BIG places, big families, big people. They can survive a hit or two.
The little ones though, the slightest fracture can rip apart the fabric that holds them together.
Not so long ago our cities were ruined – they still are if you care to search beyond the brown tourist signs – but they look good now. Gleaming towers of new flats, huge shopping centres, streets of coffee shops, wine bars and restaurants mask the pain these places suffered and push away to newly built out-of-town estates those who threaten to dull the shine.
The odd failure – the closure of a bar, the demise of a national chain – can be glossed over. It’s not as obvious in a big space. Those who went away when times were bad will return. “The old girl is on the up again,” they’ll say.
In a village though, or a small town, a little loss makes a big difference. That pub you used to love, but didn’t use enough, closes down. So does the corner shop. A huge name, a Boots or WH Smith, leaves and any feelgood factor that may have existed goes with them.
The place looks derelict, a mess, The “wrong types” start to hang about and take advantage of the decline. It will struggle to recover because it’s beyond hope and even further beyond the thoughts of those who could make it happen. It doesn’t matter to them. The world won’t notice and it certainly won’t listen.
Those who used to come will stay away now. Avoid the place. They’ll say it’s not what it was. They won’t come back again.
It’s the same in your home life. If you’re part of a supportive family of 15 and one goes away, well, you survive. It will hurt but there’s a support network to keep you going. Those on the outside may not even notice.
If there’s just the two of you though, and you lose the other, well it’s a long way back. People ask. They say: “I haven’t seen your so-and-so around for a while” and you answer “ah, didn’t you know, he died a couple of weeks back...”
They apologise, say how sorry they are for you and off they go. But it never fails to bring it all back and the cracks you papered over start to show.
You look older, ill, people don’t see you about as much. At first they’ll over to check how you are. Then the visits will become less frequent until eventually they stop.
They’ll become strangers. Avoid you even. He or she is not what they were, they’ll tell each other. They won’t bother visiting again.
You’ll never fully recover because you’re on your own. The big family probably will, but you won’t.
Eventually the cracks become so wide that you simply fall through the gap until you can fall no further.
That’s what it seems like when you don’t have the strength of numbers, the power of size.
You feel small and unimportant and they, whoever they are, the big guys I suppose, take advantage and target their prey.
If it was a wildlife programme and a lion was attacking an antelope, we’d say it was sad, but it’s how nature works.
It’s true in our world too and it will never change because they, whoever they are, the big guys I suppose, don’t want it to. Why would they?
You’re on your own and sometimes it feels as if no-one will touch you when you’re down, they won’t come to your town when you are only a small fracture away from ruin. The big ones will take that hit. Little ones tend to lose, you see. At least that’s how it feels today.