ministry visits

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A farmer at Rusper promised that a lot of people would be very rude to me over time. Jackie and I spent a hilarious morning chasing cattle across a very long humped field, approaching by tractor and by stealth. A pair of binoculars could well have saved us that morning's work. Dave and I visit strange Ebernoe with its cricket pitch bisected by the road, and we have a nice cup of tea.  A leisurely start to my career.

I began a winter of driving 50 miles through wet Surrey to various odd meeting points with fellow Field Officers, the first of which was Sainsbury's on the A27 outside Worthing. I learnt to read an A-Z which with its northings and eastings contained all the information I needed.

My boss comes out with on a day where most visits lasted 15 minutes. I have to find the legendary Philanthropic Farm which has boss and I meeting bonnet to bonnet with him the wrong side of an impenetrable bollard, and neighbours urging us to move on. A colleague later rings me for directions to this farm which is ringed by homes for the geriatric. I also visit a house which cannot be far from the Yorks' residence and a farm with the longest drive which I leave with a big sigh of relief in total darkness at 5.30pm. I won't forget my Friday afternoon visit to Lurgashall where I mistakenly greeted the old boy's assistant as *his brother*. Oh no, That's my son, he said. By chance I spotted that one steer on a farm at Chertsey had unmatched eartags, which left me pleased that I hadn't missed this. At an 8.30am visit to Chiddingfold I get my first political discussion as I speak to an NFU member with strong views about barley being included in forage area but not extensification. Throughout this time I'm treated to regular interesting conversations with my colleague, part-time farmer Jonathan, in which I think I held my end up. We all have a nice Christmas lunch and eat plenty in a pub on the A25 at Guildford.

I go to a very friendly farm at Balcombe and on to a farm of beautiful Limousins at Chessington. Then I have a regular type, the friendly but irritated. However they seem reasonable tolerant considering I spent 7.5 hours examining their youngstock and paperwork. I was dumped on at the Christmas meeting and have to go down to Hampshire on the Saturday before Christmas for a cursory animal check. I meet a scoutmaster at Billingshurst, a very unhappy flu'd-up farmer at West Chiltington (who is still fuming a year later despite saying it was nothing personal when I left after being there a full day) and lastly two farms in Hampshire. Graham T was very good value the two times I met him. He had an excellent system for dealing both with the beef bulls and Ministry officials. Then off to a remarkably flat part of Hampshire at a place called Palestine. Neither were particularly bothered about it being the 23rd of December (perhaps they were not Christians?). I drove back to Guildford and then down to Devon, pleased that a new year could be ushered in without too much embarrassment.

Surrey was tolerable but frankly odd, and West Sussex seemed to harbour a strange sort of insect-like unpleasantness. I was happy to spend more time in East Sussex and to be nearer the coast generally. My first assignment was Chanctonbury Ring looking for some nice Sussex cattle. Due to hairy inner ears, my only chance of reading their tag was to catch a back view which they eventually provided. My blasted car would not start as I left a farm in Capel. The youngish farmer bore my presence with goodwill despite a lengthy milk questionnaire also interrupting his day. We waded through a very muddy farm on the road to Gatwick, where the owner was still living with his divorced wife. He had a slightly more realistic attitude to the animals than she. A very ordinary farm with a distinctly unpleasant name near Horsham. The only odd aspects were the on-site factory possibly for clothing (diversification) and the large notices put up to deter the neighbours, whom I have reason to know were extremely troublesome. A very brief cattle identification at Esher leaves me time to spend the rest of the day in London. We have an entertaining day with Mr C, whom I would undoubtedly meet again. Amazingly the cattle count was precise enough to determine that a bullock had actually escaped. A search was launched and it was found in the woods a day or two later. I have a special treat with a visit to Mays Green near Henley, as this is where some cattle 'on retention' are being held. A 7pm finish and the farmer's wife is telling the children that they can have their dinner as soon as the Ministry man has gone: they were giving up the cattle, which was quite a common story. An animal bought with the wrong eartag leads to a visit or two to Keymer where everything is in order and the sun is shining very brightly for mid-January. I am pleased at booking a visit for Monday and arrive to be shepherded past some unpleasant dogs on the A272. I am able to help myself to the stock at East Grinstead and complete my 7.5 hour day in the office, in comfort. A relaxing afternoon is spent on the Hogsback with some well-bred Angus cattle by a certain Mr Angus. A sharp-tongued lady greets me the next day. It's of interest to note that she planned to set up a visitor centre for her farm to make it tick. I supposed I hope it worked, really. I meet a real old gentleman and see his large estate in the Chichester area. He is appreciative of my sorting out his cattle papers and I warn him he will receive a stern letter from the regional service centre for getting behind. My wretched car leaves me stranded at the Shell garage south of Horsham on the A24. It is Saturday morning and I am determined to complete my journey to Lewes. The taxi fare is forty pounds. The farmer very kindly drops me off at the town centre. It takes me four hours to get back to my car, which, starts. (Evidently using it to jumpstart my old car- to get it to the scrapyard- 'did for it', quite ironic really.)

