December 2002
Hey-ho, another sunny day in paradise.
The ear-filling, crotch-soaking rain we all know and love up here, is beginning to show its hostile face.

There are many folk living in the east of the county, who enjoy an annual rainfall of (I believe) less than a third of that enjoyed up here.

A rainbow over Dartmoor

And I count myself lucky not to have been born onto a farm further up in the clouds.

There are, I consider, probably seven holdings hereabouts that are worse off in this respect than ourselves.

I wouldn’t wish to work any damned one of them! It's an easily observable fact that a stockman who farms land with extreme precipitation (high or low) will know the figures to the inch.

Rain, rain go away
When seeking a tough Scottish bred ram, I’ve found that the first question is to ask the breeder how much rainfall the flock enjoys.

A roundabout answer - as opposed to a number greater than 80’’ - is the signal to look elsewhere.

I would observe that none of the local farms referred to above seem to be viable in their own right any more. They are all, to the best of my knowledge, propped up with ‘off land’ and/or alterative incomes and, of course, no small amount of publicly funded subsidy.

If there was ever a case for reinforcing the need for some form of assistance then there it is.

Those holdings are, in the main, close to abandonment as functional farms.

It is hard to imagine in this region, but there are several areas of the UK where this is already happening.

There are already tracts of land in the Welsh mountains, the back country in County Durham’s hills and especially the Highlands and Islands north of the border (to name but a few) where the old farmers and shepherds are retiring and the young folk have already gone.

Unlike this end of the country where a ready supply of white settlers will jump at the chance of a redundant farm stead, in the wilds of the north it means that the houses fall in, the local economy withers and communities disappear.

One of the most poignant examples of this process has a fascinating twist.

Deserted
One of the Scottish Islands was abandoned a couple of decades ago when the last handful of elderly crofters gave up. This very likely bought to an end at least a 2-3000 year history of human occupation.

A Scottish Island

The remaining few cattle were left to run feral. They have now settled, I’m told, into a herd of ‘wild’ cattle living - or otherwise - as their constitution and the weather permit.

I saw a photo of these cattle, now 5-10 generations down the line and 20 something adults in number, complete with dominant bull.

And you know what? They are a very fine looking bunch indeed. Healthy, shiny and fat! So much so that I was led to wander how one goes about obtaining a young bull from this herd.

They are manifestly an extraordinary healthy line, although I assume that a closed gene-pool will eventually become a problem.

Perhaps the ‘good cattle fairy’ would swap a yearling of mine for one of those!

Joking aside, I believe that an academic body is watching the herds development with great interest, along with, we suspect, several hard-nosed hill farmers like myself.

I don’t doubt that DEFRA would have kittens, should they focus on the issues the matter raises! Happily, the DEFRA staff that I know to be following this column are, as individuals, probably delighted that there exists such an enclave beyond their departmental interference.

Sorry, I seem to have gone off on one there! All that from a mention of the weather!

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