Latest blog from Wild Beef

Making a Difference

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Earlier this month a tousled headed girl, who I had not seen for some while, appeared at my stall on Broadway. "Hello" says I, "I haven't seen you for a while". "I've been away" says she. "Anywhere exciting?" says I. "Yes" says she, "I've been driving a truck with medical equipment to Palestine". I was astonished; a petite imp of a girl, barely 5ft tall (5ft 2 1/2ins I have on good authority), could hardly reach the pedals!

I was fascinated, and when Sue, from the toy stall came over, we listened, rivetted, for at least 20 mins. She, Lorty Phillips, took time off work to make the journey, and her story is fascinating. She has a blog, as long as a loo-roll - that makes compelling reading. In essence, they were feted as they travelled, particularly in Turkey and Saudi Arabia, but once at the Palestinian border, every coceivable obstacle was put in their way by both the Israelis and the Egyptians, costing time, money and effort for no ultimate purpose whatsoever. A sea journey was enforced, quite unneccessarily, to achieve their destination.

Ordinary people in the world, by and large, make common purpose; governments and religion, it seems, take positions. What's new? Most of us talk about it; Lorty does it, and is nothing short of inspirational. She gives talks about her experiences, Viva Palestina, and is well worth hearing.

Do visit www.convoytogaza.blogspot.com

Small things

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0000

A strange cat came into the yard and lay in the straw barn. Although apparently not well, it could not be caught. It ate some milk and food put out for it, but over the next day or two continued to fade until Gillian was able to get it into a pet carrier. She took it to the vet who without specifying its injuries/illness, thought it had little chance of recovery. He put it down; -- and sent me a bill for £70.

The off-side front tyre of our horse/cattle lorry showed a slow puncture. This had to be rectified, and soon, as Dilly would shortly be returning to Lambourn to prepare for the coming "flat" season. It took most of the morning to drive to the next village, Moretonhampstead, where Mid Devon Tyres removed an offending tack, and sealed the puncture.

Hounds met at the farm last Saturday, which won me a week of not going to London, in order to host the meet. Somewhat surreal, the cattle shut in the shed; the gates opened wide; the drive and the yard cleared of all cars and tractors; all quiet. In the kitchen, plonk, port, brown sugar and spices simmer on the aga; bacon is grilled, and sandwiched in buttered wholemeal (and tasted); ginger cake is cut into cubes with a dollop of marmalade; there is quiet chat and background radio. It is 10.30am. The first foot followers arrive, park tidily in the yard and loiter a little, until offered mulled wine and a bacon butty - 10.35am; then more followers, braver, park in the drive, greetings all round, and the initiated offer to distribute food and drink, as the first riders clip clop in - 10.40am; more foot followers and more riders stream in, can't get the food and drink out fast enough, welcome everyone and converse a little to catch up on the gossip - 10.45am; a general harouch and in sweep the hounds, gaily , with Master, Huntsman and Whippers -in, bright colours against Winter's sober hues; up the bank to the stable field and put themselves neatly in the corner of the gate, bristling with eager anticipation. A whiskey for the Master, and a great mingling of all our community; farmers and professionals; A-levels just sat and the very young on lead-reins; the wage packet and the monthly salary; those that work and those that pay; the retired and the go-getters; boys, girls. men and women, on horses or on foot, all mingling and chatting cheerfully - 11am; another whiskey for the Master. Everyone happy to be there, in no hurry to leave, punch nearly gone, and food too; a call for quiet; a few words of appreciation, of the day ahead, of any "parish notices"; two notes on the horn, and huntsman and hounds trot down the bank out to the lane, hats doffed as they go, and away up to the moor; the pied piper, leading the bold and the brave, and the cautious and cool. The foot followers race or drift after them; others talk, enjoying a fine day. In the kitchen, spilled punch, crusts of bread, bacon rind, used tumblers, plates and trays and towels and cutlery, and spread and marmalade, all higgledy piggledy; all is quiet - it is 11.15am.

