THOSE hoping for a glimpse of the countryside within the city tend to seek out parks. In Glasgow there are swathes of parkland and riverside which, if not exactly like being near the hills or glens, offer some balm for those starved of greenery and big sky. Skirling gulls on the Clyde were always a welcome reminder, for me, of the North Sea, which I missed when I lived there, and even more so now, in the heart of the Borders.

Yet within Glasgow’s boundaries there is a unique remnant of old rural life, so quaint it is like stepping back into Robert Burns’s times. Dubbed “the last remaining village in Glasgow”, Carmunnock feels a continent apart from the city’s high-rises and glass offices. Although it is only six and three quarter miles from Glasgow’s Royal Exchange, according to its Victorian finger-signposts, and is a near neighbour of East Kilbride and Busby, the old weaving village of Carmunnock retains its air of rustic charm.

Built on a medieval street plan, this bijou spot was designated a conservation village in 1970. With whitewashed cottages and a mix of old houses and new, it is like an oasis in a densely urbanised landscape. This was the case even in the 19th century when, far from the industrial soot and filth of the city, it acted as its laundry.

Washerwomen would take in linen for Glasgow’s restaurants and those who could afford not to mingle around public water pumps or in communal laundries. The village green where washing was laid out to dry is still there, although sheets and tablecloths no longer flutter in the wind.

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Like other small communities whose flower-bedecked houses could be the set for a period film, Carmunnock looks charmingly tranquil. At the moment, however, it is anything but. A battle is being waged for the soul of the village, with developers and city councillors ranged on one side, and villagers on the other.

Recent proposals to build a number of five-bedroom houses on a public park were initially rejected by the council, on the grounds of having a “significant adverse impact on the landscape character”. This sensible verdict was in line with the local authority’s principle of “exercising a strong presumption against development that would adversely affect the function and integrity of the remaining green belt”.

Yet inexplicably, and shockingly, this decision was over-ruled by the SNP-led Glasgow City Council’s planning review committee. This group of three decided that, far from being an eye-sore or out of keeping, the development would “enhance” the area’s beauty. In response, Carmunnock community council is lodging a legal challenge in the Court of Session.

I wish them well, because what is at stake is critically important. The outcome of this challenge will highlight the strength, or weakness, of provisions protecting greenbelt and conservation areas. Are they fit for purpose, or are they elastic, endlessly stretchable to serve the needs of those in authority as opposed to the wildlife, environment and landscape – not to mention the populace – they were originally designed to protect?

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Even if the houses mooted for Carmunnock were designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, they would be completely unacceptable. In certain situations, free space and greenery are more valuable than even the loveliest building. There is also the added insult of developers hoping to capitalise on a desirable location, where house prices can be inflated. As aggrieved villagers note, there are dozens of brown site areas within the city ripe for a development such as this.

All across the country similar assaults on the greenbelt and areas of environmental importance happen all the time, although I don’t know of any other within a city’s boundaries. Maybe because Carmunnock sits under Glasgow’s wing it is especially at risk of becoming victim to a metropolitan perspective.

Yet you don’t need to be an urban planner to see that what makes such a community special is its atmosphere and appearance, the balance of open land and buildings, and respect for its original character.

Although it first became an issue last century, urban sprawl continues to blight our landscape. If this particular development were to go ahead, it would be in direct contravention not only of the local authority’s guidelines on preserving the green belt, but of Holyrood’s claim to be at the forefront of caring for the environment.

To allow such an inappropriate proposal makes no sense. Unless, of course, our government’s much-vaunted commitment to reducing emissions, and safeguarding nature, is merely a sham.

I don’t believe that is the case. But I do believe that every infringement of the greenbelt, no matter how seemingly small, has huge consequences. Countryside and green space are finite and, as such, are uniquely vulnerable. Once built-on, land is never returned to nature. Every encroachment sets a precedent until eventually the term greenbelt is in danger of becoming meaningless, or as good as saying “Plots for Sale”.

I looked with scorn on Boris Johnson’s quickly aborted plan to build housing estates on England’s greenbelt, but it seems we have no reason to feel superior. To permit construction on areas which have been designated as untouchable, except in extremity, is a dereliction of duty. Giving this the green light is little short of scandalous.

If Carmunnock’s legal challenge fails, it means developers’ interests have triumphed. If they succeed in this instance, then who knows what impact this will have?

Suddenly, the greenbelt and other conservation villages will be under enormous threat. In protected areas, quality of life depends on maintaining the fragile relationship between habitation and habitat. The health of the eco-system in rural areas relies on a constant calibration of human activity and its impact on the wider environment.

If this balancing act is abandoned in favour of houses that could be built elsewhere, then a tipping point is reached. After which, there will be a free-for-all. One village will run into the next. With no fields or hills as buffers between one community and the next, featureless corridors of houses will link towns with their neighbours, until they all merge into a single amorphous identity.

Should this happen, then in no time at all the face of the land will be plastered with bricks. In many districts it already is. Does the host city of COP26 really want to be seen as environmentally clueless?

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of the Herald.