Weve decided your fence is on our land, the neighbour declares, arriving with two workmen.
Your chickens are in my garden again third time this week! Have you lost your mind?
Helen Parker stands at the gate, clutching a crumpled bunch of carrots. Her neighbour Mabel Green, a stout woman in a floral dressing gown, waves it off.
Just chickens, dear. They wander everywhere, you cant keep them locked up!
Then lock them in the coop! Ive been planting my vegetable patch all May!
Fix your fence and theyll stay put, Mabel says, turning back to her house. All that whining just live with it and be happy.
Helen wants to retort, but she holds back. Arguing with Mabel is useless; Mabel can argue for hours, proving that black is white.
Returning to her garden, Helen surveys the damage. The carrots are torn, cabbage crushed, onions ripped out. Tears gather in her throat. Shes tended each seedling, and now the blasted chickens have ruined everything in half an hour.
Brookfield is a tiny village of about thirty homes, where everyone knows each other. Helen has lived here all her life born in this cottage, married young, and raised her daughter Emma. Her husband Michael died five years ago from a heart attack. Emma moved to the city years ago, started a family, and visits only on weekends. Helen remains alone with her house, garden, chickens and a goat, living on her modest pension and the occasional sale of homegrown produce. Emma helps with money but Helen tries not to ask, knowing Emma has her own family and a growing grandson.
Mabel moved to Brookfield three years ago, buying the house from old Agnes who left for her son in the town. At first they exchanged greetings and even shared pies, but soon the trouble began: chickens wandering onto Helens plot, rubbish tossed over the fence, music blaring all night.
Those incidents were nothing compared with what happened later.
Across the road from Helens garden stands a derelict house that has been empty for about ten years. Its owner died without heirs, and the building fell into ruin. In spring a developer buys the plot, tears down the old structure and starts a new build. Helen watches the construction with curiosity. A twostorey brick house with large windows rises quickly, workers busy from dawn till dusk, cement mixers humming, trucks shuttling back and forth.
By late summer the house is almost finished. Its owners appear: a tall man about fortyfive, sharply dressed; a younger, slim woman equally wellturned out; and a tenyearold boy. Wanting to be friendly neighbours, Helen bakes an apple pie and walks over the road.
There is no gate yet, only posts. She steps into the yard as the man fiddles with a box in his car.
Good morning, Helen says, stepping closer. Im your neighbour from the house over there Helen Parker.
He straightens, eyes her.
Good morning. Im Andrew Clarke. He doesnt extend his hand, perhaps noting her plain clothes and worn slippers.
Ive brought a pie, Helen offers, holding out a bundle. Applefilled. Please have some.
Andrew takes the pie with a brief, indifferent smile. Thanks, Ill put it away.
The woman steps out, frowns at Helen.
Who are you?
Your neighbour, Andrew replies. She brought a pie.
She glances at Helen with such superiority that Helen feels like a beggar.
Fine, thanks, neighbour. You can go now.
Helen retreats, cheeks burning from the sharp tone shes never heard before. She returns home, feeling humiliated.
After that, the new neighbours keep to themselves, only visiting on weekends. They erect a tall fence around their plot, install cameras and an alarm system, as if building a small fortress.
Helen tries to ignore it. Rich folk, what can you expect? she thinks. At least they do not disturb her garden.
One morning a knock sounds at her gate. She pulls on a housecoat and steps outside. Andrew and two workmen in overalls stand there.
Good morning, Mrs Parker, Andrew says, his voice lacking any friendliness.
Morning, Helen replies cautiously. Whats happening?
Weve decided your fence sits on our land, he announces. Weve measured it. You encroach on our plot by a metre and a half.
Helens eyes widen.
What fence? A metre and a half?
That fence, Andrew points to the old wooden barrier between their properties. According to the documents, the boundary runs here, he says, gesturing toward Helens house.
But that fence has been here for thirty years! My husband put it up!