Lizzie's bird table has come into it's own this winter. It is never empty, with corn, seeds, pea-nuts and rendered suet and bread crumbs. We are host to blackbirds, thrushes, starlings and collar doves; great,blue,coal, marsh and longtailed tits; house and hedge sparrows; green, gold and chaffinches; ravens, magpies, jays, woodpeckers, nuthatches; robins and wrens(reappeared after a torrid last winter). In the yard we have wagtails,that don't come to the table. All of them a delight.

This week The Soil Association inspected our organic farming practices, as well as our beef labelling compliance; all in good order but expensive(some £600 annually), and time consuming, preparing reports and accounts and specific documents, as well as giving 1/2 a day for the visit.

It is always a sad day when the old cows have to be put down; they have been a constant in our lives for so many years, and always patient and biddable. Last week Annie(18) and Catrin(16) had to go; they were no longer breeding, and were losing condition. To spare them a stressful journey, we try where possible to do it at home. Catrin was the mother of Epic, whose story I will tell some other time.

The cattle do well in the cold, dry weather, preferring it to rain and winds. It does, however, mean a constant watch on the drinking troughs that freeze, and time is continually spent with kettle and thermos keeping them flowing. The header tank(2000 gals) at the top of the farm, is lagged with straw and cardboard, and wrapped in a tarpaulin with baler twine, looking like an out-sized pudding.

I have been waiting for an opportune time to wean last years calves, now 9/10 mths old, and their mothers due to calve again from the Ides of March. We have a gradual system, seperating cows and calves in the barn, and letting the cows out to feed each day and return to the barn at night. Once the soreness goes out of their udders they soon accept the situation. For a day or two, though, the bawling is incessant, not helpful to our sleep; all quiet now.

Last Tuesday evening met a few kindred spirits at the Globe to review the horse and pony schedule for the Chagford show. We made one or two changes, additions and refinements. I don't like turning out again at night after a long day, but as always enjoy it when I do. Sadly we always miss the show dinner through being in London each weekend.

The changes at Borough Market have not been good for us. The market management's decision to relocate most stalls has cost us dear; we have lost all our passing trade, and are effectively in a back-water, where 4mths on, customers are still unable to find us. There is no effective liason between traders and management, only arbitary decisions.

Enterprise and bureaucracy / two nations

Sun, 31 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The first Wednesday of each month we sell at Wells market, where we have loyal customers, as elsewhere, who buy regularly. On that day four weeks ago it snowed hard. Not wishing to default, I left the farm at 6am, before the snow packed and became un-drivable. The journey, of some 90 miles on uncleared motorways and roads, was fairly fraught, and took 2 and 1/2hrs. The streets and pavements of Wells had not been touched, and were very slippy.

To my relief I found one trader, setting up, not withstanding the market had been cancelled; and was only too pleased to join in. We were shortly augmented by two other kindred spirits. The people of Wells were brilliant, applauding our presence, and buying, whether or not they had intended to. It was fun.

After some 2hrs or so we received a phone call. It was from Mendip District Council. They had been watching us on closed-circuit television; we were trading illegally; the market was cancelled; we must leave, and if we did not do so by 12.30, they would serve us with a fixed penalty notice!

The following day the Times featured similar circumstances in Ripon. Those hardy souls were feted,- an example of Yorkshire grit.

Who are these people? - What values do they have? - Who do they think pays their pension?

After the gales and rain,------ and more lament for the enclosures.

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

On the bright, clear morning that so often follows such storms, the cattle and and horses emerge from their sheltering hedges calm and normal, and seemingly unperturbed. The little birds, too,arrive at their table to re-fuel on the seeds and corn put out for them, flitting and bobbing in apparent nonchalance; and best of all a little Wren, absent since the snow and ice of last January, reappears in the log pile that is their domain.

