Show time

Only two weeks to go. There’s an eerie calm about Wadebridge right now, as if people know what’s coming and they know how to deal with it.

The show was not always held at Wadebridge.  This one was at Bude in 1939.

It’s been very different since the by-pass was built, 23 years ago, but the energy that flows from the Royal Cornwall Show still brings a buzz to the town and surrounding villages.

Those days before the by-pass, when southbound traffic would queue for hours to reach the old bridge, and then crawl up Molesworth Street, are hard to recall with much fondness. Perhaps the pace of life really was slower then, but it never seemed that way to me – the back-end of a tractor, and a lung full of diesel fumes, were always just very frustrating.

Now the traffic management is, frankly, superb. There are still delays, but they are measured in minutes, rather than hours. And even if the weather is poor, there is enough going on under canvass to guarantee a splendid time for all.

The event has moved so smoothly into the digital age of the 21st century that my first encounters with the show, nearly 40 years ago, almost seem like they must have happened to someone else. Nowadays if you can’t make it for all three days, the show’s website gives you plenty of information about what’s happening.

I’ve always enjoyed the animal exhibitions, particularly the rare breeds’ section. Perhaps it’s a subconscious nostalgic yearning for those early agricultural experiences of my childhood, when the beasts of the farmyard seemed naturally to come in all shapes and sizes – before modern farming became the expertly engineered precise science that so conveniently fills supermarket shelves today.

It’s interesting that children’s toy farm animals nearly always celebrate breeds which you are less likely to see on the majority of farms now: Gloucester Old Spot pigs, Cream Legbar chickens, Highland cows – none is actually threatened with extinction, but neither are they particularly well-suited to the kind of hyper-productivity needed to keep food prices low.

I was pleased to see that the RCS sheep entry this year has already set a new record, continuing the trend of recent years. This year’s entry of 1,294 represents a healthy increase of 44 over the previous high, set in 2012, when 1,250 entries were received.

I’m currently wrestling with my conscience, and bank account, over whether to add a goat (or two?) to my smallholding, and the Royal Cornwall Show is the ideal place for me to find out more. There will be more goats than ever at Wadebridge this year.

If I remember correctly, goat’s milk is whiter than the more creamy cow’s milk – which at some future date would allow me to suggest the headline “A Whiter Shade Of Pail” – but really I’m just looking for a low-tech way to keep the grass down in the orchard.

Do I have the time to ensure that everything would be right in the animal welfare department? Sadly, the answer is probably not. I’m a reporter, not a farmer, and my small-scale dabblings are only that: dabblings, not driven by economic necessity.

But for a few days, at least, I will soon be able to once more stroll around the Royal Cornwall Show and soak up the atmosphere, talk to lots of people who know more than I do, and dream on.

Knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing

You can’t walk very far along a country lane in North Cornwall at this time of year without noticing the riot of wild flowers in the hedgerows. The smell of wild garlic leads the charge: there seems to be a rule that the darker the lane, the stronger the scent.

Bluebells, primroses and cicely help complete the picture, slowly giving way to the blues and reds of alkanet and campion as April surrenders to May.  My own love-hate relationship with gardening (I love the sights and smells, but hate the hard work) means that over the decades the wild flowers in my back yard have been given a relatively free hand to seed themselves wherever they like.  This approach has the added advantage of sometimes giving me an extra reason to postpone even cutting the grass.

In a local greengrocer’s shop the other day, I was nearly tempted to buy some cut flowers to brighten a room or two indoors. But then I thought better of it, and decided to borrow some wild flowers from the garden instead.

In Cornwall,the cultivated flower market is an important part of our agriculture. Perhaps not so much in North Cornwall, but as you head west the acres of daffodil fields remind us of horticulture’s contribution to our economy.

A recent report from the National Cut Flower Centre, funded by the Agriculture and Horticulture Development Board, told us that this sector has more than trebled in value over the past 20 years. The UK’s annual spend on imports increased from £125million to £550 million between the 1980s and early 2000s. Yet at the same time, the value of the domestic “farm gate” cut flower sector remained largely static, at around £50 million a year.

