The Practical Guide to Buying and Running a Smallholding in Wales

THE PRACTICAL GUIDE TO BUYING AND RUNNING

A SMALLHOLDING IN WALES

THE PRACTICAL GUIDE TO

BUYING AND RUNNING A

SMALLHOLDING IN WALES

Liz Shankland

UNIVERSITY OF WALES PRESS CARDIFF 2008

© Liz Shankland, 2008

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London, EC1N 8TS. Applications for the copyright owner’s written permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed to the University of Wales Press, 10 Columbus Walk, Brigantine Place, Cardiff, CF10 4UP.

www.uwp.co.uk

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN     978-0-7083-2138-6

e-ISBN  978-1-78316-281-9

The right of Liz Shankland to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 79 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

To my dad, Bryn, a townie who loved the countryside and who would have been thrilled about my new life.

CONTENTS

Preface

About the author

Introduction

Chapter 1  Are you ready to live the dream?

Deciding to leave the rat-race

Chapter 2  A welcome in the hillside?

Why Wales is different

Chapter 3  Making it work

Financing your dream

Chapter 4  Choosing your smallholding

Avoiding the pitfalls

Chapter 5  Getting ready to move

Preparing for your new lifestyle

Chapter 6  Where there’s muck …?

Subsidies and agri-environment schemes

Chapter 7  Legal requirements

Getting registered

Chapter 8  Your first livestock

What and how to choose

Chapter 9  Growing your own

Feeding your livestock

Chapter 10  Selling your produce

Making money from smallholding

Chapter 11  Living with nature

Wildlife-friendly farming

Chapter 12  A year on a smallholding

A taste of the author’s ‘good life’

PREFACE

SOME PEOPLE thought we were mad. Many still do. Why on earth, they asked, would we want to swap our lovely, modern home on a sought-after housing development, for a 300-year-old farmhouse in need of serious renovation? Why, after putting three years’ hard labour into decorating and remodelling the house and completely redesigning the garden, would we want to give everything up for some scruffy fields of unruly pasture land next door to a working farm?

They just didn’t get it. And, in fairness, we understood their reaction. After all, we hadn’t even been thinking about moving house, let alone considering a major lifestyle change. Quite simply, we couldn’t explain to anyone why we were taking such a big step – but we knew it just felt right.

I grew up in a terraced house in Merthyr Tydfil, south Wales. Once, the town was the industrial capital of the world, famous for its iron and steel production. Now, sadly, it’s an unemployment blackspot bearing all the classic scars of having been exploited during and in the wake of the industrial revolution. Our family was fortunate in that we had a back garden, lovingly tended by my mum. I got the gardening bug thanks to her and, many years later, when I started caring for gardens of my own, I began to realize that what I really yearned for was the archetypal ‘house with a bit of land’.

Happily, I ended up marrying Gerry Toms, another townie who shared the same dream. What he also had was the vision and determination to convince us both that it really could happen.

Of course, it didn’t help that, just as we were moving, the BBC launched its new drama series, Down to Earth, starring Pauline Quirke and Warren Clarke as two rat-race escapees from London throwing in their jobs and buying a smallholding in the country. Comparisons with the series – and quips about being like Tom and Barbara in the old sitcom, The Good Life – came thick and fast.

We let them all have their laugh. What our bemused friends were overlooking was that, unlike the TV characters, we weren’t taking the plunge completely. Both of us were keeping our city-based jobs, and planning to fit our new commitments around our normal working lives – mine in the media, Gerry’s in policing.

One day I would be conducting a serious interview with a politician, the next back home, hacking away at killer brambles; Gerry would unblock our primitive sewage system, then change into uniform to give a pre-match briefing to hundreds of officers about handling soccer hooligans. Our social life all but disappeared, weekend callers would invariably find us covered in mud (or worse), and we were permanently shattered – but blissfully happy.

A few years down the line, our working lives have changed somewhat. Two years after moving, Gerry retired and went into part-time consultancy work, but a tempting opportunity arose and he is now General Manager of the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff. I’m still doing the same kind of work as I’ve always done, but I’m doing more from home, which gives me the time and flexibility to look after my livestock.