And before the 200th anniversary of the Act of Enclosure passes, some more lines penned by the Peasant Poet, John Clare, who minded so much, and wrote so poignantly of the loss to the countrydwellers and the animals they tended. These words are titled The Moors, appropriately enough for us on Dartmoor:-

Far spread the moory ground a level scene,

Bespread with rush and one eternal green,

That never felt the rage of blundering plough

Though centuries wreathed Spring's blossom on its brow,

Still meeting plains that stretched them far away

In unchecked shadows of green, brown and grey.

Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene

Nor fence of ownership crept in between

To hide the prospect of the following eye;

Its only bondage was the circling sky.

One mighty flat undwarfed by bush and tree

Spread its faint shadow of immensity

And lost itself, which seemed to eke its bounds

In the blue mist the horizon's edge surrounds.

Now this sweet vision of my boyish hours,

Free as Spring clouds and wild as Summer flowers,

Is faded all -- a hope that blossomed free

And hath been once no more shall ever be.

Enclosure came and trampled on the grave

Of labour's rights and left the poor a slave;

And memory's pride, ere want to wealth did bow,

Is both the shadow and the substance now.

The sheep and cows were free to range as then

Where change might prompt, nor felt the bonds of men.

Cows went and came with evening, morn and night

To the wild pasture as their common right

And sheep, unfolded with the rising sun,

Heard the swains shout and felt their freedom won,

Tracked the red fallow, field and heath and plain,

Then met the brook and drank and roamed again --

The brook that dribbled on as clear as glass

Beneath the roots they hid amoung the grass --

While the glad shepherd traced their tracks along,

Free as the lark and happy as her song.

But now all's fled and flats of many a dye

That seemed to lengthen with the following eye,

Moors losing from the sight, far, smooth and blea,

Where swept the plover in its pleasure free,

Are vanished now with commons wild and gay

As poets' visions of life's early day.

Mulberry bushes where the boy would run

To fill his hands with fruit are grubbed and done,

And hedgerow briars -- flower lovers overjoyed

Came and got flower pots -- these are all destroyed,

And sky-bound moors in mangled garb are left

Like mighty giants of their limbs bereft.

Fence now meets fence in owners' little bounds

Of field and meadow, large as garden grounds,

In little parcels little minds to please

With men and flocks imprisoned, ill at ease.

Each little path that led its pleasant way

As sweet as morning leading night astray

Where little flowers bloomed round, a varied host,

That travel felt delighted to be lost

Nor grudged the steps that he had ta'en as vain

When right roads traced his journey's end again;

Nay on a broken tree he'd sit awhile

To see the moors and fields and meadows smile,

Sometimes with cowslips smothered -- then all white

With daisies -- then the Summer's splendid sight

Of corn fields crimson o'er the "headache" bloomed

Like splendid armies for the battle plumed;

He gazed upon them with wild fancy's eye

As fallen landscapes from an evening sky;

These paths are stopped -- the rude philistine's thrall

Is laid upon them and destroyed them all.

Each little tyrant with his little sign

Shows, where man claims, earth glows no more divine.

On paths, to freedom and to childhood dear

A board sticks up to notice"no road here"

And on the tree with ivy overhung

The hated sign by vulgar taste is hung

As though the very birds shuold learn to know

Where they go there they must no further go.

Thus, with the poor, scared freedom bade good bye

And much they feel it in the smothered sigh,

And birds and trees and flowers without a name

All sighed when lawless law's enclosure came;

And dreams of plunder in such rebel schemes

Have found too truly that they were but dreams.

Healthy Living

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

A rccent delivery to a lovely lady in Basildon, produced more than a good cheque. She told me that she was attending a kinesiology clinic, and that at her latest visit her blood was analysed. The results showed, among other things, her omegas 3 and 6 to be perfectly balanced. When asked whether she was taking lots of fish-oil, she replyed with glee "no, just Wild Beef"!