It doesnt matter how long its been. Its on our land.
Where did you get that?
Andrew pulls out some papers.
Heres the boundary plan. See? The line is here, your fence is over by a metre and a half.
Helen takes the sheets, but the numbers and diagrams mean nothing to her.
My plot has always been as it is.
Whether it was or not, youre now on our territory. We want you to move the fence.
Move it? Are you mad? That means rebuilding the whole thing!
Its your problem. You have two days. Either move it yourself, or well take it down.
Helen feels the ground slip away.
You have no right!
We do. This is our land. If you dont comply, well involve the authorities.
Andrew turns and walks away, the workers following. Helen stands in the middle of her yard, clutching the incomprehensible documents, her head spinning. What should she do? Who can help?
First, she calls Emma.
Mum, whats wrong? Emma asks.
Ive got neighbours claiming my fence is on their land.
Who are they? What fence?
Helen hurriedly explains Andrew, the papers, the threats.
Mum, that cant be. The fence has stood for decades. Your father put it up, remember?
Yes, I remember. Theyre just being bold.
What should I do?
Emma pauses.
Do you have the title deeds?
Yes.
Check them the boundaries should be marked.
Helen finds an old folder with the title deeds. Numbers are printed, but she cant decipher them.
You need a surveyor, Emma advises. Let him come, take proper measurements, and dont move anything until hes done. And dont let them tear down the fence.
What if they do?
Call the police straight away.
Helen hangs up, wondering where to find a surveyor. She rings neighbour Lydia, who lives next door.
Lydia, any idea how to get a land surveyor?
Lydia gasps. Oh Helen, theyre being outrageous! A metre and a half? That fence has always been there!
Only they have the papers.
Go to the parish council. The chairman, Victor Hughes, can help.
Helen does exactly that. She dresses neatly and walks to the council office. Victor Hughes, a man in his sixties, listens attentively.
Right. We have a cadastral engineer in the district. Ill give you his number. Call him, explain the situation, and hell come out to measure.
How much will it cost?
Probably around five hundred pounds.
Helen swallows, feeling the weight of half her pension. She dials the engineer, who promises to arrive the day after tomorrow. Do nothing until Im here, he says, and dont let them touch anything.
She returns home, anxiety heavy. The next evening a knock sounds again. Andrew stands at the gate.
So, whats the decision? he asks.
Ive called a surveyor. Hell measure everything properly.
Andrew smiles thinly.
A surveyor? Hell see my papers are correct. The plot is marked, everything is legal.
Thats why I need him to show where the boundary actually is.
He shifts tone, trying to sound conciliatory. Why spend extra money? Just move the fence a metre, not a metre and a half, and well both be happy.
I wont move a fence thats already correct!
He narrows his eyes. Fine, then well go to court. See what they say.
Helen feels a surge of anger. Come on then! Im not scared.
She calls Emma again, recounting the latest threat. Emma suggests a solicitor. Helen asks the council chairman again and is given the name of a local lawyer, Peter Sinclair, who charges a steep fee.
Peter meets Helen in the district office. Hes a man in his forties, wearing a crisp suit. He reviews the documents.
Your title deeds clearly show the boundary. The engineers report will confirm it. Your neighbours plan looks dubious.
How much will the court cost if it goes that far?
Legal fees will run into a few thousand pounds.
Helens heart sinks she cannot afford that. She tells Peter she cant pay. He advises her to represent herself if necessary, but warns it will be tough. She leaves feeling defeated.
The next day two workmen appear at the fence with stakes, hammering them into the ground.
What are you doing? Helen demands.
The owner asked us to mark the new boundary, one replies. A new fence will be built here.
How? Get away from my garden!
Were just placing stakes.
Ill call the police!
She dials 999. The officer who arrives is a young man, barely out of the academy.
Whats happening? he asks. Helen shows him the engineers report and her title deed.