Right now, we feel we’ve just about found the right balance between making the best use of our time and working ourselves to exhaustion. What’s more, we’ve managed to convince many of the sceptics that we were right to follow our instincts and buy this place. And, judging by the number of people we’ve had knocking on the door, asking if we’d consider selling, it seems we’re not as mad as some may have thought.

When I started writing this book, Gerry and I had absolutely no intentions of leaving our smallholding. It was all we thought we would ever want. But times, needs and preferences change, and we’ve recently started home-hunting again – for a place with more land for me and, if possible, a river frontage with fishing rights to keep Gerry happy. This time we’ll have experience and knowledge under our belts, and we’ll hopefully have a better idea of what we’re looking for. At least that’s the plan.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LIZ SHANKLAND is a journalist and broadcaster who has worked for more than twenty-five years in newspapers, TV, and radio. Born and brought up in a terraced house in Merthyr Tydfil, she has a smallholding high above Caerphilly, where she keeps rare breed pigs, sheep, chickens and turkeys.

Her career began as a cub reporter on weekly newspapers in the south Wales valleys. She later moved to dailies, working for The News in Portsmouth and the South Wales Echo in Cardiff. She worked in both news and features at the Western Mail before being headhunted to become a producer and director with a Welsh-language TV company.

Liz worked as a BBC Wales news journalist for several years and also contributed to the Radio Wales rural affairs series, Country Focus.

Now a freelance writer and broadcaster, she is a regular contributor to newspapers, magazines, and radio programmes. For the past six years she has been writing a weekly column about smallholding, ‘Down to Earth’, in the Western Mail’s ‘Country and Farming’ section – the column which provided the impetus for this book. She also writes each month about pigs and poultry in Country Smallholding, the most popular magazine with downshifters and ‘good lifers’.

Liz is a keen naturalist, works with the Wildlife Trusts in Wales, and edits a magazine, Welsh Wildlife. She has appeared as a guest presenter on the S4C gardening programme, Clwb Garddio, and is frequently asked by TV and radio production teams to provide expert advice on agricultural and countryside matters.

She is married to Gerry Toms, a former Chief Superintendent with South Wales Police who now runs Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium. She has a son, Josh – a musician – and three Welsh Mountain Dogs, Bryn, Stella, and Gordon.

INTRODUCTION

THE IDEA FOR THIS BOOK came largely from the readers of the Western Mail, one of two national daily newspapers in Wales. For the past six years, I’ve been writing ‘Down to Earth’, a weekly column in the paper’s ‘Country & Farming’ supplement. The column began as a kind of informal diary of the various experiences – and the numerous disasters – that my husband Gerry and I encountered as we made our way as complete beginners in the mysterious world of smallholding.

Back in 2002, I managed to convince Sheila Coleman, who was then the paper’s farming editor, that there was one vital element missing in the ‘Country & Farming’ supplement. I knew it needed something written with smaller-scale farmers in mind, but which would also be interesting and accessible to all readers – whether they had a smallholding, were still at the dreaming stage, or just enjoyed reading about the countryside. Thanks to her successor Steve Dubé, the column is still alive and kicking. It is still entertaining and infuriating folk every Tuesday and reaching readers elsewhere in the UK and in some distant, exotic parts of the world, thanks to the paper’s website (www.walesonline.co.uk). You can read some examples in Chapter 12.

When I started the column, I had no idea quite how it would be received, but I felt there was certainly a gap that needed filling; the kind of weekly article that neither assumed too much knowledge about agriculture and the countryside, nor talked down to the reader by over-simplifying matters. On the one hand, I wanted people to realize that taking on a few acres, managing land and buildings, and caring for livestock was not as easy as the TV programmes sometimes made out. However, I also wanted them to understand that, even for someone with no experience, such a change of lifestyle was achievable – with some hard work. Above all, I wanted the column to be an enjoyable read. The philosophy Gerry and I both share is that, when things are tough, and even when things go horribly wrong, you need to be able to laugh at yourself.

