Life lessons from the yorkshire shepherdess
Meet Amanda Owen
When she was 18 and an urban teenager in Huddersfield, Amanda Owen answered a ‘Shepherd wanted’ ad in Farmers Weekly. She got the job – and it was the start of her long and successful career as a shepherdess. Married to Clive Owen, she lives at Ravenseat Farm, high in the Yorkshire Dales. They farm sheep, and Amanda also
runs a B&B shepherd’s hut. They have nine children: Raven, 18, plans to be a doctor; Reuben, 15, is a brilliant mechanic; Miles, 13, loves baking; Edith, 10, wants to be a midwife; Violet, eight, is action woman; Sidney, six, enjoys fishing; Annas, five, wears Disney princess skirts with wellies; Clemmie, four, is the eyes and ears of the farm; while Nancy Grace, two, is very vocal and always wants to be outside.
Here’s what Amanda has learned from her extraordinary life.
Books Can Change Your Life
I’ve always been a reader, and especially loved James Herriot’s books about being a Yorkshire vet. Recently I was asked to write an introduction to a new edition of the series. It felt like fate. For my words to be in James Herriot’s books was such an honour.
But the real life-changer for me was a photographic book I borrowed when I was 15 called Hill Shepherd – no surprise what that was about. I was intrigued by the beautiful photographs, though the shepherds and landscapes were about as far removed from my life as an urban teenager as they could be – I was trying to be a Goth, and also fancied myself as Cathy from Wuthering Heights. But I loved that book and it shaped my life because it made me want to be a shepherdess, which was the very last thing anyone expected of me.
And years later, when at last I was able to afford to buy my own copy of Hill Shepherd, I was astonished to realise that my husband, Clive, was in one of the pictures, bidding at a sheep auction! I’m a grounded person, but that was incredible, to think that I’d been looking at a picture of my future husband in that book all those years before.
The Hands Give You Away Every Time
On the farm, I’m usually dressed in a fleece covered in hay, plus green leggings and wellies. I don’t usually give a hang what I look like – but from time to time I get invited to speak at literary festivals. I’ll squish into Spanx and shave my Chewbacca legs to get dressed up for the occasion – but there’s no hiding my hands. They’re like shovels, with chunks out of them because they get shredded on the farm. I’m constantly washing them, so they have a weathered look that not even the most expensive moisturiser can fix.
Everyone Should Have At Least One Rubbish Job
That way you appreciate the good ones. My worst job was at a factory where we had to attach metal badges to birthday cards. I was on the night shift, standing for hours at a trestle table. The people I was working with had been doing it all their lives. Later, I operated an incinerator at an infirmary, loading unspeakable things into the machine. But jobs like that shape you.
You’re Nothing Without A Dog
No one can outrun, out-think and outsmart a sheep in this landscape. You need a sheepdog, plus a stick and a whistle (though the quad bike is a blessing).
The dog is not only our best friend but also a colleague. The saying, ‘a shepherd is nothing without a sheepdog’ is certainly as relevant as ever in the hills. At the moment we have four working sheepdogs – Roy, Kate, Midge and Bill, our golden oldie. >>
A WOOLLY HAT IS GREAT FOR EGG COLLECTING
My daughter Clemmie knows where the eggs are. She lines her hat with hay and straw, then places the eggs inside to bring into the kitchen. She knows it’s important to leave an egg behind, or the hen won’t come back.
Life can be dangerous on the farm, with rivers to fall in, cliffs to fall off and animals that can bite and kick. But my kids are wise to their world, just as city kids on their bikes are wise to their environment.
BEING DISCONNECTED IS GOOD
Wind and rain get your blood flowing, and being outside gives you space to think. So leave the phone at home when you go for a walk. Ramblers often stop at our farm for a cream tea, and I’ll see them sitting on the picnic benches staring wistfully at their phones because there’s no signal up here!
Our kids aren’t living in some weirdy commune utopia. They have phones and can text their friends (and get the internet if they stand right next to the modem), but I’m glad they can just switch off and have downtime, and space to be themselves.