I start the month by seeing a record 300+ animals. The youngish farmer who lets me on the second one was about to holiday: very tasty. I hover around Edenbridge and get to visit the Biggin Hill area. I go to the muckiest farm in all of South-East England where the neighbours tell me exactly what they think. You poor silly sods for living opposite, I think. I later quite unintentionally splash a pair of council visitors but allow myself a quiet smile as the woman gesticulates futilely in a soaked kind of way. I borrow a hideous amount of cattle movement paperwork from another local farmer. I visit a caravan near Hailsham and another youngster shows me around a dairy farm east of Heathfield which has since sold up. I make the mistake of mentioning Europe to a farmer I catch indoors on Ditchling Common. A farmer who was perhaps awkward on the phone when I rang from Heathfield Safeways, "they're not doing well at all, you'll see when you get here"... thought I was a do-gooder from the RSPCA so was winding me up.  He presented me with some lively healthy animals and an interesting commentary. I visit seven farms, finishing at 7.30pm. I call in on a lady whose home dripped with nice things of the shop and whose hankering for suckler cattle was a good deal more healthy and practical than the usual housewife's favourite, a well-hung horse. It was sooo nice to be in a quality environment whispered the snob in me. I dismiss an extremely ugly house with pleasure as I press on 100miles into my 170-mile day. As ever, the farmer I rang at 7pm turned out to be the complete opposite of what the phone call would indicate, in this case friendly but missing all his cattle records due to a fire. I later get a call on the A23 from the DBES (Date Based Export Scheme) as regrettably one of the offspring was waiting to go for (dead) export but as a result of the missing paperwork, this couldn't happen. Oh.  I catch up with the Polish baron near Haywards Heath who was a little dismissive. I was pleased to get another inspection crossed off the list though. I meet the farmer who inherited from his employer, having been a loyal employee for many years, he draws, quite well, but unfortunately I steal his pencil. An incredibly windy morning near Beachy Head where cars and people gather for one last pile-up at the bottom of the ocean. Many problems at the council-owned farm, as re-doing this farm's dairy parlour was not one of their stated priorities. And then on to some of the best beef cattle I was to see for a while at a very hard to find exit off the A21. Back at the ranch, my boss successfully interprets my thoughts and suggest I move to Lewes. It was bloody convenient for everybody, and I would get to do more things in Brighton. Scores of white animals gallop around the pen at Battle and a gate lands on top of the owner. I go to a potato farm at Tunbridge Wells around the corner from where I was to work two years later in another life. I am treated to the most lethal drive in Sussex which must be the 'postman's curse'. Back at Eastbourne and the farmer's wife has no good word to say about the Ministry. This happened quite often, where an incident stood out so much it coloured dealings with them ever afterwards. An elusive Scotsman has some terrifying Swiss dogs to patrol in his absence. On to another farm which disgusted me, but the job was completed. I spend Tuesday 15th in Horsham watching 60 copies of my book get printed.  A heifer makes off for the M25 with every likelihood of catching it, and 'merging in turn', as she was based at Crawley. I cross my fingers and head off for the next farm. My next assignment is a farm in tourist country down by the Arun, with pubs aplenty. I work with Adrian for the first time and I was very stand-offish. The farmer didn't think much of him but said I was as sharp as a tack. It was indeed a satisfying day with delicious cake after eight hours' good work. A slighly morose farmer near Godstone takes up my whole afternoon. I had meant to spend the time flathunting in Brighton. These were the cattle that wandered to Westerham and slowed trains down in the area, situated as they were in an island of railway lines. Various correspondence ensued but I think it turned out alright.

