Flood water, disappearing lakes, an epic journey, and bats.

Martha in front of the farmhouse we built ourselves, and left for Exmoor.

Here we are…2020. A full 8 years since we arrived on Exmoor
to start our adventure. It really does feel like yesterday. Only my vivid
memories of how young the children were, brings the time passed into sharp
focus. Martha was 4, Alfie and George, 9 and 11 years old.

Now George has left home, finding his own adventure. Alfie
is about to take his driving test, soon to be navigating the narrow lanes of the
moor on his way to college, and Martha takes the bus to senior school. Time has
ticked on.

Strangely so much, and yet nothing, has changed here on our
hill farm. We still farm beef cattle and sheep, but have changed to a new breed
of cattle, Stabilisers, better suited to our life and the land here. We still
have North Country Mule ewes, who can survive the testing nature of Exmoor. But
we have changed our rams to a modern breed of Exlana sheep.

In this way our farm is still very much a working farm, but
it is a progressive one. We have adapted our farming methods to suit this
Exmoor hill farm. We are trying to work with it, not against it.

There are constant struggles with its harsh weather,
especially the amount of rainfall…my god…the rain!! The past few weeks of storms and the winters relentless deluge of water has brought back memories of our decision to move to Devon. In a cruel twist, the rain
was a deciding factor in bringing us here. Little did we know!

Farming in West Kent had its different challenges. Our farm was
extremely dry! We could see rain approaching our house, which was perched, like
this one, on the side of a valley. The clouds would carry the rain across our
valley and drop their cargo over the hill behind us. On the neighbour’s farm! Very
strange. If a lot of rain fell in the county, our fields in the bottom of the
valley, along the banks of the River Medway, would be purposefully flooded by
the Environment Agency. They would open the weir gates at the far reaches of
the farm. This was to protect the nearby town of Tonbridge from flooding. One
minute we would be looking over fields, the next, a lake!

A lake with water so deep that at its surface, a five-bar
gate would be submerged. At its bottom, to the depths of a river with twenty
foot high banks. The width of this lake was about the length of a football
pitch. Pretty scary and spectacular to see as the moving body of water took
whole trees and animals with it along the valley. We had to devise a fencing system
that allowed us to roll the wire up and away within minutes, so the debris
couldn’t rip the traditional fencing out.

Our lake. With the River Medway’s burst banks. Viewed from our farmyard.

But, of course, the most important thing was to ensure the
safety of our animals. One day, when MF was working in London (still running
his advertising agency in those days), the Environment Agency rang to advise the
weir gates would be opened, and so letting the flood waters on to our farm.

I was at home with Alfie, who was not a year old. The sheep had to be moved up on
to higher ground, and quickly. By the time I had wrapped Alfie up, donned the
waterproofs and strapped him onto my back, the sheep were marooned on an island.
The water had backed up through the ditches and cut the poor things off. I
rushed down to the river and tried to get the sheep to cross over to safety
before the water became too deep. But sheep don’t like water! Alfie was
giggling away as I ran backwards and forwards with him jiggling around on my
back. He thought it was all wonderful! As the water got deeper and deeper, and
their island smaller and smaller, finally one ewe decided to make a leap for it,
and the rest followed in a flood of their own. Alfie and I whooped with joy,
danced around a little and then set to moving them up the hill to safe ground.
We were rather pleased with ourselves and celebrated with chocolate biscuits
and a cuddle watching Tractor Ted. I can’t deny that a snooze might have been
involved as well!

…and then it was gone. After the flood. A stunning sunset leaving pools of molten lava behind as the waters recede. The meandering Medway can be seen to the back of the large central field, with its 40 foot banks. The straighter drainage ditches are across the middle of the picture. This ditch line is where the 5 bar gate was submerged.

How bizarre that on such a dry farm we had such extreme
problems with flood water!

I rang MF one day, again still stuck in his office in London,
to tell him in a very stressed voice that the kitchen had flooded. “How on
earth…???...” his mind racing as he imagined the depth of water it would take to
flood our house high up on the hillside. I was able to tell him that it was
just a broken dishwasher this time!
On this lovely farm we learnt that if we hadn’t had enough
rainfall in April then we wouldn’t get the grass growth we needed to sustain
our animals over the very hot, dry summer. Every year seemed to be hotter and
every year cost us more and more to feed hay over the summer months as our
fields became dry and dead. MF had now sold his agency and we knew that we no
longer needed to be within commuting distance of London. Our search for a new
farm had started.