Six years on, I’m flattered and somewhat amazed to be told that my weekly ramblings have become the most popular regular feature in ‘C & F’. The number of letters and e-mails I get about the articles I’ve written certainly seem to back that up. Steve Dubé is used to readers turning up at his office in Carmarthen, west Wales, convinced they will find me there because of the contact address at the end of each column. Usually they want advice on some aspect of land or livestock management. Sometimes they want to pass on some funny anecdotes about their own experiences. Other times they feel the need to share some bizarre family secret, passed down the generations from father to son – anything from determining the sex of a chick using a needle and a bit of thread to getting your carrots to grow to prize-winning standard. Occasionally, a caller will arrive who is clearly on the warpath, furious and banging on the counter, ready to give me a piece of his or her mind – usually because I’ve been writing about my hatred of thieving magpies, or explaining Gerry’s trial-and-error methods for combating other pests. Steve, being the gentleman he is, treats them all with the same patience and courtesy, and suggests they write a letter to pass on to me.

I wanted this book to be rather different from the standard ‘how to’ advice books that I’ve read over the years. You’ll see that The Practical Guide to Buying and Running a Smallholding in Wales includes some case studies from people who have made the move from urban life to country life, telling their own tales – good and bad. It also includes some of my favourite columns published in the Western Mail – often written as a kind of release from the tension when things went wrong as Gerry and I bumbled our way along as novice smallholders.

I must say at this stage that my heartfelt thanks to go to my dear friends Grahame Davies, Phil Thomas, Nick Horton, Julian Branscombe, and Barbara Warren, who agreed to read through various parts of this book in its early stages. All experts in their particular fields, they all offered much-needed words of encouragement and advice, and – just as importantly – scrutinized the pages for inaccuracies. Gerry, of course, deserves special praise, for being so patient and understanding throughout the whole process. Lesser men would not have put up with me, I’m sure.

From a practical point of view, I hope this book will provide food for thought when you consider whether you really want to make the move from your nice, comfortable lives and give up all those things you take for granted now – a shop on the corner, cinema down the road, clean carpets, reliable central heating, and a back garden that takes care of itself as long as you drag out the lawnmower a couple of times a year.

I intended this book to be a useful guide for anyone considering buying a place with land, wherever the target location might be. However, you will see that I have devoted an entire chapter aimed at people from outside Wales thinking of settling here. A considerable number of readers who contact me through the Western Mail are people who have moved to Wales from other parts of the UK – most commonly the south of England – or are contemplating a move. Wales has become the new, more affordable alternative to Cornwall and Devon for many looking to buy up a piece of paradise. Despite the housing market going mad in some parts of the UK, it is still possible to buy a lovely detached home and several acres of land in many of the most beautiful parts of Wales for a fraction of the price you would expect to pay in the Home Counties.

Often the people who take the opportunity to do so end up loving Wales as much those who were born here. Others, however, find it a real culture shock. Why? Because Wales is a COUNTRY, a NATION – not a region of England. I tackle the practicalities of coming to live in Wales in detail in Chapter 2, but if you’re thinking about moving here, what I would urge you to do at this stage is to do your research first and make sure that Wales is right for you. Wales may be just a few hundred miles away from where you live at the moment, but in real terms it could be a million miles from the place you want it to be.

1

ARE YOU READY TO LIVE THE DREAM?

CONSIDER THESE PHRASES: downshifting; escaping the rat-race; getting back to nature; living the good life. All phrases we are familiar with in the twenty-first century, and all phrases we throw into conversation when we talk about moving out of urban life and into the countryside. People become smallholders for numerous reasons. Some, like me, do it on a whim – but I wouldn’t recommend it.

It was about 8.30 p.m. on Tuesday, 11 July 2000, when my particular journey into the unknown began. I had just got home after my hour-long trek from work in Bristol. Every day I left home at 6.45 a.m. to beat the traffic and get a parking space near the BBC. I was at my desk an hour before I needed to be, but it saved me a fortune at the multi-storey car park. Instead of finishing at 5 p.m., I would hang on a good hour or so and do some extra work to miss the soul-destroying traffic jams on the way back. It was a great job, but in the wrong place. I hardly saw my 10-year-old son, nor my husband Gerry, who had a hugely demanding job with South Wales Police as the Chief Superintendent in charge of the city of Cardiff.

So there I was, as usual, standing in the kitchen – tired, irritable, and idly flicking through some newspapers whilst wondering which convenience meals to pull out of the freezer for dinner. I picked up the property supplement. I’ve no idea why, because we weren’t looking for a new house at the time. We had, in fact, spent three years renovating our 1970s time capsule of a home, which had come complete with kitchen to dining-room serving hatch, swirly Artex ceilings, brown and orange carpets, and boring, lawned gardens with predictable low-maintenance shrubs and Leylandii hedges. After so much hard graft and expense, we were going to stay put and enjoy it.

