So who IS the phantom pothole filler of Lostwithiel? ‘Cornwall’s biggest pothole’ was secretly filled in by a vigilante after the council failed to tackle it… Now, amid a national whodunnit, JANE FRYER tracks down TWO prime suspects
Until recently, life for the 3,000-odd residents of Lostwithiel, in Cornwall, was pretty quiet.
There was the usual hum of coffee mornings, pottery sessions and folk jam Fridays. Plans were being finalised for LostFest, the annual free festival. And the chat in the town centre flicked gently between the woeful state of the roads, the extended museum opening hours and an alarming, but happily unfounded, rumour that butcher Alistair Blaxley had done something new with the fat in his superb Cornish pasties.
Now, though, as I walk the sunny streets, the place is abuzz with a different sort of chat — dramatic tales of a ‘phantom pothole-filler’. A ‘pothole vigilante’. A Robin Hood of the asphalt who turns up with diggers, vans and bags of cement and fills up potholes when the council is twiddling its thumbs.
Stories have been popping up in newspapers and news channels around the world.
‘I’ve got a friend in America who’s been in touch asking, “What’s all this about the ‘Lostwithiel hole-filler?” ’ says Hugh Grehem, 68, out for a bike ride in his Lycra. ‘He wanted to know who did it.’
After the council failed to tackle it, ‘Cornwall’s Biggest Pothole’ was secretly filled in by a vigilante with a lorry, steel bars and a job load of cement
Now, amid a national whodunnit, Jane Fryer tracks down TWO prime suspects
He isn’t the only one. The identity of the phantom filler isn’t just the talk of the town but now a national whodunnit.
‘If I knew who it was, I’d buy him a pint,’ says a retired teacher called Chris. ‘No, I’d buy him ten!’
‘For his sake, I hope they never find him,’ adds the volunteer behind the desk in the museum, concerned that the authorities want to punish rather than praise him. ‘Just look at the roads. We need him out in the field doing what he does best.’
For the benefit of anyone who has had their head under a blanket for the past week or so, let me explain.
In March, ‘Cornwall’s biggest pothole’ was found on the outskirts of Lostwithiel, on a road edged with bluebells, ferns, lichen and great arches of tangled trees.
It was so big — 10 ft across and 15 in deep, a total monster — that the council blocked off the entire road. And then left it for weeks. (The delay was apparently something to do with drainage and a nearby spring and pipes.) Which was deeply annoying for residents forced to make a three-mile detour.
But a fortnight ago yesterday and under cover of the King’s Coronation, someone quietly fixed it, apparently with reinforced steel bars and a job load of cement.
‘He did it out of the goodness of his heart, to help us all,’ says a lady called June in the newsagent.
Within hours, he — perhaps sexist, but everyone assumes it’s a man because of the size of the concrete blockades that needed moving — reopened the road. Delighted drivers were whizzing off up Bodmin Hill and counting their lucky stars for such brilliant community spirit.
Job done, you might think.
In theory, anyone who spots a pothole is encouraged to take a picture and send it to the council, who will send someone out to fix it
However, the system hasn’t been working
But then things got rather silly. Because instead of being thrilled that a good Samaritan had ticked something off their long to-do list, the council went bananas.
Three days later, it re-closed the road on health and safety grounds (to all but a steady stream of grey-haired cyclists who squeeze along one side), replaced the barriers with a warning that the repairs had been completed ‘by persons unknown, without consent’ and even talked of calling the police.
Oh yes, and then announced that the route would now be closed until June at the earliest.
It was at this point that the story hit the news.
Colin Martin, the town’s very committed and articulate Lib Dem councillor, gave interviews on local radio, blaming it all on Tory cuts to road maintenance. Jacob Rees-Mogg jumped on it in Westminster as an example of the box-ticking public sector versus private enterprise.
‘The bureaucratic state hates being humiliated so it resorts to bullying the good citizen,’ he said.
Meanwhile, back in Cornwall, the road remained closed and the hunt for the phantom filler intensified.
The council wanted to speak to him urgently — presumably to tick him off and make clear that, because of the complex drainage issues, this was not a run-of-the-mill pothole and needed specialist care.
Rumour has it the police were after him, Lord knows what for. Criminal damage to a road?
But many locals just wanted to thank him. For trying to help. For sticking his neck out in the face of tiresome bureaucracy. Even though his well-intentioned efforts are bound to result in the road being shut for even longer, they are just grateful he tried.
But who is he?
‘Ah, we can’t possibly tell you,’ says Paul, 48. ‘A lot of us know — or think we know — but we’ll never spill the beans to anyone from outside.’
Which means the whole town is awash with winks, nudges and a lot of misinformation.
Suggestions so far include everyone from farmers to builders to Cornish piskies to councillor Colin Martin, whose own wife suspected him.
‘When I told her about it, her first reaction was: “Tell me this wasn’t you, Colin!” ’ he says.
As a result of spending cuts, road maintenance inspectors have to deal with a thousand potholes a week, up from 300 a couple of years ago [File image]
Why? Because he has always shown great passion for filling in potholes?
‘No, because she knew how badly I wanted to get it filled. How badly I wanted that road open again. But it wasn’t me. I might do a bit of DIY in my own house but I’ve never worked with concrete. Ever,’ he adds firmly.
OK, so not Colin.