A semi-naked farmer greets me in the afternoon and leaves me to consult records while he towels. This is a tonic to the morning's anxst where the NFU man is annoyed that the 'fewer visits' system he champions did not work even for his own farm.

I return to the Chichester estate with Adrian, where no harm could possibly be done in this vast greenness. Having failed to book a farm up for me, I'm left to scramble around for one at 5.30pm the night before. I don't endear myself to the chagrined farmer by mixing his last name up with the farm name but the afternoon's booking livens things up by attempting to teach young Adrian a thing or two about cattle handling.  I turn up at the wrong Newhouse Farm, a mile away, with big big gates and buzzer. The actual Newhouse (what a common name) is quite the reverse, occupied for over 40 years. Dave and I visit a younger Yul Brynner on the Sussex coast. I spend my birthday dealing with the impossible Mr P, who had allegedly exchanged fisticuffs with another government branch in the distant past. The following birthday I spent with a notorious Essex farmer, so it was clearly not to be avoided. I am inexplicably called a ninny by the farmer I rang from Fleet service station, but Adrian may have damaged his sump driving me round which is much more annoying. I was on time despite him keeping me for the first and last time in the bar at Guildford till ten minutes before the inspection was due to begin. I do some global positioning with Rupert Waite on the South Downs. I help my brother move house from Stevenage to White Colne, driving about 125 miles. I meet the wonderful Paddy, the Conservative lady near Horsham. It was a treat to see her second-time round. I persuade a lady with small children who might have also been pregnant to let me see the animals which meant another inspection crossed off. I'm all heart. I see the one bullock I need to, who we find last of all in the barn right by the house, after an hour's sweep of the downs. My boss gives me a quick report without removing his fetching shades at the Steyning Roundabout. I have a very brief visit to Ashington which probably included a bite of Angus beef, if not on this occasion then certainly later. I drive down to Chichester on spec, which isn't advised. I justified this as helping me keep within my 48hour warning periods. We discuss road accidents at Tarring Neville, quite a painful subject. The C-whatever through Southease is patently not a good A-road so Tarring Neville is the least worst option, and with only 15 houses, hardly vocal enough for anyone to object. My first sighting of the farm near Burgess Hill, which keeps getting visited as the good-natured occupants aren't yet teed off enough with inspections to get on with the boring ear/paperwork. Another dose of elderly Worthing lady and on to Goodwood which having mentioned by name I can hardly comment on. A day of suckler cows in the Rogate area, including a visit to Thorney Island. On the Saturday I persuade someone to accept a Monday morning visit. I go to visit cattle at Windlesham Park on a Sunday. The Monday visit goes ok, though without a crush it is extra fun viewing the animals, snooping around carefully so as not to rattle them. I catch a couple of farmers with only a few hours notice which is great. I'm not home till 7pm though but I did take a day in the week off instead, so that's alright. I head east and meet the boss at a Little Chef in Pevensey. I end up in the middle of Eastbourne on some of the Duke of Devonshire's land which is certainly different. A jolly chap makes light of a lengthy inspection, condensing it by good animal management to 90minutes. Onward. I apparently spend the weekend in Exeter (169miles away), where I have to book more farms. Back on the Monday, I explain that I am definitely not based in Exeter, although a good deal more explanation is required as to why this fellow sells exclusively to butchers in Bexhill where he is relying very much on cryogenics and good dentistry to keep him in business. Butter begins in earnest, with visits to Montana Bakeries Slough, Pain Nouveau White City and Bonne Bouche Fulham. But the last day of the month and I'm back near Beachy Head with no buildings in sight, and for now this is preferable.