At least, that’s what we thought. Normally smallholdings featured in the paper were deep in west Wales, a good hour or two from Gerry’s work and our families, and even more out of the question as far as my capacity for commuting was concerned. But this time, the place that caught my eye was on the outskirts of Caerphilly, just three or four miles away. I showed it to Gerry – more out of surprise than anything else. ‘I know where that place is’, he said, and the next thing I knew, we were in the car and on the way there.

We climbed up a single-track road, flanked by tall hedges, and then the public highway seemed to dissolve in front of us into a rocky mountain track which looked impassable by vehicles. The only option was to turn right, into a farmyard, where we recognized the house from the picture in the paper.

We only paused a few minutes before turning the car round and heading home, but we both knew then and there that we had found something a bit special. The next morning I was on the phone to the estate agent, asking for a viewing. By Saturday we were taking a tour around the property. Later in the week, we went for another look. As we stood in the bottom fields, looking back up towards the house, we decided we had to have it. Minutes later, we offered the farmer the full asking price and he accepted.

Time to Stop and Think! Is This Really What you Want, and Can you Do it?

I wouldn’t for one minute suggest that anyone followed our impetuous example. Hopefully, if you have gone as far as buying this book, you’ll have at least considered some of the pros and cons of taking on a place in the country with a piece of land bigger than the average lawn. I do hope so, for your sake. Gerry and I learned by our mistakes, and our transformation from inexperienced townies to semi-competent smallholders was slow, expensive, tiring and often frustrating. We got there because were both determined, adaptable, willing to make sacrifices and, thankfully, shared a sense of humour.

In our case, we didn’t really know what we wanted until we found it. True, we had always wanted a house with a bit more space between us and the neighbours; we had always enjoyed working outside together on our previous house, loving the aching satisfaction at the end of a day of good, hard labour; and we loved just sitting outside, at the end of a busy day, watching the birds flying home to their roosts and the bats flitting about overhead.

Saying all that, it took a long time for us to realize that what we really wanted was a different, slower way of life, a life which meant there was time to appreciate our surroundings. So often in this world we work all the hours God sends just to pay for expensive homes, furniture and gadgets which we never have time to enjoy. Pretty soon, we realized we were thinking of downshifting, escaping the rat-race, getting back to nature, living the good life – all those things I asked you to consider at the start of this chapter. The only stumbling block was how to do it. Our new place cost twice what we got for our old house, so there was no question of either of us giving up work. Gerry was still a few years from the all-important thirty-year landmark with the police, when he could retire on a full pension at 49. I was eleven years younger than Gerry and decades away from pensionable age. We had no alternative other than to remain full-time wage-slaves and compromise by becoming part-time smallholders, at least for a while.

Making Decisions that Involve Others

If you’re living with someone who shares your dreams and ideals about moving to the countryside, you’re part of the way there. If there are other people involved, it naturally gets a bit more complicated. It’s no longer merely about the kind of lifestyle you want, but to what extent others will be able to adjust to it.

How, for example, would teenagers cope with living miles away from the kind of things they take for granted – their friends, trendy high street stores, fast food takeaways, cinemas and DVD rental shops, for example? As many smallholders who are parents will tell you, Hell hath no fury like a teenager torn out of comfortable suburbia and sent to languish in a remote farmhouse with draughts, mice and no broadband.

What you Think you Want and What you Think you Can Achieve

There are times when we all think we know what we want. Unfortunately, reality can be very different. Ask yourself some questions.

Would everyone in my household be happy with the idea of moving to the countryside?

It’s far better to get all this out in the open before you go too far. Even your partner – however loyal and supportive – might have some nagging doubts. Depending on how far away you’re moving, you might also have to consider the impact on elderly parents and other relatives who are used to seeing you. Sit down with everyone concerned, let them voice their opinions, and make a brutally honest list of all the pros and cons of moving.

Do I really want to take on a smallholding and all the responsibilities being a landowner can involve?

There could be some compromise solutions, if all you want