In my blog post, ‘Exmoor Beauty’, I tell the story of finding our new home. What a wonderful day that was. It was to be five months
before we found ourselves heading to the South West. The farm had gone to
sealed bids as it had so much interest. Not very surprising as it is such a
unique place. It was a tense wait to discover that we had won the bid! Part of
the conditions were that we had to agree to certain criteria.

1. We had to exchange on a specified date, or we would forfeit £50k.

2. The complete contents of the house were under a compulsory purchase costing an extra £10k.

3. Hunting was to be allowed to continue across the farm.

4. We had to complete and move in before Christmas 2011.

It was all a rather stressful time! The purchase was
complicated and very unfriendly on the vendors part. All communications were
curt and without allowing any compromise. It was his way or no deal. But we
loved the place and couldn’t risk losing it, so our hands were tied.

I was particularly annoyed about the insistence that we
should move before Christmas. Some factors were business, money led, and we
were dealing with a tough businessman. That’s just life. Allowing the hunting
was a delight, not a problem. Buying the furniture was a strange deal, but
actually quite interesting. What we liked we kept and the rest we auctioned
off. But to force us to move away from our family and friends at Christmas,
with very young children, for the sake of a few days, felt heartless. The
moving date was set for December 22nd!

The day came and things began to fall apart. In total we were to have over twenty lorries performing the epic task of moving a whole farm to the other side of the country. The lorry to have taken our house contents
arrived nearly two hours late. The company which had helped us prepare had
underestimated the amount to pack. A second lorry to have left that day with
essential farm equipment for our arrival in Devon, couldn’t fit all the items in. We had to sacrifice
space in our furniture lorry for the quad bike! We couldn’t pile things on top
of the bike so lost that packing space. The decision was made to leave all my beautiful
garden pots and furniture behind. I was so upset, but it was a small thing
compared to the realisation that I hadn’t remembered the wretched goldfish! We
were now 3 hours late leaving (nothing new there, MF would say! I am ALWAYS
late!), and the new buyers were actually helping carry boxes out! Our fabulous
stockman, John, was to stay behind with our animals until they would be joining
us in January. I quietly handed John the fish tank and asked him to put them in
the pond when we had left! 

As we finally drove away I had expected to be very sad to
leave the gorgeous house that we had built ourselves. But I realised afterwards
that I hadn’t even looked back as I we passed through the gates. My mind was
already in Exmoor.

We drove through the gates of our new farm at 10pm later
that night, just as it began to snow. The children rushed through the house,
whooping and cheering with excitement. I was thankful that we had bought all
the big iron beds with the house, and that we would soon have everyone settled
down. Only to realise that I had sent all our bedding in the lorry that would
be arriving in the morning. We slept under our coats that night!

Our Exmoor farm in the snow, nestled on the side of the valley, with the ancient woodland below.

Our first morning started very early. As we looked out of
the farmhouse windows, we saw snow still falling. It was a magical scene. After
a hurried breakfast, the children and I pulled on our boots and coats and went
to explore. When we viewed the farm, over two visits, we still had not been
able to see all of its 300 acres. The place I had been longing to see was the
river, winding its way through 30 acres of ancient woodland. Off we set.
As we came through the last field gate into the wood, we
stood amazed as the land fell away sharply before us. We could hear the roar of
the river below, but the view of its rushing water was lost in a low cloud of
mist hanging in the valley, with the tops of the trees rising above it. What a breath-taking
place.

We turned to walk along a path, leading us down along the
side of the hill, drawing us into the wood. As we entered the trees a quietness
hung around us. A rustle of movement caught my attention. Oh my! Two majestic
Red Deer stags had lifted their heads and were staring directly at us, stood
not 25 foot away. They froze for a short time, then spun and leapt, so
gracefully, down towards the river and away.

That is still one of my most treasured memories, and a great
part of why I love this place so much. We are living in a truly wild, natural
landscape here. Foxes playing on the garden wall, buzzards watching from their high
branch every morning as I drive beneath them to the school bus stop, stoats
streaking across the lane as I am walking, voles darting into their holes
beside the garden stream, the beautiful sound of our garden birds, owls
silently gliding across the yard at dusk, and great herds of beautiful Red Deer
grazing on our fields and in our woodland.

We may have swapped river flooded fields for rain drenched hills, but no amount of water can drown the magic of this place.

I felt it the first time I stepped onto the driveway, in the Summer of 2011. Now, 8 years later, that magic has grown into an intense love for this place and its inhabitants that we share it with.

Although the mice that come into the house, nibble my clothes,
and run through the kitchen cupboards, can stretch those fond feelings a little at
times! As for the bat that chased a visiting friend out of her bed
one night…I mustn’t laugh…but you should have seen them!!!!

This, most definitely, is their home too.

Back to Top