How Time Flies

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Sun 25/10 Late home last night as all change at Borough; Lizzie stays up to visit a god-child and her new baby. Spend 3 hours on the moor to find all the cattle, dispersed by the pony drift earlier, and further disturbed by hounds after the Opening Meet of the season -- late lunch. Summer time ended -- ugh!

Mon 26/10 4am start to load two bullocks into the lorry and take them to the abbatoir by 6.30. Orders, admin, bills, telephone, and after lunch take Defra satelite field maps to consultant for agreement. Late onto the moor, to find Eliza in the throes of calving on the fringes of the herd; best to help her at home; so reluctantly, and oh so slowly drive her gently the mile back home(better she carries the calf than I do!). Once in the barn she lies down and continues, but ineffectively. Having checked that calf is correctly presented, it is, I slip some soft rope above it's fetlocks, and attach wooden lengths with a half-hitch, enabling Lizzie and me to supplement her contractions. It is a big calf, but we get it, and once pummelled, and dried we lift her to her mother, who sets to licking it as though her life depended on it; magic.

Tues 27/10 Drive to Blandford Forum for lunch with their branch of the Inner Wheel(Ladies Rotary), and talk to them about sustainable food and Wild Beef. Home via Torbay out-patients, before an evening meeting of the Chagford Commoners and ESA(envoironmentally sensitive area).

Wed 28/10 6am start to fetch the weeks produce from the cutting rooms, 35miles away; deliveries on the way home. Some customer friends are staying nearby for half-term, so Mary and Mark, with Jo, Elsie and Ben join us for lunch which is lovely. Pm on the moor which is now red and seer, and hosting an increasing no. of snipe who whizz off in protest when disturbed; time for the cattle to come home.

Thurs 29/10 6am start for a cattle management meeting at Pewsey at 9am, with our vet in attendance to brief on the tests just done, followed by an inspection of the herd, during which those old cows to be culled are identified -- always a sad occasion. On to London and deliver eggs to Katherine at Unpackaged, her brilliant little shop in Amwell Street. Lizzie up from market at Taunton for supper at 9pm.

Fri 30/10 Trading at Borough all day. All change there, both management and major rail works; resultant por trade is exacerbated by half- term absentee-ism.

Sat 31/10 Having set up the stall at Broadway Market, I hand over to my immediate neighbours and go absent myself to watch Perfect Silence run her last race of the season at Newmarket, there joined by my sisters and our aged father, who enjoys a good day out. Somewhat apprehensive, as she experienced a messy race lat time at Kempton, and didn't like it. She was however spritely in the paddock, and ran a storming race, leading nearly all the way and beaten just a length. As she was drawn against the stand rail, and her jockey elected to cross the width of the track to the far rail, she ran further than the amount by which she was beaten! It does however auger well for next year.

Sun 1/11 Stayed in Hackney last night, so as to photograph some cow hides for sale. Andy Sewell, another good find at Broadway, is doing this for me. He will come to Dartmoor in due course and record some of what we do with a fresh eye. Back to Devon for supper. Father unwell after Newmarket's excitements, and taken to Addenbrookes Hospital in Cambridge, where he is comfortable, and attended by my long-suffering sisters.

Mon 2/11 Orders, admin, bills, telephone. Afternoon, Lizzie, Gillian and I go to the moor to bring the cattle down. They tend to agree, raising their heads at my call; one begins to walk, then another, then all, then into a trot and a smart clip all the way to the moor-gate, a mile away, with the calves cantering and bucking along. At the gate we shed a few unwanted aliens, and at the farm gate also shed Orphan Annie who is due to calve shortly, before walking the remainder through the lanes to Susan's lovely meadows at Jurston, where a good growth of grass endures. Dark early.

