You could help to save the Rural Activities Garden Centre by completing the council’s consultation

Lyrics:
In Colham and Cowley, a special place many people knew,
A sanctuary where confidence and vulnerable people grew.
Brenda’s there for thirty years, and Steven’s found his feet,
A place where Oliver felt valued, a victory so sweet.
It helped young Georgia find her voice and gave her room to bloom,
They called it their “hidden gem”, then sealed its final doom.

They worked the soil and raised the beds, and built it from the start,
They poured their love into the place, with hands and willing heart.
The prizes came, the borough praised, a reputation made,
A Hampton Court gold medal, so proudly was displayed.
A stage to show the borough’s best, a jewel in Hillingdon’s crown,
Before the men with spreadsheets came, to tear the whole thing down.

(Chorus)
Oh, the books must all be balanced, the funding must cease!
Don’t mind the broken spirits, just keep the fiscal peace!
It’s all about procedure, it’s just the way things go,
We’ve heard your little petitions, but the answer’s still a “No”.

They said the books were in the red, a subsidy too great.
A “commercial” venture that had failed, and couldn’t pull its weight.
But the residents stood up and said, “You’ve got the story wrong!
Its purpose was a social enterprise all along!”
You pulled the funding from the café, told them not to go for grants.
You starved it of its oxygen, then said it had no chance.

The people signed in thousands, to make their voices heard.
A hearing in the Chamber, to hang on every word.
They spoke of law and duty, and begged for eighteen months of grace.
While Corporate Directors sat in silence, with a calm and placid face.
The only thing resolved that night, the minutes make it plain:
The Member listened to their views, and then went home again.

The Cabinet convened in June, to rubber-stamp the deed,
The Leader stayed away that day—a truly wilting weed.
The Member for Environment, whose paper it was then,
Was also marked as absent, he didn’t hold the pen.
So the Deputy took the hotseat, a hero for the day,
And brushed the “Asset” question so cleverly away.
“An ACV?” he calmly said, “Is irrelevant right now,
It only matters if we sell,” he said with furrowed brow.

They offered up a new solution, “enhanced” and “full of care”.
Some planters at the Civic Centre, with lots of paving there.
A “rich and varied learning space,” the press release declared.
How “disingenuous” and “misleading,” no feelings had been spared.
To trade two acres, ponds and woods, for a concrete council plot,
Is a better class of service? We all know that it’s not.

But the people kept on banging, upon that hollow drum.
And at the Council meeting, their moment had to come.
A question from the public, that they could not ignore,
“You’ve missed the eight-week deadline, what is the statute for?”
An apology was mumbled, for the process gone astray,
“We’re looking at it now,” they said, “we’ll sort it right away.”

But two weeks passed in total silence, the promise turns to dust,
The council’s word, it seems to be, a thing you cannot trust.
They tore a hole in the community, for Douglas and for George.
They took away their safe space, with no emotion to discharge.
Now a plot of land sits waiting, behind a locked-up gate,
A “hidden gem” they threw away, and sealed our gardeners’ fate.
And “Putting Residents First” it says… but some are left behind,
It’s the cruelest cut you’ll ever find, for body, soul, and mind.