While welcoming the increased consumer interest, the report points out that the relative ease with which flowers can be transported around the globe acts as a disincentive to the home-grown industry.

The good news – particularly good for Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly – is that when it comes to the daffodil, the UK is a net exporter. Daffodils account for nearly 80% of the domestic flower-growing land in Britain. We have a vibrant and successful industry.

Yet while the statistics which underpin the AHDB report make for a fascinating, if rather dry, read – they are really put into context by a study of Afghanistan’s poppy crop. The most recent estimate puts its value at £4 billion a year. I very much doubt that there are any reliable statistics for the annual value of the Planet Earth cannabis crop – but a recently-opened, and completely lawful, cannabis farm in Chile now aims to produce its crop for medicinal purposes.

I read all this stuff – it’s my job, sort of – and wonder how wealthy I might be if there was a therapeutic, yet slightly edgy use for bluebells. I suppose I might be able to start a factory making evening primrose oil, but that seems like rather a lot of hard work.

Instead I pluck a small handful of the most colourful wild flowers within easy reach, put them in a vase, and they just take my breath away. Priceless.

Life is too short for all the paperwork

A young chap called last week to ask if he could look at my trees. He was from Western Power, and as the company had not looked at the trees for a few years, he wanted to check that they were not in danger of growing into the 33,000-volt overhead cables which have helped supply electricity to this part of North Cornwall since 1948

The visit set me thinking that running a smallholding is only partly about agriculture – and that if I had any appetite for all the legal paperwork concerning access, rights of way and that kind of malarkey, I would never have time to write this column. The wayleave consent which gives the company, its predecessors and successors, the right to do certain things on my land, is supposed to make me richer by about £4.20 a year. So my retirement plan is still on hold.

If I wanted to be greedy, I suppose I could kick up a fuss, but life is really far too short. This doesn’t stop “specialist” lawyers from writing to me with monotonous regularity, offering to share the profits should their suggested threatening letters produce the required result. There is an issue of principle: when the 1948 landowner agreed to allow the former Central Electricity Generating Board to plant the three poles which interrupt my immediate view, it was to help realise a wider community benefit.

Most people in this area, if they had any electricity at all, got it from an old Lister diesel generator. Only the most grasping and heartless money-grabber would have held the State-owned CEGB to ransom. But now, following various privatisations, the Western Power poles on my land are simply helping to swell the private coffers of the US-based parent company, Pennsylvania Power and Light. I nevertheless think I can resist the temptation to demand a better deal. As I say, life is far too short and the guys from Western Power are unfailingly courteous whenever they need to fix anything.

My trees are not currently a problem, although maybe in another five years I’ll have to do some serious thinking. A few months ago many farmers were being advised to check the small print, as the National Grid went round asking them to sign a new wayleave agreement as part of a record-updating exercise. Surveyors warned that this could bind the landowner to a limited annual payment, with no compensation for potential loss of earnings if the land had future development potential. National Grid was offering one-off sums of 20 times the annual wayleave payment – but this could remove the right to future compensation for loss of earnings.

There are similar issues for mobile phone masts, broadband cables, and in some areas, gas and water pipelines. The really complicating factor, which few think of at the time, is that the land in question might indeed have alternative uses at some point in the future. What is today a field might one day be a housing estate. At the current rate, what is a field today will probably be a housing estate by this afternoon.

Tea with the Queen

The perils of chicken shit

If there’s one aspect to poultry-keeping which I really dislike more than any other, it’s cleaning out the chicken shed.

It’s one of those jobs which I can always find an excuse to postpone – but then guilt takes over, on go the overalls, and despite wind and rain off I go to wrestle with the really stinky stuff.

As any gardener can tell you, chicken manure is really good for your plants – so “hot” in fact that it should be composted for at least three months, otherwise the high nitrogen content risks damaging the very flowers and vegetables you are trying to encourage.

