Ancient barns offer refuge in valley farming community
Twice a day, William Raw and his trusty sheepdog face the bitter cold to tend cows in the remote stone barns peculiar to Swaledale
Afresh carpet of snow has fallen during the night, and lies heavy over the fields and lanes of Swaledale, near the northern edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. The whole landscape appears almost in a monochrome. The valley floor is flat and narrow, hemmed in by rough, steep slopes, studded here and there with patches of trees. Down below is a chequerboard of small fields, each carefully delineated by drystone walls and many containing simple, squat stone buildings. From this patchwork, more stone walls, spaced much further apart, clamber up the hillsides. Farming land lies beneath this immense coverlet of white. A movement in the corner of a field catches the eye as a figure trudges slowly through deep snow, a black and white dog bounding at his heels. The man is dressed for the wintry weather, but his progress is impeded by snow which reaches almost to his knees in places. This will be a difficult journey for the pair of them this morning. But it is necessary, and it will not be the only one they make today. Twice a day, every day throughout winter, William Raw leaves the snug kitchen in his 18th century farmhouse to go out down the lane and into the fields. After a heavy snowfall, this can be a real struggle, as the narrow lane outside fills with drifting snow that has to be cleared away before anything else can be done. But, however deep the snow or bad the conditions, he can always be sure that his sheepdog Floss will be along to join him.
Mining history
William’s farm lies in the village of Muker, up at the far western end of the dale, a tight-knit village of stone houses clustered together. Lane Farm has no farmyard, no adjoining barns; nothing to distinguish it from the other houses and cottages in the village. While this might seem unusual for a farm, the reason lies in the history of the area. In the 18th century, Muker changed from being a community of small farmers to one where almost everyone was involved in a new industry developing up in the hills: lead mining. The ruined remains of the old workings are still visible; bleak and forlorn in the landscape. For the men who came here, the work was hard and the pay low, so many supplemented the family budget by keeping a few livestock, perhaps no more than a
pig and a cow. Meanwhile, the women gained extra income by knitting wool shorn from the local sheep. Then, in the 19th century, the lead mining petered out, and the only resource left was the land. Those who could afford it bought up a few fields, though these were not always joined together in a convenient group, and continued to live in their old cottages in the village. William took over Lane Farm from his father, and the farmhouse where he and his wife, Carol, still live also shows something of the changes that have overtaken Muker. The house has a rough stone construction and probably started life as a miner’s cottage. Inside, the door opens into a typical farmhouse kitchen, with exposed ceiling beams, but it is also clear that there have been additions over the years. The most striking example is a well-worn internal stone staircase that once stood outside the walls of the house.
Winter refuge
William owns a scattering of seven fields, covering approximately 30 acres. Five of the fields contain barns. To get to the first of these, he has to make his way down the village street, then through a gate to reach the meadows. Next, he crosses two fields, each with a simple ‘squeeze style’, narrow gap in the wall, closed by a small gate, to reach the first of the barns, built up against the hillside. Like the field walls, the barn is a sturdy construction of rough stones, with a stone slate roof. The walls are broken up by horizontal bands of thinner stones. “People often ask me about those,” says William. “They are what we call ‘troughs’.” On closer inspection, it is evident that these bands consist of stones which pass right through the wall, protruding slightly on both sides. This is a familiar feature of drystone walls, where they are called ‘throughs’, their purpose being to bind the wall together. Somewhere in the distant past, ‘throughs’ became the local ‘troughs’. Opening the solid wooden door, the raw cold of winter gives way to snug warmth, mainly generated by the body heat of the cattle for which this is a winter home. William has 15 head of beef cattle, a mixture of bullocks and cows. They comprise two breeds: British Blues, a cross between Belgian Blues and Durham Shorthorns, and the Limousins, which were originally bred in the Marche region of France. Both breeds are highly valued for the quality of their meat. The cattle are divided between three of William’s barns,
and they greet the farmer with enthusiasm, seemingly aware this is their breakfast time. Originally, they would have been tethered in individual stalls, but here they have a certain amount of space to wander around in. A simple, rough wooden ladder leads up into the hayloft where the fodder is stored and can be pitchforked down for feeding time. Once they have had a munch at the hay, they have to be taken outside to water. The trough is an old bath tub, filled by piped water from a spring up the hillside. While the cattle are outside, William is able to clean out the barn. The urine drains away via a gutter in its stone floor, but the dung is mixed in with the straw on the floor and taken outside to be stored at the end of the barn, behind a low stone wall. What soon becomes clear is that this apparently simple stone building has been carefully designed. Moving around the back, it is obvious the builder has taken advantage of the rising ground to put the hayloft entrance on this side, making it is easier to fork up the hay for storage. Once the cattle have been fed and watered, William makes his way across the fields to do the same again at the other two barns holding more of his cattle, and he will repeat the whole process again in the afternoon. These tasks must
“The Cattle, from th’ untasted Fields, return, And ask, with meaning Low, their wonted Stalls” James Thomson, ‘The Seasons: Winter’
to be carried out every single day of the week. It is hard, physical work, and William is now in his 70s, but he rarely seems to show signs of fatigue, even on the coldest days.
Yearly cycle
Once the snow has melted away and the weather has started to warm up, the next stage in the cycle of the year is reached. All the waste produced by the cattle in the barns becomes excellent manure; a natural, rich fertiliser that can be spread out on the fields to encourage the spring growth of grass. Soon the sunshine will do its work, and the fields will develop a lush green which can be put to use. The cattle are not William’s only livestock. He also keeps a flock of Swaledale sheep. These are hardy animals which live outside throughout the year: the ewes are not even brought down from the hills for lambing. They have been eking out a living in the upper pastures of the hillsides, but now they can be moved to feast in the meadows, and Floss will turn from a family pet into an efficient working dog. The cattle, too, are allowed a feed on the rich grass. But this is a brief period: soon cattle and sheep are all out on the rough, high pasture, roaming the hillsides, and the meadows will be transformed with a variety of flowers. The next stage of the process begins in mid July when the hay is gathered in and taken to the barns to be stored as cow fodder for the winter. Then the whole cycle will begin again. That this is an ecologically sound system is obvious, but it is hard work to maintain and is only sustainable because William receives grants. The meadows are officially designated as Sites of Special Scientific Interest and are among the glories of the park. No one wants to lose them, and the tourists who come to enjoy them are an essential part of the regional economy. The park authority is prepared to pay, but insists on strict rules. No artificial fertilisers or pesticides can be used, and it specifies, for example, when William must mow his meadows. “I sometimes think I’m as much a park keeper as I am a farmer,” he says. But he has farmed this land all his working life and clearly loves it. Sadly, William has no one to whom he can hand over the farm. Hopefully, others will take up his land and continue a traditional system of farming in this remote dale.