In the East Midlands, between Leicestershire, Lincolnshire, and Northamptonshire, sits Rutland - England's smallest county, a pocket of quaintness that is currently fighting for its very existence. The latest skirmish? Road signs. Ten official "Rutland" welcome signs have mysteriously vanished, prompting the council to remove the remaining 17. Now, there are no official county signs at all. It's a fitting metaphor for a place whose administrative identity is about to be absorbed into Leicestershire county council in spring 2028, as part of the government's plan to create 15 new unitary councils across England.
Conservative MP Alicia Kearns, who represents Rutland and Stamford, is "not sure" why the signs keep disappearing, but she has a clearer view on the merger: it's "having our identity stripped from us." The government says the shake-up will cut duplication in the two-tier system and let larger councils focus on priorities like housebuilding. But Rutland - population just over 41,000 - will be merged into a new authority of about 500,000 people. Cue the Save Rutland campaign, complete with a paper-and-pen petition signed by 7,141 people and presented to parliament. How delightfully old-fashioned.
Rutland is, as the Guardian's reporter discovers, "oddly quaint." Oakham Castle boasts over 200 horseshoes, payment of the "horseshoe toll" by visiting royals and peers (the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh coughed up one in 2024). The county is home to the UK's largest reservoir by surface area, Rutland Water, plus the National Leg Wrestling Championships and the World Nurdling Championship (players throw pennies into a hole in a wooden seat; the winner is dubbed "best tosser"). The first person to translate the Qur'an from Arabic into Latin came from the village of Ketton. And in 2022, a 10-metre-long "sea dragon" fossil was unearthed. Also, Rutland was the last county to get a McDonald's - in 2020, and even then, the decision "was really controversial."
Kearns, who moved to the county after her 2019 election, is a passionate advocate. The pub scene helps: at the George & Dragon in Seaton, 30-year-old owner Ralph Offer notes that being in England's smallest county is its "biggest selling point." But the question of whether Rutland is actually the smallest depends on your definition. Historic counties? Yes, smallest at 382 sq km. Ceremonial counties? Fourth-smallest, after the City of London (2.90 sq km), Bristol (110 sq km), and the Isle of Wight (380 sq km). It's that ceremonial status - the lord lieutenant and high sheriff - that the Save Rutland campaign is fighting to keep, and it's not protected by legislation. Rutland is the only ceremonial county due to be wholly absorbed into a new local government area.
Joshua Malone of the Historic Counties Institute warns that merging could diminish Rutland's "visibility and official recognition" in civic life, signage, and administration. His solution: realign lieutenancy areas with historic counties, so Rutland's identity isn't tied to shifting administrative boundaries. Kearns has twice tried to enshrine Rutland's ceremonial status in law, but the government rejected her amendments. Still, she thinks ministers "genuinely didn't realise" the impact, since Rutland is uniquely affected. The Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government insists it will "protect Rutland's strong sense of community and heritage and ensure its unique identity endures."
Not everyone is moved to tears. Labour councillor Ramsay Ross, who represents Oakham North West, points out that Rutland has poverty too, and the merger "will allow us to access more economic development funds," potentially for affordable housing. He laughs at the campaign: "I can't see ceremonial status as the be-all and end-all." Pub customer David Coop, 55, agrees, calling it "pretty pointless." But retired academic Colin Lowther, 75, signed the petition because "people have historical roots here." Local blogger Charlie Pallett, 31, who helped start the campaign, was inspired by her late grandmother, who protested the first merger in 1974. "Now she's no longer with us I feel as if she's shouting down at me, saying: 'You'd better fight for it, because we lost it once before.'"
Cynics might see the campaign as wealthier Rutlanders avoiding absorption into poorer Leicestershire - Ross notes the most concerned tend to be Conservative supporters. But there's something touching about people who love where they live. As Coop puts it, local identity doesn't come from "what somebody else decides, what it's called or how big it is." Even if the road signs are gone, Rutland's spirit - and its excellent bakery sandwiches - remain.