Tues 3/11 Duty Director at Exeter Steeplechases; a pleasant duty, hosting private boxes, sponsors, winning "connections"? and ensuring all bars and restuarants are in good order. Collect meat afterwards and make a delivery, before home and sorting what is needed for Wells Market tomorrow. Late to bed.

Wed 4/11 Up early to get to wells by 8.30. A good day; deliver to Davinia at Swindon, then a pub supper and on to London, not too late.

Thurs 5/11 Deliver to Basildon, on the way to set up for a food and craft fair, back at Newmarket(very different). Visit father in Addenbrookes in the afternoon; doing well; then back to London for another delivery and stock up for the fair tomorrow.

Fri 6/11 A good day's trading at Newmarket, and back to Hackney for more meat.

Sat 7/11 Prepare Broadway for Sacha to do(which he does well), and off to Newmarket again for another satisfactory day.

Sun 8/11 Newmarket once more with the remainder of the meat and sell it all. Break down the stall, before calling in on father, now back at home, and cheerful. Penny is with him, and gives me tea, whiskey and supper, all of it most welcome. Decide to sleep in Hackney.

Mon 9/11 4am start to get home by 9. Gillian fetched Dilly back from Lambourn, and good it is to see her. Now the weather is cold and the cattle need hay or silage, work I always enjoy.

A Bitter/Sweet Week

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 00:00:00 +0100

At the end of a"curate's egg" of a week, Sunday found me on the high moor to locate the cattle I had not seen for four days. The week really had been bitter/sweet, with a visit to the herd in Wiltshire revealing that a young cow had died of peritonitis, following a premature calving, probably brought on by stress in handling for testing. If that was not bad enough, I was also told that a significant number of spring-calving cows had failed to get in-calf again -- costly in terms of interrupted production; left Pewsey feeling very gloomy. And then the "sweet". On to Kempton Park where our home-bred horse, Perfect Silence(Dilly), was on a retrieval mission, following an inexplicably dismal showing at Newmarket four weeks ago. Unlike last time, she was alert in the parade ring, and raring to run. She started well, and at a swinging pace, took the lead and kept it until the final furlong, when the other runners came at her, and she was headed. She would have none of it however, and running her heart out, she quickened again to get up on the line and prevail by a "head" -- magic.

Following that, and two busy days at market, a gorgeous morning on the moor was just the place for some quiet reflection. Nineteen cows and calves were close to hand, on the sweet grass by the Metherall brook; the remainder were not to be seen, probably on the forest. higher up. A walk up to the ridge on the skyline revealed them just out of immediate view on a bank below the stone row. Sat on a rock with the cattle around, grazing or sighing where they lay. 1500 feet up, bright sun and barely a sound; a kestrel was quartering the hillside below, while further down the valley a young buzzard was meewing. A mile below, the first group of cattle, small, and shiny black, were clearly visible, while beyond the boundary wall on the far hillside the mown hayfields that that I had been waiting for 6 weeks to cut -- now the weather was set fair. Away to the North, under an hazy fret, the outline of Exmoor, and behind me, over the ridge to the west, the prison, and Cornwall.

Dartmoor has shown some gems recently; last week a fine red deer stag (unfortunately he saw me first, as I was walking into the sun), and also a peregrine falcon, which although about, are not often seen. Sunday lunch was all the more to be enjoyed following such therapy.

Wild Beef at Borough Market - on the move

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:00:00 +0100

Our Wild Beef stall is being relocated as a direct result of the proposed railway works. In the old Jubilee Market, British Rail have created a magnificent glass structure which will house a selection of prime producers of English and European food. As you can imagine this has created a certain amount of upheaval in organising our time and working practices, but will hopefully in the long run be in the benefit of you the customers and ourselves as traders. The prime benefit will be that you can shop without hazard from those eating fast food and creating queues and crowded alleyways, which hopefully will produce an altogether more pleasant atmosphere; not least that the loos at Southwark Cathedral are close-by.

