COLUMN By Alice Jones
FARMERS are tough, resilient characters. I live in a rural area and farmers count as many of my neighbours. My local shepherd is 83yrs old, yet three times a day, come rain, wind or snow, he tackles the hillside on his quad – trusty sheepdogs in tow. All of them work seven days a week, rising early and tending to the animals and the land in mud-encrusted overalls and water-logged boots.
Every farm surrounding my village has been in the same family for generations. It’s in their blood and, with this blood, sweat and tears, they march steadfastly on in an effort to provide the nation with food. The farmhouses, many now very aged and weathered, are more akin to working homes than palatial residences and it’s abundantly clear that, for many, this lifelong labour of love is not the golden ticket to vast wealth but just a way of life. I’m not sure it’s a cohort I’d choose or indeed have any desire to mess with and I hope with all my might that Keir Starmer will regret his decision to do so.
No farmers, no food. It’s not a smart quip, it’s simple fact. In desperation, the PM once again resorts to a divide and rule scenario…
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