What we can learn about the joy of community from the 17th century Digger movement

At the lowest point of mine, in the middle of chaos and heartbreak, I typed “world turned upside down” into a search engine, looking for answers or a remedy for heartbreak. Instead, I found a book by Christopher Hill about the radical groups of the English Civil War. In a way I did find a remedy because down that rabbit hole I went. Discovering the Levellers, who were the first to formally call for the vote, and my favourites, the Diggers.

In 1649, facing poverty, unemployment and inflation (sound familiar?), the Diggers declared the earth should be a “common treasury”, cultivated by everyone for the benefit of all. They set up collective farms on common land, challenging private property and social hierarchies. For a year their communities spread across England – until they were driven off the land.

My work always involves embedding myself with Britain’s hobbyists and enthusiasts for three to four years, before developing theatre from what I’ve learned. I thought: this is my next show.

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The only snag was that all the original Diggers had been dead for centuries. So, in search of them, I joined an English Civil War re-enactment group – modern enthusiasts dedicated to keeping that time in history alive. They welcomed me with open arms, kitted me out in uniform and made me a musketeer. I quickly became part of the firm, only to discover one small problem: there weren’t any Diggers in the society at all.

Meanwhile, in my day job, I’d been chosen by locals as artist-in-residence in Whitehawk, a council estate in East Brighton where around half the children live in poverty and life expectancy is 10 years lower than the rest of the city. I first came here 17 years ago when I was working with pigeon fanciers and sometimes ran stand-up comedy workshops for kids. There was always something special about this community on the hill, with views down to the sea.

Through the residency I met Bryan from East Brighton Food Co-op. He’s an ex-market stall holder who shouts every sentence like he’s still selling fruit and veg. At the start of the pandemic, he recruited pensioner volunteers, sourced surplus food from restaurants and cruise ships, and together they cooked 400 hot meals a day. He knew people were slipping through the cracks, so he did something about it. How? By squatting a kitchen. Every day, Bryan and his pensioner army trespassed and broke the law to feed the community. He is now heading a campaign calling on government to bring back meals on wheels.

Then there’s Lacie from Crew Club, a youth centre born out of tragedy. It was set up by parents after the murder of 16-year-old Jay Kensitt, when traumatised kids needed somewhere safe to grieve. It started in a dusty old borrowed portacabin, and they had to beg the council for keys. The children cleaned it, found furniture, and created a place they felt ownership of. Today Crew Club is a permanent building, home to a boxing club, toddler groups, a food bank and free lunch clubs – still run without council funding, still loved by the community.

Whitehawk is full of people like this: neighbours helping neighbours, creating solutions when the state fails them. It’s a universal story – there are Whitehawks all over the UK. There are Lacies and Bryans everywhere, and you’ll recognise their characters in the show. That’s when I realised: the Diggers aren’t in re-enactment societies. They’re right here, alive in our communities.

There’s more to tell: the mischief we got up to, the re-enactment we staged on the estate with locals playing the Diggers and the re-enactment society playing landlords and soldiers, the patch of land we reclaimed and turned into a food-growing garden, teaching kids to plant veg and only asking permission for the land afterwards. But for those stories you’ll have to see the show.

Despite the show being a one-woman performance directed by comedy legend Mark Thomas, I’m never really alone on stage. The soundscape has been created by young people from Whitehawk. Locals knitted vegetable props. Every stage of the process has been shaped with the community.

The Diggers’ dream of a collective effort lives on – not in the past, but in the present. In a world where we can feel powerless, this is about hope, about the small but tangible things already happening in our neighbourhoods. Trouble, Struggle, Bubble and Squeak is more than a show: it’s part of a bigger project. A garden that will keep growing after the tour, relationships that will continue to flourish, and a story that might just make you want to get more involved. It’s about the joy of community and the power of collective action.

Trouble, Struggle, Bubble and Squeak will tour across the UK until 14 November, victoriamelody.com.

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