LAND OF WHAT IF

It is often said that moving home is one of the most stressful things in life and I can confirm that this is absolutely true. By the time you read this I will (hopefully) be residing in our lovely new home, but getting there will have been an anxiety inducing, time consuming, horrendously uncertain experience. This is what happened. The first problem was the state of the property market. After the inspired decision to bring in a year-long stamp duty holiday (because, let’s face it, the first thing you need to do in the middle of a pandemic is move house) the market went into a frenzy, then promptly tanked. As a result, hardly any properties were coming up for sale and any that were sold within a few weeks. By some miracle, we managed to find a house that we loved that was also within budget, but we then faced the stark reality that by the time we sold our existing home, the one we found would have been snapped up by someone else and we would have nowhere to buy. So, we hatched a cunning plan – we would rent out our existing home, raise a let to buy mortgage against it and then use the money as a deposit on our new house. Very cunning indeed, but there were just two problems; firstly, the money raised through the LTB mortgage would be a lot less than that raised by simply selling our home and secondly, the already colossal amount of stamp duty payable on the new house would effectively double. This meant that we would need a whopping mortgage on the new home, and this is where the trouble really started.

Mortgage lenders don’t like people like us – we’re too old, we’re not rich enough and, most damningly of all, we’re self-employed. Consequently, we were transported to the land of what if: what if we can’t prove that our income is sufficient; what if we can’t provide all the hundreds of documents the lender demands; what if the valuation comes back too low; what if there is a problem with the searches? This is far and away the most stressful part of moving home, getting the mortgage… and we had to get two of the damn things! Despite all this, we got our mortgages, the searches were fine, and our new home isn’t falling down – we’re moving house! But I can’t help thinking that it doesn’t have to be this way. The housing market simply isn’t functioning properly, largely due to ill-conceived government policy, particularly when it comes to stamp duty. Stamp duty rates and thresholds were last changed in 2014… apart from forcing people who happen to own a share in another property to pay a 3% surcharge, of course. In between times, the average house price has risen by 54%, which means that this time we will pay almost as much in stamp duty as I paid to buy my first home 30 years ago. The stamp duty system is sucking the life out of the property market and needs to be urgently reviewed.

There is also a huge gulf between the way employed and self-employed people are treated when applying for a mortgage. As a salaried employee, it is pretty straightforward – provide your last three payslips and maybe a letter from your employer and that’s job done. If you’re self-employed, we’re talking SA302s, company accounts and tax year overviews for the last two years and, even then, there will be numerous queries to be answered. The whole thing is so complicated that you need a mortgage adviser to guide you through the process, which leads me to the next problem – a good mortgage adviser is worth their weight in gold; a bad one will give you a nervous breakdown. How do you tell the difference between them?

An Englishman’s home may still be his castle, but only if he’s rich enough to be a cash buyer.

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26 26 | Historical Pages

www.tradelocally.co.uk THE PAPER READ… ‘THE PEASANTS WERE

REVOLTING!’1797-1815 (PART 29)

Thomas Broster sat in his usual place by the fire of the Cock Inn to sip his pint of Bents Ale, and to read his newspaper after a hard day’s work at his mill in the lane leading to Stallington Hall. Pulling a single candle closer to illuminate the small typeface, the news that adorned the broadsheet was the usual mixture of local sales of land, news about the exploits of the rising star of the navy Lord Nelson in the war against the French. But what interested him most was the London market price of wheat. As he put his paper down his attention was drawn to a small article being discussed in Parliament relating to the second reading of a Bill with respect to something called Income Tax.

He paid it little heed. The Staffordshire Advertiser was first published in 1795 by Joshua Drewry. The newspaper had been a godsend for businessmen like him, for the price of milled flour increased by the week and it enabled him to control how much stock he could release for sale to maximise his profit margin. With fine flour selling for 95 shillings and his seconds at 90 shillings per sack, his decision to produce two sacks from almost the same amount of grain made absolute sense. He justified his logical thoughts, by modification, suggesting, ‘Maybe just a single sack tomorrow of ‘fine’, for the gentle folk, who demanded only the best white for their refined palate. The inclement weather that had prevailed since that autumn had abated just as the new year turned, although a morning frost still lingered in the air. He read further of floods along the River Severn and the ever-increasing price of potatoes and turnips being sold in Stafford market. Finishing his last sip of beer, he ventured into the gathering dusk and walked slowly along the Uttoxeter turnpike towards the crossways. As always, he saw bedraggled individuals heading towards the Potteries. Usually from the east Midlands and drawn to the ever labour demanding industry, these dishevelled and forlorn creatures were the flotsam leftovers from the agricultural field enclosures of the previous century. Often turned off the land by their landlords to raise sheep instead, there appeared to be a steady stream of migrants hoping for a better life in the growing towns. Thomas shook his head by the naivety of their belief and wrapped his coat even further around him as a cold wind blew down the road.

As he reached the junction with the Cheadle turnpike, a familiar face greeted him with a smile. ‘Good day, Jud!’ Thomas said….’Sorry to hear and read about your trouble!’ he continued.

‘That damn woman will be the death of me!’ came the reply. ‘Done everything I can I as ter make ‘er appy, but she’s never satisfied. Spends money quicker than the weeds grow in me field…so I jus’ had to do it. I willna pay another penny fo’ er as long as her lives that fo’ sure!’

George Hammersley was a tenant farmer from Dilhorne whose land he worked for himself and Squire Holliday, old master who lived in the Big House. His wife Jane appears to have been free spending and he placed an advert into the Staffordshire Advertiser (26th April 1800) disclaiming any responsibility for her debts. ‘When is ee off to market again Thomas?’, said George. ‘This coming Monday at the crack of dawn, for I’m takin’ it to Newcastle instead of Stafford and I wish to catch the market in the early afternoon, because I’ll get a better price when everything else has been snapped up…shortage of flour sees! I’ll leave me boy to carry on at mill.

Any chance I can bring me wagon of last year’s spuds and norfolks (turnips). Oi’ve been holdin’ onto them as long as I can, but can’t much longer in case, they goo’s off! We can goo together.’ So, the arrangement was made and the two men bade their farewells and departed in opposite directions. *****

Thomas was already loaded before the sun crept over the fields in the east, with just a few yards to go to meet George he decided to wait until