Access to this area is not immediately obvious, being on the extreme side of Borough Market, next to Vinnopolos and the Cathedral. Our stall will be in the row nearest the Cathedral facing Sugarman's Grocery Wholesalers - should you at any time have any difficulty locating us, please ring our mobiles: Lizzie 07787 130079 or Richard 07810 463187.

The Enclosures of 1809

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 00:00:00 +0100

Two centuries ago this year, Parliament passed an Act to enclose the open countryside of the British Isles. Although this fact is marked in history, very little is known about this episode, and it is rarely, if ever, talked about. And no wonder; the effect on the rural dwellers of the time must have been cataclysmic.

One person, however, who minded the changes that so transformed the countryside, was John Clare, known as the Shepherd Poet. He was a largely self taught peasant, an ardent and sensitive countryman, who knew nature and the seasons to the finest detail. He was born and brought up in the village of Helpston, just north of Peterborough, and where he lived for most of his life. Such was his dismay at what was happening to his beloved countryside, that he increasingly suffered bouts of depression which led to long periods spent in asylum. Fortunately he continued to write throughout, and left some vivid and detailed descriptions of life of the time. His was a simple, naive style, that conjures his images with great charm, and expresses his observations in the dialect of the day.

Here is an example of his work, a sonnet that expresses the effect of the enclosures and his feelings on the matter:

"I Dreaded Walking Where There Was No Path"

I dreaded walking where there was no path

And pressed with cautious tread the meadows swath

And always turned to look with wary eye

And always feared the owner coming by:

Yet everything about where I had gone

Appeared so beautiful I ventured on

And when I gained the road where all are free

I fancied every stranger frowned at me

And every kinder look appeared to say

You've been on trespass in your walk today.

I've often thought the day appeared so fine,

How beautiful if such a place were mine;

But having nought I never feel alone

And cannot use another's as my own.

The Future of the Rural Economy

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 00:00:00 +0100

"When I was editor of Country Life , I often told myself - and was indeed told by others - that I had the best job in the world . But the outlook from the editorial chair (Hepplewhite , of course) was not always rosy . Far from it .

The years of my tenure , 1993-2006 , coincided with a kind of rural apocalypse , BSE , foot and mouth , poverty , lack of affordable homes , swine fever , avian flu , high fuel prices , closing services , the Hunting Act , and an unsympathetic Labour government stalked the land . " Everyone that goeth by Babylon shall be astonished , and hiss at all her plagues " cried the prohpet Jeremiah , in similar circumstances . The one bright spot was the money gushing out of the City of London . Via corporate shoots , country house restorations and farmers markets , some of it found its way into the rural economy .What were termed life-style buyers bought hobby farms .

After I stopped being editor - and I would like to state that I see no causal link - circumstances improved . Wheat prices more than doubled ; so did the price of farmland . At the beginning of 2008 , the prospects looked positively sunny . Tractor dealerships couldn't keep up with the demand for new machinery . "Earth's increase , foison plenty , Barns and garners never empty" were the order of the day . Despite atrocious weather , the autumn brought a record harvest , if expensive to dry . By the end of the year , though , credit crunch and recession were bearing down as mercilessly on country people as on anyone else . Really it should be rural Britain's turn to hiss . While previous woes had a specifically rural dimension , as city people sometimes liked to point out , that can hardly be said now , you feel it at every dinner party in London . Those City high fliers who once "trusted to have equalled the Most High" , have now , like Satan at the beginning of Paradise Lost , been cast down , their eyes rolling around scenes of "huge affliction and dismay" . Which is bad for them , but not much better for everyone else . After a decade during which farmers were urged to anything other than farm , the fruits of diversification are beginning to taste sour . The farmyards that were converted to office suites go unlet . The country-house hotels , designed to pamper stressed -out executives , have been deserted . The speciality bacon smokers and premium cheese makers have lost their markets . Farmers who converted to organic production , because that is what the Notting Hill shopper semed to want , now find that Notting Hill has scaled back to Tesco "finest" and Sainsbury "taste the difference" , if not Aldi "specially selected" .