MOVING AWAY FROM NATURE MAKES TROUBLE
Looking after sheep is great training for a child – it teaches them patience because nothing happens quickly. There are no instant rewards, like there are in computer games – it’s the slow march of the seasons, just as it always has been.
For us, it’s folly to try to bring anything forward or rush things. Any gains you make will soon be lost. In fact, the more you move away from nature, the more trouble you make for yourself.
GIVE THINGS A GO
Challenge yourself. There are plenty of people ready to bring you down, so just do your thing and give it a go. There was no reason for anyone to think I could write a book. I got an E for my English GCSE, yet here I am speaking at literary festivals.
The measure of success in life is nothing to do with how big a salary you have. It’s where you are mentally and physically. Are you happy in yourself? That’s the important thing – and you’re much more likely to succeed when you do stuff you’re good at and enjoy doing.
YOU CAN HAVE A LIFE OF TWO HALVES
One half of mine is sheep, mud and kids. The other is going out into the big wide world and talking about it. Waiting to go on stage I’ll think, ‘What am I doing here? I’m a fraud!’ But I believe there’s a direct correlation between how terrified you are before the event, and the satisfaction you feel at the end.
And actually it’s a nice feeling to sashay onto the stage looking nothing like the person you usually are. Nothing pleases me more than people not realising I’m one and the same person.
IF YOU CAN DO THE JOB, DO IT
There are no stereotypical jobs on our farm. If something needs doing, we don’t care who does it. Clive is just as happy changing a nappy as he is clipping a sheep. I’ve only once had a negative comment from a woman at a shearing demonstration, who didn’t believe I could shear sheep and said it was all a set-up. Well, I can, and I do.
SAVE EFFORT WHEN YOU CAN
After a particularly muddy day, I’ll swim in the river fully clothed, then strip off and hang my jeans and top on the line.
YOU CAN TRY YOUR HARDEST AND STILL FAIL
On the farm, emotions run high. You can go from intense joy to heartbreak and back again within moments. We had a calf go missing for days after its mother died. It eventually turned up safe, but very thin and cold, and we were elated. But another time, one of my favourite yows [ewe] gave birth during a sharp frost to a premature lamb that didn’t look so clever. Her mother hadn’t licked her to warm her, so I picked her up and tried to tube-feed her, but she was too weak and cold. She choked and died in my arms. All I could think was, if
‘Some would say it’s dangerous here, but my kids are wise to their world’
only I’d taken her back to the farmhouse first, and warmed her in the Aga. I was trying my best, but still lost her. Although we raise hundreds of lambs each year, that was a very low point for me.
Don’t plan too much
It’s not that big a jump between us and animals. My life revolves around them, and you pick up on the animalistic side of things. When a sheep’s going into labour, she’ll stay away from the others and walk round in circles. I realised I do the same when I’m close to giving birth!
My eighth child, Clemmie, was born downstairs in front of the fire in the middle of the night. Realising I was in labour, I could have woken Clive and ensured a general panic as the ambulance was summoned. Or I could put my trust in nature and give birth alone, unaided.
I draped clean towels over some cushions as a makeshift mattress.
One push and I felt the baby emerging. One more and I caught her with both hands. I looked down to see my newborn’s face looking right back at me, illuminated in the glow of the fire. The whole thing had taken 50 minutes.
I woke Clive. ‘Yer some woman, thee,’ he said, shell-shocked, before calling an ambulance to take me and Clemmie to hospital for a check-up.
I’m no earth mother and I’m not recommending free birth. I’m just saying it was the perfect birth for me. You can’t control nature, so there’s no point in trying to plan too much.
We’re just Custodians
When all is said and done, we’re just custodians, passing through. The seasons change and the years fly by, and through working on the land I feel a connection with those who went before. The privilege I feel to live and work here is clearly a sentiment that was shared by others over the centuries. Scratched above a beam over a barn door are the words: ‘Mine eyes unto the hills’. w&h The brood, from left: reuben, Miles, Clemmie, sidney, Annas, Edith and Violet. Amanda is behind with raven and Clive, who’s holding Nancy