Well, no risk there. Once I’ve added another shed-load to the compost heap, my poultry poo tends to stay there. The pile continues to grow, to the point where I must now consider changes to the management regime. Either that, or take a more serious interest in applying the manure (let’s call it fertiliser) to the garden.

Luckily there is no shortage of official advice on how to look after chicken manure. As long as I comply with Article 13 F of the European Union Control Regulation 1069/2009 (I am not making this up) then I’m OK to spread it on the garden, or even in the field. As my chickens roam free, and tend to relieve themselves wherever and whenever they feel like it, I suppose I’d better check that they are fully conversant with this rule.

My fondness for bureaucrats tends to be at the lower end of the scale, but the trouble is, once you start looking at the reasons behind some of this nonsense, you find that it isn’t nonsense at all. One of the reasons you have to wait for chicken manure to “cool” to the point where it can used as fertiliser is because it also contains the bacteria Clostridium botulinum.

This toxin, which causes botulism, is one of the most dangerous known to science. It can cause paralysis to the muscles that control breathing, and without rapid treatment tends to be fatal in around 5-10% of cases.

The EU tells me that botulism in chicken manure “is extremely dangerous, even in small quantities and is very stable. If the litter is applied to pasture land the toxin will survive for some time and small quantities ingested by grazing animals can cause illness and even death.

“The large numbers of spores and bacteria present may cause further disease. Even if the litter is spread on the surface of non-pasture land, carrion feeders such as foxes and crows can move carcase remnants and toxin to adjoining pasture to affect grazing animals.

“Hence, it is recommended that chicken litter is applied to arable land and ploughed in immediately. If this is not possible, the litter should be stacked as far as possible from livestock and fenced off until it can be used.”

Thanks for that. And there was me, thinking that my free-range chickens and their 100% organic free-range eggs were right up in there in the “safe and natural” category of food labelling, if indeed I bothered with labels at all.

But then I remembered the story of how in 2011 organic cucumbers killed 31 people in Germany, making thousands more seriously ill, because of e Coli poisoning.

I don’t know how many people bother to read food labels which tell them of all the different chemicals they might be ingesting. But I’ve never seen an organic carrot labelled as dangerous, even though this must also be true.

Nothing is easy. There is no such thing as a free lunch. Off to clean the chicken shed, with new gloves.

I'm a believer

In 1999 I made a television documentary about The Beast of Bodmin Moor. Armed with only a video camera, I spent two weeks in a tent, near Bolventor, in a very wet November, trying to find enough material to fill 30 minutes. I found lots of dead sheep, their carcasses picked clean, but no exotic large cats.

 Nevertheless, partly as a result of compelling, but inconclusive, video filmed on a china clay waste tip, by the time the programme went out I had become convinced that a very small number of big cats do indeed live wild in Britain.

The suggestion that Lynx might now be re-introduced into the wilder parts of Britain have provoked a fairly predictable reaction from local farming communities.

Natural England is continuing to consult with wildlife campaigners on the possibility that licences might be granted to bring back these creatures – typically 3-feet long and weighing about 30 lbs – which are thought to have disappeared from Britain about 1,500 years ago. Bringing back beavers to Devon is one thing – but big cats, which can easily bring down a sheep?

According to the Lynx Trust: “Across its range in Europe predation by Lynx of livestock up to the size of a sheep, depending on livestock numbers and accessibility, is relatively low and almost negligible. Scientific studies throughout Europe have shown sheep predation levels to be around 0.4 sheep per Lynx, per year….

“There are no documented cases of Lynx ever attacking a human without the situation involving a Lynx that was captive, wounded or rabid. Indeed, as lynx are extremely shy and elusive creatures, we anticipate that human-Lynx interactions will not occur or will be extremely rare.”

The motive for bringing back these animals, which Defra lists as “dangerous,” is to stimulate tourism. The Trust suggests that tourism businesses could contribute to a pot of money to be used to compensate farmers whose livestock had been savaged.