The next chap I come across is a very fit retiree called Geoff Barratt, who tells me he biked up past the end of the road on Coronation Sunday and saw the builder’s truck in situ.
‘I thought it was an odd day for the council to be out but I was just happy they were finally doing it.’
Aha! So what colour was the truck you saw?
‘Brown. Or grey. Or . . . No. Sorry. I can’t remember. Just a truck.’
Oh, Geoff!
And he had no involvement in all this himself?
‘Definitely not!’ he says firmly. ‘And neither did my wife Shelley.’
It turns out it was Shelley who inadvertently alerted the council in an email a couple of days later, to thank them for finally fixing the hole problem. ‘And they emailed back to say it was done illegally, the road was closed again and the police should be called,’ says Geoff.
A bit later I bump into cyclist Hugh, a lovely chap who used to run a refrigerated haulage company, lives just round the corner from the hole and was an eyewitness to the whole thing.
‘I cycled past while they were doing the work. I saw one bloke I knew working and another just standing there not doing much at all,’ he says. ‘I even took a picture. I was going to post it on WhatsApp to let people know the road was open.’
Bingo! So who was it — a builder? A farmer? What’s his name?
‘Oh, so sorry, I’ve forgotten. I’ve got a terrible memory. Had a bad fall a couple of years ago,’ he says, smiling apologetically.
And the picture?
‘No, no. Of course I can’t show you that,’ he says cheerily. ‘But they did a proper job — steel bars and concrete. They knew what they were doing. It’s perfectly safe.’
So I head back up to Bodmin Hill, beside the giant muddle of barriers and concrete blocks, for another look. And while I am not a pothole expert, it does look pretty good — certainly good enough to attract passing praise.
‘Thank you, Mr Pothole. You’re my hero, whoever you are!’ cries one old boy with a lustrous silver moustache as he pedals past. ‘Good job!’
Though if we’re nitpicking, the edges are a touch raggedy and the ‘rim’ — perhaps not a technical pothole term — is a teeny bit more prominent on the verge side.
But it looks very sturdy. And, most importantly, it is filled, even if the road is still impassable.
Because over the past couple of years, locals have been driven to distraction by potholes.
In theory, anyone who spots a pothole is encouraged to take a picture and send it to the council, who will send someone out to fix it. But the system hasn’t been working.
As a result of spending cuts, road maintenance inspectors have to deal with a thousand potholes a week, up from 300 a couple of years ago.
A pot hole from Fairley of Lutonsouth cambridge council
Things got so bad in one nearby village that a giant pothole was turned into a flowerbed — planted with spring flowers — and people simply drove round it.
On the Lostwithiel website, one lady suggested daubing giant penis shapes around the potholes — ‘that would hurry the council up a bit’.
But, of course, it’s not just a problem in Cornwall. As we all know, potholes are political hot potatoes. The state of our roads says too much about broken Britain. No wonder Rishi Sunak promised a clampdown on potholes at the launch of the Conservative local election campaign last month.
Which is why, for many here in Lostwithiel, the phantom filler is already a local hero, a legend of asphalt and cement sticking two fingers up at red tape. ‘We’ll never betray him, never!’ says a woman pushing a pram.
As my sleuthing continues, mention of one chap — who, on social media describes himself as having ‘a big heart but a bigger chin’ — keeps popping up.
He runs a building business and is a dab hand with cement, is a football-mad family man and, from his online profile, looks like the sort of cheeky chap who could make any party swing. Could it be him? At last, have I tracked down the phantom filler? I call him — his mobile number is listed for his business — and the conversation goes like this.
Me: Hi, hi. Is that Mr X? Are you any good at filling potholes?
Him: ‘Ha, ha! Yes, I’m the best!’
I thought you might be. Have you ever done any big ones?
‘Aha! I can do big ones, little ones, whatever you want.’ Maybe one that’s big enough to block a road?
‘Possibly. I could possibly get my hands around that, yes!’
And would you do it with concrete and steel rods?
‘It depends on the road . . .’
And, er, did you have a good Coronation weekend?
I did, thank you very much. Well, I wasn’t working. Sorry, I can’t really remember the Sunday. Must have got completely obliterated. No memory at all!’
Ah, er, any message for the phantom filler?
‘Congratulations! Well done. I think they got away with it. I don’t think anyone’s been caught yet, have they? Well, I’ve had no police outside my door.’
And finally, is the concrete definitely strong enough?
‘That’s not going anywhere. I can tell you that,’ he says. ‘Not from the pictures I’ve looked at anyway. Because, of course, I’ve done nothing . . .’
Of course not.
But just as I think I’ve got him, another builder — a retired concrete master who laid motorways and dual carriageways back in the day — comes forward, insisting he was responsible. And that he only did it to help people out and can’t understand what all the fuss is about.
‘I thought it was a good thing to do, personally. I think I did everybody a favour,’ he says.
‘If anything, the council should be thanking me, not hunting me down. I spent seven hours and £1,000 hiring the equipment and buying materials.’
He claims he has receipts for the hire of equipment and photos and is happy to admit all that. But, naturally, only anonymously.
And there we have it. A brilliant community cover-up full of winks, nudges and knowing smirks, ensuring the identity of the phantom pothole-filler remains something of a mystery, at least outside Lostwithiel.
Although, sadly, it goes without saying that the road to Bodmin remains closed.
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