The Musings of a Town Councillor

Tag: town councils

  • Three Wards, Four Hopefuls, and a Lot of Forms

    So the decision had been made, we were going to stand. Four of us. Our town’s got about 15,500 people, and 14 councillors in total split across three wards: Central – 2 seats, South – 6 seats, North – 6 seats.

    First problem — which wards?

    If you’ve never looked into it, there are a few rules for running for town council. You’ve got to be over 18 (easy), registered to vote (tick), and for the past 12 months meet at least one of these: live in one of the wards (or within 3 miles), own/rent property there, or have your main job there.

    A clip from Cornwall Council interactive map showing the boundary for the three Redruth wards.
    A clip from Cornwall Council interactive map showing the boundary for the three Redruth wards.

    We all qualified in more than one way, so it was basically pick-your-ward. Jack and I live in South, Rosi’s in North, so Sara went for Central. This bit was surprisingly fun, like playing detective, trying to figure out who else would stand and which seats would be most hotly contested. Final tally: 8 in North, 7 in South, 3 in Central. Not bad odds.

    Second problem — the paperwork.

    Oh boy. If you don’t know what to do, it’s a lot. Pages of forms, endless instructions. We tackled them together. Each of us needed two voters from our ward to nominate us. Technically, some of us could have nominated ourselves, but that felt naff. My besties live in my ward so I was sorted.

    Once we’d wrangled all the signatures, we took them to the elections office. The staff were lovely, and just like that, we were in.

    Third problem — canvassing.

    None of us had ever done it before. And there was so much to get across: how to register to vote, postal vote deadlines if you didn’t have photo ID, that in South and North you had six votes but didn’t have to use them all, and that you couldn’t always vote for who you wanted depending on where you lived. Oh, and of course, who we actually were.

    We split it up. Social media people set up pages and posted regularly. We made a joint leaflet so if someone liked Rosi but couldn’t vote for her, maybe they’d go for me, Jack, or Sara instead.

    The leaflet drop was the bit I dreaded, I’m not a dog person, but it was actually lovely. Sunshine, friends helping, and a pint in the pub where it all began after we posted the last one.

    Then… nothing left to do but wait.

  • From Pub Chat to Council Politics…

    Eighteen months before the election, it all began, a handful of us huddled in the Art Room in Redruth, plotting change.. We’d all read the inspirational Flatpack Democracy and wondered… could we do the same here, to our council in our little patch of the world?

    A section of a Google map of Redruth, showing the art room. The council offices literally sit underneath the word Redruth, on Alma Place.
    A section of a Google map of Redruth, showing the art room. The council offices literally sit underneath the word Redruth, on Alma Place.

    We met a few times. Although it was clear people wanted change, it was also clear that no one, including me, was quite ready to throw their hat into the ring. Despite reading the book, no one really understood what it would actually involve, or the level of commitment.

    “It was clear everyone there knew the town, but mostly their own little corner of it, and being so similar, it was hard to see how they truly represented the wider community”

    As one of the two ethnics in the room, who regularly worked and drank in the local pubs, I was concerned that everyone there was a certain “type” of person. I wondered whether their representation would be any more representative than what we already had. There was also a lot of fear about upsetting some of the current incumbents. It is hard… but as they say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

    Then it all fizzled out…

    Fast forward, and the elections were looming. There had been some changes at the council, some of which, from the outside, people questioned. We met again, this time in the pub where I work. The pub locals wondered whether any of the people looking to run for the council were actually residents of Redruth, as they’d never seen them before. Some of the incumbent councillors, who had been invited, spent a surprising amount of time and energy explaining how much work it was to be a councillor, in a rather unencouraging way. And then there was the presence of a member of the council staff, which felt unusual… almost like they were there to keep an eye on things. I’m still not entirely sure what that was about.

    “We were plotting change, while I ducked back and forth to the bar, pulling pints and putting my two pence in — hoping no one would come in and want a drink.”

    By the end of the night, six hands had gone up. It eventually became four, and that’s when things really started to get interesting…