I journey to Nottingham for group training with Adrian up the stinky old M1. I meet Monica from Bicton who I hadn't seen for 5 or 6 years. My car packs up at Gospel Green but the plagued farmer helps pump it up and I spend the afternoon at KwikFit Guildford. I rack up a large mileage, 184, visiting Hooe, but thankfully the natives were friendly. I spend the weekend at my brother's. The farmer's wife said she had spent all weekend worrying about my visit which passed off without incident. I greet a meat inspector whose 'region' covers the entire south of England. I see a young man making out with a teenager on the Pevensey Marshes, but not the cattle I am looking everywhere for. Our first sheep visits begin with all kinds of everything from visitor centres and little ripped-off old ladies, to caravans to the well-concealed nobility. My first visit with the boss is not a success with me taking corners a little fast for him, and us having to fail one farm and something very unpleasant about another (cat hairs?), but we do drop in on Carol for a cup of tea. My last butter assignment is Bombay Halwa, Southall where I do get some tasty sweetmeats, shame they're past their sell-by date though. I move my stuff to Brighton. A delicious day in Dallington, Ashburnham and surrounding woodland. I feel a little likely to be shot by a mad colonel walking through Bexhill dressed in brown looking for sheep. I could be mistaken for a deer, you see. A day of global positioning training in Reading, sadly unused, but enjoyed nonetheless. Some misgivings about disturbing a nice young lady's lunch but she cheerfully shows me all the sheep. A pity that the exercise had to practically be repeated by a colleague as another holding number on the premises was selected. Tssk. Another selection of nice sheep premises around Lewes and Ditchling, made all the more pleasant by living locally. Somewhat disconcerted by a farmer answering the phone to the name of baa-baa. An unannounced visit to Westham and some wet marshland which the women owners whisk me around tolerably efficiently. I nip home for Easter after a quick sheep count inland a bit.

Serious sheep counting in Kingston and the locality. Then I take Stuart out around Horsted Keynes. We would have seen some nice bluebells or at least fish lakes. Arable training session at Bolney. I was pleased to visit another couple of farms in the afternoon, and finish up at 5 ready for what I hope was a nice weekend.

A wet visit in Hooe goes well. I do say something stupid indicating his father was still the boss, but I do hear an interesting story about the Lamb at Hooe. To the extent of a lamb being substituted for rent. Three awkward-ish farmers, one says I'm "going in the diary". By chance I had booked, without which these ones would have been livid instead of merely puce. A late evening visit to Heathfield goes well, at 8pm I have the radio cranked up and it feels good heading home. I believe the next inspection uncovered an incorrect metal tag, which dragged on and on before it was resolved. I visit two butter factories with Will Pryer, but receive no nice cake this time. We nip in to see Jo and Alex at The George in Chertsey.. Another good day leaving home at 7am to be in the far east of Sussex early to pick up some files from Mark Black "you're not leaving are you?" Not for another 16 months as it turned out. I go to Hailsham then Partridge Green where it looks like I had time for a piece of good bakery, unless it was shut. I am sure there is talk of flooding. I ride around on the back of a quad for 3.5 hours so lord knows how long this sheep inspection would have taken had I not done so. I leave my car at Will's house and head off for a great week (15 May) at Newton Rigg agricultural college near Penrith. Will, Emma, Adrian and myself in Adrian's jeep going very slowly up the M40 and M6. I slash Becky Bowler at pool. Adrian, Matt and others play finger or card games on the floor of the hotel lounge with abandon. We drink in Penrith and Sharon "comes out of herself" but is still obviously not happy and leaves soon afterwards. I attend a "use of strychnine" course at Reading. I drag Will around East Sussex including Hole Farm Hurstmonceux here my relative John Wadman farmed a hundred years before. Adrian and I go to an extraordinary golden farm near Billingshurst, the path seemed laden with buttercups and the house may have been a Cavalier stronghold. God, my mind is wandering. My first Arable Inspection, 26 May, accompanied by the boss we wrap up a couple of small ones including an absurd field of beans.

Sure enough, I was back at Burgess Hill as a quick squint at the Workington BCMS computer had indicated back in May. We were down at Landport, Lewes and I feel even more certain that there was talk of flooding. My boss amuses me by fruitlessly struggling for a second with the linseed farmer's name before yielding to "oh the farmer whose wife had the big tits". A day around Crawley with a school farm record check (they had no cattle) and then a farm at Worth, fabled for being impossible to get to except from certain directions. A bicycle path was being put in with nasty thick red paint and it all looked quite heavy-handed. I catch up with Carla Lane's cattle (presents) in the Crawley area, then it's away to catch the sun in the east for my first independent Arable visit. Next on June 19, I begin the farm around Balcombe viaduct which I still cross with pleasure (when I am awake that is). We make a "perfunctory" pass through on an already well-examined farm. We spend an amazing 2.5hours doing a weeds check near Groombridge.

