Farmyard lessons Inner-city pupils thrive in the countryside
A week surrounded by fields and animals – and without sugar and smartphones – has extraordinary effects, finds Guy Kelly
‘Look at all this,” says Toby Meanwell, gesturing across the sun-drenched hills surrounding Lower Wernddu Farm in Herefordshire. “Who wouldn’t want to spend time here?” In 2011, Meanwell was living in a one-bedroom flat in Holloway, north London, working as a science teacher at a secondary school in Maida Vale. When it organised a trip to Jamie’s Farm, a charity offering short, rural residential stays for vulnerable, inner-city teenagers, Meanwell jumped at the chance to volunteer. A Head of Year who had grown up messing around in the Oxfordshire countryside, he fell in love with the place. “I was amazed at the difference just a week was making to these kids. They were coming back and acting as if something had finally clicked,” he says. “It was just a case of showing them something else, breaking the monotony of the classroom or whatever’s going on at home.”
The 105-acre Herefordshire site is the second ‘‘Jamie’s Farm’’ – the first is in Wiltshire, and named after its founder, Jamie Feilden. They seek to transform pupils’ self-esteem and behavioural issues simply by changing their learning environment and giving them a hearty taste of agricultural life.
The charity hosts around 1,000 11- to 15-year-olds annually, with each site taking about a dozen pupils per week. Of the children deemed by teachers to be ‘‘at risk of exclusion’’ when they arrive at the farm, a staggering 82 per cent aren’t in that category six weeks later – testament not only to the farms, but also the charity’s follow-up visits.
At Lower Wernddu, Meanwell leads a team of eight young staff, among them specialists in farming and cooking. Then there’s the animals, including 30 pedigree Hereford cattle, around 150 rapidly multiplying sheep, one boar, three sows with piglets, three dogs, and some goats.
The team includes Meanwell’s wife, Katie, also a former teacher, who works as therapeutic coordinator, speaking to the children one-on-one every day.
Officially titled education manager, an average day for Meanwell, 39, could include a morning delivering lambs with a handful of grossed-out children, the afternoon building a hut with another lot, and the evening chipping in with preparing a meal for 20 in the farmhouse.
Three years ago, a generous Comic Relief grant allowed Feilden to purchase the Herefordshire site. Having developed a friendship with Meanwell during his volunteer stints, Feilden asked him to lead the project, and move to a flat on the farm. “There were reservations. All our friends were in London and we loved teaching,” Meanwell says. “But it seemed like a no-brainer – even if we’d have a lot to learn.” Before arriving on a Jamie’s Farm, the pupils are asked to sign a contract: no smoking, no chewing gum, no sugary food or drink and no TV. Smartphones are to be handed in on day one. “Some of them really lose it over the smartphones,” Meanwell says. “They’ll also arrive hyperactive, unable to concentrate on anything, then by the end of the second day the sugar has rushed out of them and they’re completely fine.” Many follow the same behavioural pattern, which they call ‘‘forming, storming, norming’’: after arriving, they try to make sense of the new environment. Then they try to test its boundaries. Come the end of the week, they’re used to it, and start to make the most of the opportunity. “We just let them kick off and get it out of their systems. It’s two miles to the nearest village. They soon realise there’s nowhere to go and come back.” Although there’s plenty of rolling down hills and splashing in puddles, Meanwell notes that every task is needed, be it building sheds or planting vegetables. On our wander, a group of 15-year-olds from Bradford were helping count lambs, clutching the miniscule balls of fluff like toys, while others were sawing and drilling crates together for the goats play on. “A lot of the pupils here never felt what it’s like to really achieve something, so we have them build things they can come back and visit, or cook for the group, then make sure everyone knows how they helped.” Most have also never seen the countryside. Meanwell recalls one young Londoner who, upon holding a lamb for the first time, noted that it felt oddly similar to her jumper. “She had no idea they were made of the same thing,” Meanwell laughs. “But we show them how things work. Want a hot shower? Chop some wood for the boiler. Milk for your cereal? Off to the cow shed.” Mohaid Ali, a shy 15-year-old who’s been here for three days, delivered a lamb on his first morning. “It was so warm and slimy, but really cute,” he says. “I had never been to a farm and didn’t know lambing was a thing. I thought the sheep did it themselves.”
Ali admits the sugar and phone bans were difficult at first, but Lower Wernddu has grown on him. “I didn’t really want to come, but my dad said I might learn something new, and he was right. It’s been hard work sometimes but I really like it.”
Meanwell’s salary is paid for by the grant from Comic Relief, who are committed for three years. Relying on outside investment, high-profile associations like Comic Relief and the patronage of the Duchess of Cornwall are essential in attracting investors and donations.
“We’d love to start some sort of qualification here,” Meanwell says. “We can see that alternatives [to formal education] are desperately needed.” The next two years will see two more Jamie’s Farms open, in Monmouthshire and Sussex. The charity hopes to help 1,800 troubled kids every year. “I’d never leave the countryside now. Everyone on the team is doing amazing, vital work. I hope we’re set, I really do,” Meanwell says.