There are few things in this world that can delight a four-year-old as much as
watching a cow defecate. As Tiddler lifted her tail and sent a thick brown
torrent gushing onto the grass, Molly’s eyes lit up and her face flooded
with joy. “L-l-look, Daddy!” she yelled, stuttering in her excitement.
“He’s pooing!” We’d brought Molly, and 18-month-old Conor, to stay at Manuels
Farm, in Cornwall. Like most children, they’ve grown up chanting rhymes and
playing games — This Little Piggy, Old Macdonald, Baa Baa Black Sheep — that
refer to an agricultural world they only see in books. We wanted them to
embrace the raw realities of rural life. We wanted them to get back to
basics. We wanted them to get their hands dirty.
Literally. If you’re the sort of parent who breaks out the Dettol at the drop
of a sticky bun, farm stays aren’t for you: like children themselves,
they’re naturally messy and unhygienic. But if you’re one of the growing
number who believe the antiseptic lives many of our kids lead are unnatural
and unhealthy, they’re just what the doctor ordered. Being of the
let-them-eat-dirt school, I couldn’t have been happier to see Molly
crouching in a cowpat-encrusted meadow watching nature take its course.
“That’s an awful lot of poo,” she said thoughtfully, as the brown tide
continued. Her attention wandered, as a four-year-old’s will. A cute, frisky
male calf trotted by, and she looked at the bright-yellow tag in his ear.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s so we can tell where his meat comes from when we eat him,” said Farmer
James.
“Eat him?” She was intrigued.
Farms aren’t only full of supposedly unhealthy germs: they teem with forbidden
ideas, too. Excrement, sex and death are not generally deemed suitable
subjects for small children, but they’re the very things that interest them
most. Here, they can tackle them at their own pace (James never imparts more
information than Mum and Dad would prefer) in the most natural way possible.
We’d had excrement: death was clearly next. The subject of sex would come
later, prompted by a rear view of Boris the boar’s enormous testicles.
Manuels is a small, mixed farm with a bit of everything: cows, sheep, goats,
pigs, poultry, stables, a few fodder crops. And, just as important, it has
James Wilson — Farmer James to the kids. Ruddy of cheek and generous of
frame, he has a rare combination of skills: a lifetime’s experience of
farming; a natural way with children (he’s got two of his own, both of whom
exude rude country health); and an infectious enthusiasm for passing on his
knowledge in a way kids can understand and enjoy.
Like all farms, and all happy children, Manuels has a routine. Every morning,
for a couple of hours, Farmer James sees to the animals.
The kids come with him, doing as much or as little as they like. There’s
Benson the dog and a couple of cats to feed; Oscar and Domino the lambs need
their bottles of milk; the goats need to be taken out of their pen and put
out to the top field; ditto the pigs — three very fine Gloucester Old Spots,
though the eight squealing piglets need to stay in their sty.
The eggs have to be collected from the chickens and ducks, too, though it’s
best to be out of the poultry pen when the Grumpy Geese are released. Wilbur
the pony needs grooming, then it’s all into the tractor and off to check on
the cattle.
Naturally, the kids adore it, but they’re learning as much as they’re
laughing. As they rumble along the lanes in the tractor, James points out
passing rabbits, the pretty hawthorn flowers, the cow parsley and
mother-in-law’s tongue in the hedgerows. They learn how to tell if a duck is
poorly (their beaks go yellow) and the ultimate destination of Wilbur’s
moulting coat (it’ll end up lining the nests of the house martins that
migrate here from South Africa).
And, as Molly uses the tractor’s forklift to shift the huge muck pile behind
the stables, James runs through the cycle of fertilisation.
“Later, I’ll put all the poo on the field. And the goodness in it will make
the grass grow. And the cows will eat the grass. And they’ll make more poo.
And I’ll put that on the muck heap, and...”
“The poo will go round and round!” Molly cackles delightedly.
There are other cycles to learn about, too. Back in the field, James and Molly
are again discussing the young calves’ future. He points out Liquorice, a
fine-looking specimen.
“D’you see him, Molly? He’s going to have a nice summer, eating lovely good
grass, and we won’t put any nasty chemicals in him. Then he’s going to go in
my freezer and my children will eat him, and he’ll help them grow big and
strong.”
She needs time to chew that one over, and nothing more is said. But later, sat
at the cottage’s kitchen table, contemplating her stew, she pipes up.
“Is this liquorice?” “No, it’s meat,” I reply forgetfully.
“I mean Liquorice the cow,” she says impatiently. “I think it is, ’cos it’s
very tasty.” Ah, the casual brutality of youth.
