in distinguished company. Next to me was the chief executive of Magna Housing Association who was there for the ride because Magna is sponsoring the rickshaw.

It was pedalled by a truly remarkable individual with whom I have had a number of contacts in recent months. He is, so far as I know, the only person to have circumnavigated the globe by pedal power. It took him 13 years and I became involved when the Greenwich Observatory was being a little sticky about the proposition of him crossing the meridian on his return to the UK.

So, there we were: the mogul from Magna and me, with this world-beating, globe-trotting pedaller pedalling us in a brand-new green rickshaw.

Bringing up the rear was another pedal-powered machine, designed to carry heavy objects, garden waste and other goods. This had been sponsored by Groves Nurseries, whose proprietor had donned a cap and was pedalling with aplomb.

Why, you may ask, was all this activity going on in Bridport? The answer is that Bridport is fast becoming one of the ecological capitals of the South West.

A splendid community project, staffed almost entirely by volunteers, has been engaged in recycling for a good time now and has made an astonishing amount of biodiesel to boot. This group has now decided that the time has come to move from low-carbon transport to zero-carbon transport.

Enter the rickshaw. Just as the Chinese learn about the comfort and luxury of gas guzzlers, Bridport is learning about the quiet charm and carbon-free travelling that is made possible by a rickshaw.

One has to hope that the Chinese will shortly rediscover the joys of rickshaw travel, since the world can do without a phase in which a billion people acquire gas guzzlers. But, at least until that happens, it is a wonderful reversal of roles.

Given the comfort of the ride, the charm of the vehicle, and the pleasant views available from most vantage points in Bridport, I prophesy that rickshaws will shortly become a standard feature of the summer tourist season in this and, perhaps, other seaside towns.

Whether tourists will have the satisfaction of seeing globe-trotting pedallers doing the pedalling in future, I rather doubt. But one cannot have everything and the rickshaw, even without so distinguished an operator, will be a far greater adornment of this coastal town than any item powered by the internal combustion engine is ever likely to be.

15:00 - 29 November 2007

England expects. I wonder whether, as that electric message transmitted itself from ship to ship, the men led by Nelson contemplated the possibility they were merely the precursors of motorists in Chideock?How, you may ask, are sailors at Trafalgar connected with people tootling along the A35 in 2007?

The answer is because Jim Fitzpatrick, the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State at the Department for Transport, expects motorists in Chideock to do their duty.

I know this because I wrote a little while ago to Mr Fitzpatrick's boss, the Secretary of State for Transport, to ask about the mildly embarrassing fact that the 30mph speed limit in Chideock, and hence hundreds of speeding fines, had been declared illegal in court.

Mr Fitzpatrick, who is, in my experience, an amiable cove, replied on behalf of his boss and courteously informed me that he has "ministerial responsibility for road safety policy".

It is comforting to know that someone has ministerial responsibility for road safety policy. It is also good news that the Highways Agency have put speed restrictions in Chideock on a firm legal footing and have "published a new speed limit order" which "came into effect on 13 November".

The really interesting part of Mr Fitzpatrick's letter comes right at the end. His last paragraph is a genuine masterpiece and I would love to know which of his officials had the delicious task of composing it for him. What makes this paragraph so masterly a triumph of the bureaucratic art is the quiet way in which it delivers its radical message.

Having conceded "the Department for Transport acknowledges that the original speed limit signing and the traffic order may not have been introduced correctly", it moves on seamlessly to imply this little legal slip does not really matter because "the fact remains that there were and still are signs indicating a 30mph speed limit".

This is a most interesting departure from the old-fashioned view that it is rather important for organisations like the Highways Agency to obtain legal backing for their actions.

It is Mr Fitzpatrick's last sentence that really opens up new vistas. He tells us "the department expects drivers to comply with all speed limit signs, irrespective of whether or not they suspect the sign or traffic order has been introduced incorrectly."

Mr Fitzpatrick has invented an entirely new constitutional theory. On the basis of this new constitutional theory, people could be expected to do almost anything that someone in some office somewhere in Whitehall thought it would be nice for them to do, so long as a sign had been put up about it. If, for example, the Highways Agency put up a sign in Chideock saying "hold your breath on this stretch of road", I take it on Mr Fitzpatrick's constitutional theory, the department would "expect" that motorists would all duly hold their breath "irrespective of whether or not they suspect the sign or traffic order has been introduced incorrectly".

Amiable cove though Mr Fitzpatrick is, I am not sure I will follow that advice if such a sign does appear.

COMMUNITY SHOPS - THE WAY FORWARD?

15:00 - 22 November 2007

When is a shop not a shop?Answer: when it is a community shop.

We all have a natural tendency to think about shops as commercial enterprises, But they are also, of course, public services. If there were no shops, we would not be able to buy anything, and we would be just as badly off as if there were no hospitals or schools or police force or any other essential service.

Most of the time, in towns and cities, there is no need to think about the public service aspect because the free market provides an array of different emporia at which to purchase anything anyone wants and can afford.

It is different in a village. As we all know, we cannot take it for granted there will be any shop in a village, let alone a choice. In a village, the public service is clear for all to see. The shop is the centre of a social network and a lifeline for those who find transport difficult.

So it was with a heavy heart that I learned a while ago that the shop in my own village of Thorncombe might be about to close. Luckily, there was clearly a lot of other people who felt the same way and the village has rallied.

As so often, once people get together in this way, it turns out the village has a huge amount of hidden expertise. A committee has been formed, a business plan drawn up, and half the inhabitants attended a public meeting in the village hall. We are now well on our way towards being able to establish a community shop which can take over if there is no private-sector shopkeeper willing to do so.

I have the feeling that, if we do end up with a community shop, it will be a net gain to Thorncombe. Yes, we shall all have to do a bit of voluntary labour. And, yes, we will all be taking a bit of a risk. But I think it will bring the village together even more than at present and create an even greater spirit of mutual endeavour and co-operation.

There are also spin-off benefits. If people are involved in setting up the shop, refurbishing it, working there, and bearing the risk, then they will want to ensure the shop offers them what they want to buy and they will want to use it.

I wonder whether this is the way of the future for many a village shop in West Dorset and beyond? Perhaps, just as the private sector is the natural way of providing this service in the towns and cities of Britain, the third sector - the voluntary, co-operative, community sector - may be the natural way of providing such a facility in small, rural communities?