I wasn’t really sure what to expect on polling day, I had no idea what could or would happen. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but there was already a sense of achievement in what we’d done so far. By standing, we’d ensured every ward in the town was contested. Redruth was one of only three towns in Cornwall where that happened. The previous council had just four elected councillors, with the rest uncontested or co-opted. I’m not sure triggering the election made us popular with some of the other councillors, there was quite a bit of whispering about the cost of it all. But what’s the price of democracy, right?
And honestly, in the words of The Hunger Games, the odds were in our favour. There were six seats in Redruth South and seven candidates, but Jack and I were the only newbies. Between four of the others, they had over 60 years’ council experience, with the fifth co-opted just over a year ago.
Polling day…
I’ve always taken my youngest son to the polling station with me. Now 21, he could actually vote, which made it more exciting. It was great having his company as I nervously walked there for only his second time voting. It felt odd. As I walked in, dressed in my signature orange, I wondered if the people leaving knew my name was on the ballot. And it felt slightly wrong when I put one of the Xs next to my own name.
Then it was just a waiting game. Luckily, polling days are on Thursdays, my pub shift day, so the evening was filled with banter, a bit of ribbing, and plenty of enthusiastic support.
We planned to go to the count. I was working earlier, and we knew our small election wouldn’t be announced until late. We grabbed our ID and headed to the leisure centre. The day had been disappointing so far. As a mixed-race former single parent, my politics couldn’t be further from the pale blue of Reform, but across Cornwall, seats had been flipping from dark blue and red to light blue. And shortly after we arrived, it was announced that both Redruth South and North would now have Reform councillors at Cornwall Council. Not the best sign for me…
Watching the count was fascinating. We could see papers being checked, crosses marked next to our names, and the number of crosses we’d got being totalled on a sheet of paper. Sometimes I’d get two, sometimes twelve, it was hard to know what was really going on. We did get told off for laughing too loudly near the counters, oops.
The results…
Rosi’s ward was called first. Hers was more hotly contested than ours, eight candidates for six seats, but she got in easily, with two incumbent Labour candidates missing out. I couldn’t help thinking it had more to do with the party label than the people themselves.
Then it was our turn. We were called over to look at a piece of paper. “I got the most votes,” I blurted out, not even meaning to say it aloud. Jack shot me a look, but I didn’t care. First time running, most votes, Jack second, in a ward that had just voted Reform for Cornwall Council. It really makes you think about why people vote the way they do. People vote Reform, it’s not for me, but that doesn’t automatically make them racist, and we shouldn’t just write them off. We can’t move forward if we do.
Sara’s ward was called last, with some faffing and recounting. Something about missing ballots, I’m still not sure. Sadly, she’d been pipped at the post. Still, three out of four seats was a win in my book, and we went to celebrate over a pint.
Little did we know, this had been the easy part.
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