Page 33 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
After he’s eaten, and I’ve made him a cup of tea, I see there’s a fresh tin of Welsh cakes on the side.
‘Has anyone been while I was out?’ I call from the kitchen.
‘Blooming woman from next door! Expect she thinks I need looking after. Will probably make an offer for Bertie if she finds out I’m strapped for cash. Tried to leave the tin without knocking, so I wouldn’t know it was here.’
‘Or maybe she was just being nice,’ I call, putting two Welsh cakes on a plate and taking them to him. ‘I’m going up to the feed shed. Need to sort out some emails,’ I say, and kiss his forehead.
‘It’s good to have you here, Jem,’ he says quietly, and I’m stopped in my tracks. Usually he’d be telling me I should get back to work. The words sit with me as I put on my coat. Ffion stays at Dad’s feet with Dolly, but Dewi is keen for another walk so I open the door and let him out with me.
I take huge deep breaths as I walk up to the shed, fresh air filling my lungs, the wind nipping my cheeks. We go in and Dewi sits beside me. I reach down and stroke his soft head. ‘It’s not a bad place to be, is it?’ I say to him.
Suddenly the spreadsheets, the delivery timetables of suppliers for the Christmas rush, the staffing schedules and laundry pick-ups seem so distant, so manufactured. My hotel base could be anywhere, at any time of year, with baubles, Christmas music and a festive menu created for its profit more than the pleasure it will bring. Again, I’m thinking about Christmas here, at the family table.
I pull out my phone. Matthew is right. If my bosses see this post, it could ruin everything for me … and for him.
I look at the post. My finger hovers over the delete button but doesn’t press it. If no one speaks up, who will know what’s going on? I remember the schoolgirls planning life on the other side of the world, where pay is better and the lifestyle is good. I think about the super-farms flooding the supermarkets with cheap meat and the farmland soon to be covered with solar panels instead of livestock or crops. Where will this cheaper way of living end? I tap my phone in the palm of my hand. I’ve come a long way in my career, almost to the top of the mountain. The wrong mountain. I should have stayed, fought for what I believed in, where I was happy. I wipe away tears that are now falling fast down my face. I went because Dad didn’t want me to feel trapped, like Mum. I went to make him proud. And to make her notice me, see that I was good enough, and the success I’d become, the girl she’d left behind. But is that enough reason to stay away? Or is it time to think about what and who I want to be, where I want to be?
Dewi barks in delight, seeing a squirrel dart out, then up a tree.
So, who is the Jem sitting here now? Certainly not the one who arrived with plans to go back to oversee the running of several hotels at Christmas.I’ve done the job so flawlessly that they’re offering to expand for me to do it all over again. Not that Jem. I’m the Jem who loves this place. Loves the farm, knowing where her food comes from, the care and love that go into it. Not the one who’s forgotten it all for the sake of balance sheets. That Jem is part of the problem, part of a big business trying to offset its carbon footprint, flying to the States, encouraging more travel for pleasure.
The tears are still flowing freely down my cheeks.
Yesterday I felt sad for the farmers working hard and not being rewarded. Sad that no new young farmers will come into the industry. Today, I’m frustrated and angry: frustrated that I have been part of the process in which food on a plate is now about how it’s presented and priced, forgetting the farmers. And I’m a farmer’s daughter. Today, I must start to help put that right. No matter what Matthew says. I’m not the same Jem who arrived here. But I’m starting to remember the Jem I used to be.
I press ‘live’.
‘So, as you can see, it’s a misty one here on the mountain today. The sheep are all fine. I’ve been out and counted them. Bertie the ram is firmly in his field with Harriet, the pony, his companion. Feeding them this morning was no mean feat …’ I laugh. ‘Anyway, that’s me, saying hello to anyone out there who needs to hear it. Give me a wave or a comment.You’re not alone!’ I say, the camera facing away from me to shoot the hill, the rolling fields below and Dewi chasing the squirrel. ‘It may be cold and lonely out here, but at least you lot know why I’m doing this.’ I smile and sign off.
I switch off the live stream, then watch as the likes and hearts travel up my screen.
It wasn’t the same as yesterday’s post. Today I just wanted to share a bit of life out here as a sheep farmer. But I can also feel the fire in my stomach that’s strengthening every day.
I go back into the farmhouse, dogs at my feet, and check in on Dad. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Standing up!’ he says, staggering to his feet. ‘I can’t just sit around here all day. And you need to be getting back to work and that man of yours. You have a new-year trip to go on.’
He tries to straighten. ‘See, good as new.’ He smiles and all the colour drains from his face. His legs buckle and I lurch forward, catching him under his arms.
‘I’m not going anywhere just yet, Dad. I’m here for as long as you need me. I mean it. Work will cope without me. I made it so it would. The new-year trip can wait. I’ll let them know. Right now, I want to be here.’
He looks at me from where I’ve lowered him into his armchair. ‘We have to talk,’ he says, his hand shaking and resting on mine.
I swallow. ‘It’s okay, Dad. I know.’
His tired eyes rest on me. ‘This place. It’s not working any more. The flock.’
‘We can make it work, Dad. I’ll think of something.’
He shakes his head. ‘People won’t pay. The supermarkets won’t pay. There isn’t a living to be made any more.’
‘So we just cover the farm with solar panels?’
‘Ah, you know about that too.’ He pats my hand. ‘It’s the only option. Or sell the whole place.’
I think about Llew Griffiths and feel really angry with him.
Dad seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. ‘It’s not his fault, love. He’s just making it possible. We all need to earn a living.’