There are five cottages at Manuels, each comfy, clean and fitted up to a good
standard. All are renovated farm buildings and pleasingly antique, though
they’re not the place for anyone with an aversion to chintz. Molly didn’t
see much of the inside, anyway: as we sipped wine and watched Conor toddle
about the gardens and the ramshackle playground, she was rapidly turning
feral.
She’d nip back in through the open cottage door if she needed a cuddle, a
drink or to pass on an important item of news — “The piglets have got into
the yard!” — but the rest of the time she was off chatting to the lambs,
playing in the makeshift Wendy house or... well, I don’t know what she got
up to. Which is as it should be. If we let her behave like that at home,
she’d end up under the wheels of a truck. Here, she ended up tanned,
talkative and, by teatime, very, very tired.
“I had a 12-year-old here,” says James, leaning on the farmyard gate after
doing his rounds. “Only child, got the impression he’d led quite a protected
life. He came up to me on the first morning, looking very serious, and asked
where he was allowed to go. So I told him, ‘Everywhere.’” He waves his arm
expansively, taking in the barns, the sheds, the stables, the muck heap, the
tractor, the surrounding fields, the quiet lane sunken deep between verges
awash with blossom.
“I don’t think he’d ever been let off the leash before. It took a while to
sink in, but by the end of his stay he was a changed boy. He was confident,
active, independent. I love telling kids about the countryside. But really
it’s the freedom here they love most.”
Conor being that bit younger, we didn’t expect the farm to make much impact on
him. But he, too, thrived after his fashion. To him, lambs and pigs were
fluffy toys in his cot. The real things initially scared the daylights out
of him; but from howling at everything from the kittens up, by day three he
was hand-feeding horses and trying to climb into the tractor by himself.
Even we wouldn’t let him go feral just yet, but he was quite capable of
tottering across the farmyard, unbolting the shed door and visiting the
“baa-sheeps” with no more than a distant parental eye for company.
Every now and then, we reckoned the animals needed a break, so we whisked the
kids off to one of the fabulous local beaches — the wide golden sands, rock
pools and spooky caves of Crantock are a must.
Arriving back at the farm, there was always another diversion — watching the
farrier shoe the horses, riding Wilbur or charging around to gather up the
piglets who’d got into the yard again. (They’re surprisingly quick on their
feet. The trick is to approach them from behind, grab firmly around the
middle and ignore the squeals — they’re only doing it for effect.) By the end
of the break, Molly reckoned she knew her animals, and proclaimed her
verdict on each species in turn. Pigs are “really big, much bigger than in
Topsy and Tim, but they’re nice”. Lambs are “nice too, but they’re greedy”.
Cows are “sweet”, horses are “scaredy-cats”, goats are “stroppy”, chickens
are “fusspots” and geese are “bullies”. The cast of characters in the
farmyard isn’t all that far from that of the schoolyard.
Educational, then, as well as enjoyable. But lots of holidays can make that
claim — what farms give children is something more rootsy, more real,
something that will help them grow as you watch. They are nature’s
Disneyland, with all the cute characters, but none of the schmaltz.
“Farms are nice,” yawned Molly succinctly as we bundled her into the car on
our last evening for the long drive home. “But I don’t want anyone to eat
Oscar the lamb.”
Harsh rural realities are good for them, but there’s only so much a
four-year-old needs. “No, Molly,” I lied. “Nobody will ever eat Oscar.”
I do hope she never asks for proof. He’s growing fast, and our back yard’s too
small for a sheep.
Travel brief: at Manuels Farm (01637 878300,
www.manuelsfarm.co.uk), near Newquay, prices start at £250 for a one-bedroom
cottage in low season, rising to £800 for a three-bedroom (sleeping five) in
July or August. Linen and heating are included, as are all farm activities
and as many eggs as your kids can nab from the hens.
More farm stays
Real farm stays take place on working farms. Their attraction is their
authenticity: if you want your children to have a genuine taste of country
life, this is where to find it.
But good ones are thin on the ground. For one thing, at the lower end of the
market, the accommodation can be more Eddie Grundy than Brian Aldridge. And
for another, many farmers don’t really encourage kids to get involved: if
you’re trying to run a business, having a gaggle of youngsters trailing in
your wake is not an aid to efficiency.
For all that, though, there are working farms out there that offer a high
standard of accommodation and welcome children’s interest and involvement.
We’ve picked five prime examples to get you started, with cottages ranging
from the homely to the distinctly stylish: the best resource for finding
more is Farmstay UK (02476 696909, www.farmstayuk.co.uk), a co-operative
that lists hundreds of working farms nationwide. All are tourist
board-assessed, and symbols tell you which ones are child-friendly.
