In these days of online shopping, when most of us can have everything from the Christmas turkey to the washing powder delivered at the tap of a key, it is unusual to hear of a community reversing the trend and returning to donkey power. But for the sake of the 30 or so families living along the formidably steep hill that runs up through the village of Chalford in Gloucestershire, Teddy is prepared to go where no Ocado delivery van will venture. Every Saturday morning — unless it’s raining — he plods on, delivering necessities up and down the slope to those houses inaccessible by car: basic groceries, as well as locally sourced sausages, organic broccoli, bread and sweets, newspapers and magazines are carried in two large baskets strung across his back. All Teddy expects from his customers is the odd sip of water and an apple for his troubles. So far he has delighted the 500-strong Chalford community.

Teddy has revived an old Chalford tradition, dating back hundreds of years, of using donkeys to help the villagers carry goods up and down their steep road; in the early 20th century he’d also have carried coal. When the second world war broke out, donkeys — like everything — were harder to come by, and for the rest of the century, though a few donkeys came and went, villagers have had to lug their own shopping up the exhausting 200-yard stretch. While most of the families living on the hill have cars, they have to park them at the top or bottom of the slope. It is mostly young families who live along this stretch, taking advantage of the comparatively low house prices in return for struggling up and down with small children and heavy shopping.

This time a year ago, Teddy was a mere twinkle in the eye of his owner, Anna Usborne. She had grown up with donkeys on her family’s small farm and had seen photographs from the 1930s showing donkeys working in Chalford. She was convinced she’d had a brainwave, and most of her neighbours took to the idea immediately. Chalford’s older generation was less enthusiastic. They could remember the not-so-good old days, when life truly was tough. “They said I was mad. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to take the village back into the dark ages, that it was bad enough the first time.” And the parish council turned down her request for a donation of £250.

Undeterred, Anna managed to raise £800 to buy Teddy from a man running donkey rides on a beach in South Wales. “He has a lovely temperament,” says Anna. “Very docile and friendly.” Today, Teddy is housed at her smallholding outside the village, and is a favourite with the local children. Sadly, though their parents could use his help to ferry them up the hill, the insurance premium would be prohibitive. Anna already pays £320 a year for public liability insurance, just in case Teddy knocks off a car wing mirror, or worse. His upkeep costs around £700 a year, which she recoups in donations from satisfied customers and Teddy’s growing band of fans.

Teddy is fairly low maintenance, needing a few carrots, hay, fresh grass and a shed for the night. Every Saturday he is out of his shed at 9am, ready for his three-hour delivery round: up the hill from the shop in the valley, round the houses and back again. Donkey welfare officers have advised that he carry no more than eight stone, but he rarely carries more than two. And he has company, which donkeys need, or they can suffer from anxiety and depression. Chester — smaller than Teddy and a rather ineffectual donkey — is unable to carry heavy loads, but enjoys trotting round with his friend.

Meanwhile, Teddy has become something of a local celebrity. “There’s been quite a buzz in the village since he arrived,” Anna says. She is working on ideas for what to do about the extra deliveries Teddy regularly makes on the paths and in his customers’ gardens. “But most people don’t mind,” she says. “They know it’s good for their roses."

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