Every so often, we receive a letter that stops us in our tracks, a letter that quietly captures something many must feel but few manage to express. This is one of those.
With her kind permission, we share this moving letter from Mrs C. Hubbard of Warwickshire, who writes with honesty and grace about what it means to be left behind by the digital age. Her words remind us that “progress” should never come at the cost of compassion.
Dear Conservative Post,
I am eighty-four years old, and for the first time in my life, I feel unwelcome in my own country. Not because of my age or my health, but because I still use cash. Because I like to speak to a person, not an app. Because I believe that independence means being able to do things without needing a password, a smartphone or a signal.
Every week, I read another story about how the world is “moving forward”. Another car park goes cashless. Another bank branch closes its doors. Another “upgrade” turns something simple into something impossible. And each time, I feel society taking another quiet step away from people like me.
I am not stupid. I am not lazy. I am not a “Luddite,” as some like to sneer. I simply grew up in a world where you could look someone in the eye, hand them money and know the transaction was done. Now, every little task seems to require a device, an app, a code, a password and endless verification. And if it doesn’t work, well, tough luck.
A few weeks ago I tried to park in the town I’ve lived in for over fifty years. The machine that once took my coins now tells me to “Download the App”. I don’t want an app. I don’t want to type in my card details or “verify my device.” I just want to put in a few coins and get on with my day. I stood there for ten minutes, confused and somewhat embarrassed, until a kind stranger helped, but by then, the pleasure of popping to the shops was gone. Now I find excuses not to go. I stay at home more. And that, I think, is the real cost of this so-called progress.
People say, “You’ll get used to it.” But what they really mean is, “You’ll be left behind if you don’t.” Why is no one in authority standing up for us? Why do our local councillors allow contractors to install these digital-only systems? Is it cheaper for them? More profitable? Certainly not more human.
The truth is, this isn’t just about parking. It’s about belonging. It’s about dignity. Every time a machine replaces a person, every time a service goes “online only”, another thread in the fabric of community is cut. We the elderly, the digitally excluded, the cautious, are quietly disappearing from public life, not because we want to, but because the systems no longer welcome us.
I hear the Government talk about “Digital ID” as the next great innovation. I shudder. If I can’t even park a car without feeling like a trespasser, how am I supposed to navigate an entirely digital identity? It feels less like modernisation and more like marginalisation, as if the goal is to make life so confusing that those of us who don’t fit the digital mould simply give up.
We are told that a cashless, app-driven world is inevitable. But inevitability is a choice, not a law of nature. Councils could insist on keeping coin machines. Banks could maintain cash access. Businesses could choose to serve everyone, not just the tech-savvy. Yet too often, convenience for the system outweighs compassion for the citizen.
To those in power, I say this: progress that excludes is not progress at all. It is abandonment dressed up as efficiency.
I don’t want special treatment. I just want to be allowed to live, to shop, to park, and to participate in a society that remembers that technology is supposed to serve people, not replace them.
If this is what “modern Britain” means, a place where friendship, independence and belonging are lost in the glow of a touchscreen, then forgive me if I long for the past. Because in that world, I mattered.
Yours faithfully,
Mrs C. Hubbard
Main Image: For illustration purposes only.
