Richard Craven believed he was a powerful man. Not because he was physically commanding, not because he had influential contacts, but merely because he owned land. He owned several hundred acres of mainly agricultural land interspersed with areas of natural beauty which were aesthetic to the eye but of no use for farming. His acreage was located on the edge of the village. Parts of his land interconnected with the heritage walkways for people to amble through the countryside.
This, though, was a big bone of contention for him. If unsuspecting walkers unknowingly meandered onto his land, Richard would appear from nowhere.
“Can I help you? Do you realise you are on my land?”
“Oh! I’m very sorry. It wasn’t signposted too well.”
“Well, I own the bit of land you are on.”
“But its weed and barren ground. I can’t do any harm.”
“You’re going to have to double back and join the path that will bring you back to the path over there.”
“So I have to walk back a mile and then come back on the path next to you? Why can’t I just hop onto it now?”
“It’s my land and I don’t want anyone and everyone taking shortcuts.”
Richard was becoming more and more agitated by walkers venturing down such pathways even though they were doing no harm. It could be said that they were a benefit and protection for the wildlife. But Richard would not have it. His wife noticed a change in him. He would leave very early in the morning, only coming home for food.
“Richard, why are you out so much? I barely see you and why have you got a tent on your back?”
“Interlopers on my land. It’s a disgrace. I will take out the lot of them.”
“But Richard dear they aren’t doing any harm. Just let them be. Remember the farm is in my family’s name and this could cause issues in the community. My father never caused such problems. He encouraged people.”
His face was becoming enraged. He did not want to hear talk of the land not being his.
“I’m sleeping out tonight. I will catch the bastards.”
He began hiding behind bushes or up trees with his tractor at the ready to fly through the fields and confront those people who dared walk through his weeds. On one occasion, Richard was distracted by a group of crows squawking overhead and crucially missed an elderly couple walking down the wrong path and heading over a stile and out of sight. He was red to the gills in anger and with a shovel in hand, marched back to his tractor and headed home.
“You’re early dear.”
“I’m not staying long. I need to order some cameras. It’s my land and it will stay my land.”
Days passed and Richard, binoculars at the ready, could be spotted by the farm workers crouched down between hay bales. At other times, the wheat fields could be seen bending to and fro as he travelled on all fours through the fields, ready to confront anyone venturing off the bridle path.
Eventually his cameras arrived and were hidden up trees, in undergrowth or even attached to cows. Richard Craven was a man obsessed. He would spend any spare time at home trawling through the camera footage. Pen in hand ready to take legal action if needed.
His land was becoming unkempt as his mission to be rid of walkers was in full flight. He began joining the bridle path as it connected to the side of his land. On one occasion, a group of local historians were spotted by Richard leisurely and respectfully meandering on the heritage path. To their surprise, Richard began walking behind them.
“We will have none of that. It’s my land, not for you to walk on.”’
“But we haven’t; this is the legal path.”
“I saw that fellas’ feet transgress the boundary. It’s outrageous. Coming onto my land. I have you on camera.”
Richard Craven was not finished. He had another plan and decided to set up a toll booth where the lands joined and would provide a rent book for anyone setting foot on his land. Unfortunately for him walkers avoided the booth and entered from another direction.
He was now at his wits’ end and so decided to deploy drones over the fields. People would regularly be attacked by numerous drones if they set one foot over the threshold to the booming sound of.
“THIS IS MY LAND”
It was taking over his life. He became paranoid and it was affecting his health. Family would try to discourage his actions pointing out that it was only land and that no one even with bad intentions could do it any harm. But this fell on deaf ears. Richard wanted everyone to know he was a land owner and it was his.
People in the surrounding villages got to hear about the cameras, the drones, the microphones, the tractors on red alert flying across the land in anticipation of an interloper. It became a source of entertainment. Local news teams descended on the land. It was national news. Richard Craven and his land became famous.
To this day, Richard Craven is known to be at the back of his cow shed crying uncontrollably as thousands of people pass through his land. Inconsolable with rage and tears, he wails into his hands, shouting.
“IT USED TO BE MY LAND”
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