A couple of caveats. These are not holiday camps: while James Wilson can
afford to take a relaxed attitude on his smallholding (see main article),
every farm is different, so talk to the farmer first about the degree of
parental supervision required around animals and machinery. And some keep
poultry, which could be a cause for concern — but they’ve assured us that,
at the first sign of an avian-flu outbreak, the birds will be removed or
locked away securely.
All prices are for a week during the school summer holidays; rates at other times
can be substantially lower
Fowlescombe Farm, Devon
Genial Richard Barker oversees Fowlescombe’s 500 acres, and he
approaches with relish the task of putting children back in touch with the
countryside. “Kids are disconnected from the land,” he says. “They
don’t know where their food, leather or wool comes from. Here’s
where they can put that right.” And how. There are 400 rare-breed
sheep and more than 200 cattle here, and guests are welcome to get involved
with the seasonal work — the calving’s just about to start —
as well as the routine tasks.
There is masses of wildlife, too: join a guided walk to spot the plentiful hare,
foxes, deer, badgers, owls and buzzards. But it’s rustic reality outside,
urban chic within. The two cottages, converted from a barn, are seriously
smart (the building was recently featured in Architect’s Journal) and
high-spec, with DVD players, satellite television and broadband. A hamper with
steaks and chops from the farm can be supplied: “It’s an
important part of the educational process, reconnecting kids with their food
source,” says Barker.
£982 for a cottage sleeping six. Book through English Country Cottages
(0870 197 6890, www.english-country-cottages.co.uk)
Glyn Arthur, Denbigh
It helps if you like sheep. Glyn Arthur has 900 of them, as well as 40 rams, roaming
over 400 acres of secluded Welsh hillside. You can bottle-feed the lambs and
help out at shearing; and Peter Rowley Williams, whose family has farmed the
land for seven generations, will pack guests into the Land Rover for a bumpy
ride over the hills when the time comes to gather them in. There are horses
and sheepdogs, fish and frogs in the pond, and badgers, foxes, rabbits and
buzzards abound. The two cottages, Ty Gwlan and Tan y Bryn — one sleeping
four, the other six — are neat and comfortable, with gorgeous views right
over the Vale of Clywd.
£924 for the two-bedroom cottage. Book through Rural Retreats (01386
701177, www.ruralretreats.co.uk)
Sherbourne Farm, Suffolk
This is East Anglia, so Tony Suckling’s 400 acres are mostly devoted to
wheat and barley. There’s plenty of livestock, too, though —
“A bit of a menagerie,” Suckling says ruefully — with 40
sheep, some ponies, a lone cow, rabbits and poultry (in their own separate
pens). Children are welcome to get involved in feeding, grooming and mucking
out. It’s good for wildlife, too:
Anne will kit out your little ones with guides and maps to follow nature trails
by the lovely River Box, with kingfishers, fish in the well-stocked ponds,
foxes, rabbits and a purpose-built badger hide for your own version of Naturewatch.
Both the two-bedroom Victorian barn conversions are comfy and characterful.
£650 for either cottage (01787 210885, www.sherbournelodgecottages.co.uk)
Croftlands Court, Seaville Farm, Cumbria
Three generations of the Hughes family have worked the rich dairy land at Seaville.
The prizewinning herd now numbers 90 Jersey milkers, and children are
welcome to watch them being fed and milked. There are plenty of cute, curious
calves, too, as well as three goats, a flock of hens, a couple of rabbits
and Kerry the dog to pal up with. Responsible older children (from 11 up)
are given the run of the farm’s 140 acres. The five holiday lets,
carved out of a converted 17th-century coach house, have plenty of character —
beamed ceilings and bare stone walls abound.
£480 for a two-bedroom apartment sleeping four. Book through Cumbrian
Cottages (01228 599960, www.cumbrian-cottages.co.uk)
Stonefolds Farm, Aberdeenshire
With 300 sheep and 170 beef cattle on 125 acres, Neil and Shirley McNiven are running
a large operation. “We’re a working farm, so guests have to fit
in with what we’re doing,” says Shirley. “But when we’re
not frantic, we try to spend quite a bit of time showing children around,
letting them feed the animals, telling them about the work.” At busy
times, their 13-year-old daughter often takes over: “She’s chief
pet lamb rearer, and great with the little ones,” says Shirley. The
two cottages are newly built but in traditional style, with light, modern
interiors and all the kit you need.
£375 for a two-bedroom cottage sleeping 4-5, plus cot (01651 891267)
