Wish ewe were here
A glamping trip in Kent turns into a field of dreams for David Stephenson
Why go “glamping”, you ask, when a perfectly good hotel room is available at the same price? You would, however, be denied a weekend adventure in a room with a “ewe” at Romney Marsh Shepherds Huts.
Not that one of the friendly woolly jumbucks can occupy one of the huts with you. If they did attempt such a daring thing, there’s always a gate and five steps to negotiate. Sheep are like Daleks – ramps only.
In glamping terms, or posh camping, Romney Marsh huts are four-star luxury in a field in Kent.
I’d be tempted to give them an extra star just for the novelty of sleeping in the same field as a flock of woolly ones. But pick your time of year. On our weekend in late February, shepherdess Kristina was keeping at least 20 or 30 merinos in the nearby barn because lambing was approaching.
As an Aussie, this pleased me enormously because merinos are the only breed you find Down Under. Not that I speak sheep – to my knowledge.
This is a proper working farm. Within moments of arrival, Kristina’s partner Paul introduced himself, then his father too. And a sheepdog jumped about for attention. I loved it. It felt like an under-rehearsed scene from Clarkson’s Farm. And if you like that show, you will warm to this place.
By night, you could hear comforting bleating from the barn, and get a whiff of woodsmoke from Paul’s burn-off of branches after the storms.
“We took a battering,” said Paul. “We