There is still a wide gap between town and country. I say 'still' because I know that a lot of people, farmers, unions, various authorities, trusts, schools, organisations, and media are doing a lot to educate the 'Townies' (for the want of a better word) to know what is involved in farming, in food production, the environment, the culture, the traditions, and the way of life in the countryside.
I can speak from experience having lived both sides of the river and have been aware of this growing problem since I was eleven years old, over sixty years ago.
I was born in the big City of Liverpool, of fluent Welsh farming parents. My father Dafydd Davies and my mother Lucy n'ee Rees, both from Cefn Meiriadog, near St. Asaph, ran a cowkeeping/dairy business at premises situated in a row of terraced houses, among the 'scoucers' in Anfield, within the sound of the famous 'Kop' roar.
We had no fields, about twenty milking cows, a mixture of Shorthorns, Ayrshires, Friesians and Jerseys were kept in a shippon all the year round, they were never 'bulled' so they lactated longer. All the animal feeding stuffs were bought in. My father had the knowledge and skills to blend the various ingredients to make a balanced ration for the milkers. On occasions, in the summer, my father had permission to mow the grass in a Wavertree park and bring home the 'temporary green luxury' on a horse-drawn cart.
My parents hand-milked the cows, bottled and 'tanked' the fresh milk and delivered, by pony and float and bikes, to customers in the Anfield area. Hygiene in the production system was of the highest standard. One of our customers was champion boxer Ernie Roderick. My father 'boasted', "He was a champion because he drank our rich creamy milk".
When war broke out the business became very stressful for my parents. Caring for four young children, caring for all the livestock, getting milk to the demanding customers and in between dodging Hitler's bombs was no joke. One incendiary device dropped from a war plane scraped down the shippon wall. If it had been couple of inches nearer it would have hit the building, including the loft full of hay.
In 1943, we were fortunate to obtain an eighty three acre rented farm in Cefn Meiriadog, a neighbouring farm to Hen Dy Farm, where my mother was born and grew up.
A year or so after we had settled in, my parents invited friends and former customers from Liverpool, to spend a day with us. This is when my father pointed out to me that people from the town didn't know anything about farming, or where their bread and butter was coming from, or the way of life in the country.
When these people came from the city we explained management and the behavior of cattle, sheep, pigs, horses, poultry etc: We explained how the green grass was purposely grown--it didn't just grow on it's own: We demonstrated hand-milking: I gave demonstrations of my sheepdog working. We gave them pony rides. We took them for walks to view the beautiful countryside...the only view they got in the city was wall-to-wall brick walls.
The re-action from the 'Townies' was incredible. They were amazed at the amount of hard work that we did. They were flabbergasted at the arts and skills we carried out we carried out on the farm. Skills like stack-making; hedge-cutting and layering; milk production; caring for so many animals; selecting food for the poultry; collecting fresh eggs; explaining animal communications; I even gave them demonstrations of my early attempts at doing animal and bird impressions!
With all this experience under my belt I've always felt I could offer my professional services to bodies organising this kind of education to help bridge the gap between town and country. Over many years I have written to farmers' unions, television companies and others, but never been taken on. In fact, never had replies. Only a couple of months ago I wrote to three television companies on this theme offering to front a series showing various aspects of farming. Guess what ! You're right! No replies. So the gap will continue to widen.
