First person - Sarah Mayhew Craddock: Looking up at enchanted city

One of the greatest pleasures that I take in living in Oxford is looking up. Having moved to the city from Birmingham five years ago I was immediately enchanted by the difference between skylines and the labyrinthine twists and turns that I made as I familiarised myself with all aspects of Oxford.

Five years later I remain as enchanted as I did on that very first walk that I made at dusk, the time when the light softens, just before the birds stop singing, and before people draw their curtains allowing passers by a glimpse into their private worlds. Strolling along the likes of the largely traffic-free Queen’s Lane, Merton Street, North Parade, and various canal towpaths the difference between a city built for the car, and one built before the word had ever been muttered became starkly apparent.

Of course, a city that can’t easily accommodate cars has its drawbacks, not least commercially, but socially, uninterrupted space can give communities the opportunity to gather, and I was beyond thrilled to have found myself in a city with sufficient space for society to breathe.

I quickly came to the conclusion that Oxford is a bit of a Tardis, and at times parts of the city can feel like a members’ club owing to the passionate ownership some members of the public stamp on that special bit of space that means so much to them.

A couple of photographer friends came to visit a few years ago and after roaming the streets, cameras in hand, commented on not having ever encountered quite so many community notice boards anywhere else on their travels (and they travel extensively) as they had in Oxford, “And they’re so active, everyone has something to say, rallying troops for one thing or another.”

I recently inherited a dog, and as my travelling speed has dropped from that of a sweaty cyclist to a brisk walk, I have become more aware of these community notice boards just as I have become more grateful for the, at times sensational, green spaces squirrelled in the most unlikely locations across the city centre.

Here lieth my love affair with Oxford. Scratch beneath the transient population of students and there are communities, real communities of people actively fighting the corner of the patch of Oxford that they hold most dear. From the Friends of Warneford Meadow, to the Jericho Wharf Trust, Port Meadow campaigners and the Friends of Aston’s Eyot, to name but a few.

It would seem that Oxford is home to a whole host of active groups of people with the community’s best interests at heart. People that don’t sit on fences, but dig for victory, and I hope that these people are victorious in their valiant efforts to save, maintain, and preserve the integrity of these precious spaces.

Sandwiched between a scrapyard, the river, and a Sea Cadets hut, my special place in Oxford is Aston’s Eyot. It’s the place more than any other in the city, that allows me to change pace and enjoy my escapism within a five-minute walk of my home, and most importantly it’s free for everyone.

It’s a place that I bump into friends, where I make friends, where I think through my troubles, and get lost in nature. I’m no town-planner, psychologist or sociologist, but I know that these places are extremely important for a physically and mentally healthy population, and I’m so incredibly grateful that I live in a city with so many pockets of perfection — long may they remain that way and free for all to enjoy.