Even so , the hissing is muted . Why? It is difficult to generalise , because the country is full of all sorts of people , some of whom are double-died followers of traditional occupations and pursuits , whereas others commute to work and regard their surroundings as a large garden . But on the whole it is a more stable community , perhaps less up to the minute but equally feverish in its following of news . At a time when the news about the financial markets is mostly bad , that is a plus .

Animals dictate the rythm of the countryside : cattle have to be fed , dogs and horses exercised , whatever the state of the economy . And if you are hunting , you can't afford to think of much else , or disaster beckons .

Not having flown so near the sun in the boom years , country folk haven't had so far to fall . They've faced so many disasters since BSE that this one hasn't struck them as quite such a thunderbolt . Besides they've generally been more cautious about debt . Certainly they are apt to have a different view about house prices . For years , they have seen the most attractive houses being snaffled by London buyers who then occupy them for school holidays and half terms . Now that the housing bubble has burst , local families have a chance of affording them . Estate agents expect a lot of second homes to be sold in 2009 . And while the price of houses is falling , that of farmland remains fairly robust . Amazingly , bare land sells better than the previous darling of the market - a pretty farm with an appealing house on it . Indeed , at a time when other sectors of the economy are white with anxiety , agriculture - and that section of the rural community that depends on them - is unobtrusively chipper . The exchange rate has something to do with it .

With CAP payments calculated in euros , farm accounts are about to receive a windfall . At the same time , rural tourism will benefit from the greater number of people wanting to holiday at home . These short-term benefits , however , are merely gilding the turnip . Ever since the days of Genesis , agriculture has operated to a cycle , and just now the lean years are giving way to the fat ones . Even - strange for a Labour minister - Hilary Benn appeared sentient of this at the Oxford Farming Conference in January . He acknowledged food security , and said he wants Britain to produce as much food as possible . How this was compatible with , for example , proposed envoironmental measures which some farmers regard as a return of set-aside , he did not say . But it was the kind of endorsement that , five years ago , farmers could only have dreamt of . An OECD report launched at the same conference predicted that , although prices have eased in 2009 , cereals , rice and oilseeds would fetch between 10 % and 15 % more than in the past decade . It seems a conservative estimate .

The sun does not , as yet , shine on everyone . Pig farmers have suffered over the past year ; after years of contraction , a further 10% of them left the industry in 2008 . On the other hand , shortage of supply means that the price of pork is rising . Dairy farmers in nitrate vunerable zones are having to spend upwards of £20,000 on new slurry pits , at a time when bovine TB , spread by the legions of badgers whom Mr. Benn refuses to cull , makes ever further advances . Around the coast there is anger at the threatened abandonment of of sea defences - thought in part to be a gesture towards the fashionable idea that rural Britain , nearly all of which has been tended by mankind for centuries , would be somehow more exciting if returned to a wild state , its estuaries flooded and its mountains stalked by bears and wolves .

Globally , the worldwide recession has eased commodity prices . Last year's record cereal prices were driven by demand from the tiger economies of India , China and South-East Asia . As their people got richer , they wanted to eat a more western diet . For the time being , that pressure is off prices ; in time it will start again - accompanied by climate change , which will turn some productive parts of the planet into desert . Farmers will not only be expected to produce more food , but also , as fossil fuels are phased out , all those things we get from them : not just fuel itself , but plastics , textiles and medicines . At the same time , though , they will be required to reduce their own greenhouse gas emissions . At present agriculture accounts for seven per cent of UK emissions total . Expect verbal warfare to break out between the advocates of GM , devising plants capable of fixing their own nitrogen , and the Soil Association , with its belief in the carbon capturing properties of healthy soil . Whatever the result , the countryside will take centre stage ."

Clive Aslet is Editor at Large of Country Life