The Trust insists that rural communities in general, and the agricultural sector in particular, would benefit from the re-introduction of the Lynx: “Lynx are specialist roe deer hunters and European studies have shown that game birds make up a negligible proportion of a Lynx diet,” says the Trust’s report. “Lynx are also known to predate on foxes, so are likely to benefit game bird populations by limiting the number of foxes that would otherwise heavily predate such game species.”

I think the farmers’ protests might carry more weight if more of their livestock survived to reach the slaughterhouses. A 2013 report estimated that across Britain, about 2.5 million sheep perish on the moors, usually as a result of disease, exposure, starvation, or a combination of all three. That’s a lot of dead sheep, but still only a tiny percentage of the total. It is clearly not possible for the hard-pressed farmer to take the register every morning and evening.

My own feeling is that the big wild cats do not need to be re-introduced. They are already there.

The probable existence of the Beast of Bodmin Moor – who seems to have cousins in almost every rural part of Britain – even triggered a formal Ministry of Agriculture inquiry in 1995. Acknowledging that many big cats were likely to have been released into the wild in the 1970s, when it became illegal to keep them as domestic pets, the Whitehall study was inconclusive – leaving us to ponder how the thousands of sightings from credible eye-witnesses, and even half-a-dozen officially-documented cases of road-kill, could be based on something that doesn’t exist.

When the owl sings, the night is silent

They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, which sadly turned out not to be true for the 71 journalists killed last year for trying to do their job.  Fortunately life on the Cornish Guardian is not quite so risky, and I have no concern that the ability of this column to Get Things Done will come back to bite me.

Within days of last week’s Cornwall Council U-turn on public toilets, the government announced it was abandoning its plans to scrap statutory animal welfare codes.  Two victories in a week!  Well done, readers.

The animal welfare codes which I was banging on about last week had been due to be replaced by voluntary, industry-led codes from April 27.  But on Friday (April 8) ministers said they had taken notice of “the views raised” and would be sticking with the existing statutory codes.

This week I’ll try my luck a degree further, and suggest a review of the rules which are failing to protect one of our best-loved wild animals, the barn owl.  I’m sure that this suggestion will win me no friends in an industry which specialises in making poisons, but here goes:

No farmer I have ever met has set out deliberately to poison a barn owl.  But food quality rules currently require an all-out assault on rats, which are capable of causing damage and disease at all stages of the food production process.

In 2013 companies which manufacture rat poison were thrown into panic by a European Union proposal to ban what are called Second Generation Anticoagulant Rodenticides because of the unintended consequences for the non-target species.

As a response, the industry lobbied and the Eurocrats relented, provided member states agreed to “high-level principles for rodenticide regimes.”  The idea that there might be “low-level” or even “medium-level” principles might be a clue that this is basically just a wheeze for avoiding anything too serious.

The bottom line was a new labelling system that came into effect last week.  Products which don’t have the right label can continue to be sold until September 30.  They must be used by March 31 2017.  You can now buy products with the correct label only if you have a certificate of professional competence.

So perhaps, very slowly, things are moving in the right direction – but clearly there is much more to be done.

One problem is that no matter how carefully rat poison is stored on the farm, it is impossible to make sure that it is eaten only by rats.  Mice and voles can squeeze into tiny spaces, eat the poison, and then themselves fall prey.  Scientists have found evidence of rat poison in several wild animals, including kestrels, red kites, stoats and weasels.  Analysis of dead barn owns, in 2010, found that 91% contained rat poison.  In 1984 it was only 5%.

Campaigners say the most deadly rat poisons should be used only as a last resort, once a rat infestation has been identified.  Currently more than three quarters of all farms use rat poison as a preventative measure, regardless of whether they actually have problem.

Readers with long memories might recall that one of the reasons we have a fondness for barn owls is the useful purpose they serve to agriculture (when we’re not poisoning them).  They eat rats.

Fitting a nest box to encourage barn owls