The neighbour says he also has paperwork, the officer replies. Youll have to sort this out between yourselves. If it goes to court, thats where a decision will be made.
Can they keep placing stakes?
They cant erect a fence without your consent; if they do, report it.
The officer leaves. Helen feels helpless.
Emma arrives later that week, taking a day off work. She looks over the papers with Helen.
You have everything in order. Maybe theyre just trying to intimidate you.
Those stakes are still there.
You could have them removed.
Emma asks, If they sue, what then?
You have the engineers report, the title deed, and plenty of neighbours who remember the fences location.
The following day, Helen receives a court summons. Andrew has filed a claim to have the fence moved. Helen and Emma head to the solicitor again. Peter reviews the summons.
Alright, well defend this. Gather all documents: title deed, engineers report, and statements from neighbours who saw the fence for thirty years.
Lydia volunteers to write a statement, as do several other villagers who recall the fences construction by Michael decades ago.
The court date is set for a month later. Helen spends sleepless nights, losing weight, but Emma visits each weekend, offering support.
On the day of the hearing, Helen wears her best dress. Emma rides with her to the county courthouse. Andrew and his solicitor sit on the opposite side, the solicitor in an expensive suit. The judge, a stern woman in her fifties, opens the session.
Mr Clarke, please present your case.
Andrews solicitor: My client purchased this plot, had a boundary survey, and the fence encroaches on his land by a metre and a half. We seek an order for the defendant to move the fence.
He hands over the disputed plan.
Mrs Parker, your response?
Peter steps up. My client holds the title deed, which clearly marks the boundary. An independent cadastral engineer has verified that the fence sits exactly on the legal line. Moreover, multiple longstanding residents can attest that the fence has stood in this position for thirty years.
Witnesses Lydia and three other villagers give statements confirming the fences historic placement. Andrews solicitor attempts to crossexamine, but the witnesses remain steady.
The judge retires to deliberate. Helen sits in the hallway, hands clenched, Emmas hand on her shoulder.
After an hour, the judge returns. Having examined the title deeds, the engineers report, and the witness testimonies, the court finds in favour of Mrs Parker. The boundary is as she claims, and there is no requirement to move the fence.
Relief floods Helen. Emma hugs her. I told you wed win.
Andrew looks defeated. His solicitor whispers something to him.
Outside, Peter shakes Helens hand. Congratulations. Justice has been served.
Helen and Emma board the bus home, holding each others hands in quiet triumph.
Later that evening, Emma helps Helen fix a cup of tea. Will he stay away now? Helen asks.
I think so.
The next morning, Helen steps into the garden and finds the stakes that the workers had driven are gone. A scrap of paper hangs on the fence. She pulls it down; the handwriting is crude and angry:
You may have won the case, but this isnt over. Youll see how we deal with you.
Helen crumples the note, her hands shaking. It feels like a threat.
She calls Emma, who reassures her. Its just intimidation. The law is on your side now.
Helen checks the locks, doublechecks the gates, and keeps the shutters closed at night.
Weeks pass, and Andrew and his family never return. Rumour circulates that they are selling the plot and moving to the city.
Lydia mentions she heard they didnt settle in the area. Probably glad to be gone, she says.
Emma visits on the weekend, and they work together in the garden, planting cabbage and watering the rows.
You know, Mum, maybe this all turned out for the best. At least now you have the paperwork sorted, Emma says.
Yes, I spent enough nerves on this, Helen replies, smiling. But Im proud we stood our ground.
The neighbours house soon goes up for sale, but the asking price is high and no one bites.
Life returns to its simple rhythm: the garden, the chickens, the goat. Emma brings her grandson, who runs around the yard.
Is that your fence, Grandma? the boy asks.
My fence, my land, Helen answers, pride swelling.
She feels a quiet victory: a small pensioner from a English village has held onto her home against a wellheeled, pushy newcomer. Justice, after all, still works.