A Monday afternoon unannounced beef inspection, perfect. And only 5 miles home down the Dyke Road. On the Wednesday I drive Emma up to the Royal Show where we meet Becky Bowler and generally have fun. I have two lamb burgers as they are so delicious. I've not had better meat since, I'm telling you. Emma ran through breeds and I came away with bags of stuff, leather wax, munchy seeds and a fold out stool I've never used. We see Alan Cooper who refers to the "soft South-East", and less pleasantly Becky B who didn't have "anything as flash as a video" for her marketing presentation (May 1998). That's a pity, commented the lecturer as Aaron and I post-mortemed the day on a very happy drive home from college. The Friday I ran into another Seale Hayne graduate Bill Britton in the hut at Litlington and he showed me the bullocks, amazingly without his glasses. Then a pretty stop at Normans Bay to do an ad-hoc eartag check. This was one of the most complicated ever, as only the binary yes/no combinations can be. A pair of calves where the male one was recorded as female, corrected to male, inadvertently re-corrected to something else. That kind of thing. Another stop off at Hailsham Market. I make a mercy dash to Rottingdean to do a record check on a big sheep farm, then it's an hour at Littlington, a catch-up with the mysterious missing suckler cow in plush central Eastbourne, the whole sorry weeds mess at Ninfield (Ian Gladwish's field), and then reading eartags out in the open at Keymer before getting on with four hours of an arable inspection until 9pm. A long healthy day. We go to Reading Town Hall on 24 July. I rescue Mark, Emma et al up from a long walk in the wrong direction, without any thanks. But I felt good anyway!

Rupert Waite and I do some GPS work near Charing in Kent. I try to call in on the Pettingers in Hythe but the house proves impossible to find in the time.

I begin Arden Ltd. It was not entirely good news as I had a run-in with the Slindon farmer manager for reasons which were my own fault. But we got on well after that, though I did dock them loads for wide hedges. I get increasingly annoyed with an agent in Arundel who has been singularly useless towards his client and somehow F&M intervened or it would have got messy. August 21-26 I stayed at a hotel in Kidlington. Most of the farmers were ok. I also spoke to Bill Vellacott, he was chasing pictures of Ekachai Krodsuwan of Thailand which I definitely never received. I had a nice Indian meal in Kidlington. We wind up the Arden Ltd inspection on 30 August at their head office near Basingstoke.

In the USA 7-14 September. An amazing week. The remote sensing exercise is fairly accurate for crop areas and I have to give bad news to several farmers about overclaims they have made. About 18 files completed in a week. Set-aside query inspections and a large forage inspection.

Around this time inspect another farmer at Five Ashes who hasn't got a clue about his animal's identities but is pleasant viewing in the truck. October 12th extremely wet indeed at Henfield. On the Friday the loory loses its wheel outside Holy Cross Priory and a nun is knocked down, which smacks of the absurd but is dangerous if not fatal.

Begin the farm at Patching, with a very noble person indeed as signatory to the IACS form. A three-mile drive which leaves the postman unfortunately far from speechless to the rankle of the farm manager. I had to go into Reading to "promap" this farm. A pleasant exercise with a girl, Madeline, who later got a good job.  Stayed at Four Posts Hotel, Buckingham for four nights.  Three farms included the agent at Olney, and a jaunt near to Cranfield College. I think it was this trip where I heard "Amazed by You" and cried happily all the way to the M4.

Visit a farm near Ditchling where the owner is on the NFU and the house looked again well-equipped. Met up with the farmer who was in despair at the prospect of a Ministry visit. A cattle identification on a flax farm near Lewes. The last farm of the year was inspecting bulls who were supposed to be steers, in relative safety.

A good start to the year near Seaford except he was later up for another visit. A visit to Conyboro which later appeared in Farmers Weekly.

23rd January. Fairly sure this was the wet day I just turned up in overalls (nothing underneath) having got soaked on the Devils Dyke.

Begin the large farm with 3 herds on the East Grinstead road. One of the workers was at Seale-Hayne and good company. I promise I will attend the Countryside March. I still haven't, dammit! Very wet indeed. I have to collect information from the bloke that lives at Newick.

By mid-February I seemed to be only visiting those that I'd already been to. We wore our plastic coveralls religiously and it was a good thing we did. Sussex stayed free of F&M which is amazing and wonderful. A nine hour day at Arundel was the last thing I did. I got spiked by the electric fence and deeply resented such an unnecessarily thorough records check that was impossible to carry out. I got the hell out and prepared for the call to some kind of action.