#custodianship

Last week I heard an inheritance tax bemoaning farmer claiming he was a “custodian" of the countryside as if that claim alone should exempt him from tax. But he is not the only one making this claim:

Sue Pritchard, Chief Executive of the Food, Farming and Countryside Commission said she sees:

“... farmers both as custodians of the countryside as well as food producers, putting nature-based farming at the heart of our future agricultural policy..."  (ffcc.co.uk: ‘Farmers are custodians of the countryside' 30/11/20)

The Farmers Union also claims British farmers are “custodians of the iconic British landscape." (NFU General Election Manifesto 2024) and accused the Labour government of “betrayal" with regard to the changes in inheritance tax.

The dictionary definition of “custodian" is:

 "A person who has responsibility for protecting or taking care of something or keeping something in good condition".

Lets examine how well British farmers have protected and taken care of Britain’s iconic landscape and the wildlife that lives within it.

Since the 1970’s 41% of all UK wildlife species have declined – mammals, amphibians, birds, reptiles, and insects. One of the main reasons for this is the intensification of agricultural methods.

“More than 50 conservation groups say the "policy-driven" intensification of farming is a significant driver of nature loss in the UK. The State of Nature report assessed 8,000 UK species and found that one in 10 are threatened with extinction."  (BBC News: 14/09/2016)

Needless to say farm leaders disputed the findings. Yet a team of ornithologists, zoologists, biologists and ecologists reported that the chief cause of declining bird populations in the UK was due to the use of pesticides and herbicides by farmers. Runoff from farms, including fertilizers and animal waste pollute waterways and soil, affecting the health  of ecosystems and the wildlife that depend upon them. Grubbing up hedgerows and cutting down woodland has led y to a loss of habitat for many of our native mammals and other species.

Not content with killing off Britain’s wildlife, many farmers are also threatening the health of British consumers, in particular the long-term wellbeing of our children.

The use of pesticides which contain “forever chemicals” are a direst threat to public health. PFA chemicals, which take centuries to break down in the environment, were found in 3300 samples tested by the UK government in 2022.

Farmers do not have to use these chemicals. They choose to do so because it increases output and therefore their profits.

“Common UK fruits, vegetables and spices have been found to be contaminated with long-lasting toxins known as "forever chemicals", prompting alarm over potential impacts on public health ...”  (itvX: 09/04/24)

“Profit before people” would seem to be the farmers' motto!

Rather than being “custodians” of the iconic British landscape farmers have traditionally been one of its worst enemies, bent on its destruction if it affords them a few more pennies in the bank.

In 1950, a Forestry Commission assessment concluded that we had 1 million km of hedgerow. By 2007, this reduced to 477,000km, a loss of approximately 52%. This loss of habitat for wildlife was the direct result of farmers deliberately removing hedgerows because by so doing they made more money.

Kemi Badenoch, objecting to rich farmers now having to pay inheritance tax (albeit only 50% of what everyone else has to pay) said:

 “This policy is  cruel, it is unfair and it is going to destroy farming as we know it”

I would suggest that “farming as we know it” isn’t fit for purpose.

“A study found that that UK is one of the world's most nature-depleted countries, with on average about half its biodiversity left - far below the global average of 75%. It means the UK is in the bottom 10% globally for biodiversity.”  (CBBC: 11/10/21)

                                              Veni, Vidi, Vici

----

Julius Caesar

----

"It ill becomes us to invoke in our daily prayers the blessings of God, the Compassionate, if we in turn will not practice elementary compassion towards our fellow creatures."

----    

Mahatma Gandhi

----

"Pheu pheu, ti prosderkesthe m ommasin, tekna;" [[Alas, alas, why do you gaze at me with your eyes, my children.]]—Medea.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,      Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, —      And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows ;   The young birds are chirping in the nest ; The young fawns are playing with the shadows ;   The young flowers are blowing toward the west— But the young, young children, O my brothers,      They are weeping bitterly ! They are weeping in the playtime of the others,      In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow,      Why their tears are falling so ? The old man may weep for his to-morrow      Which is lost in Long Ago — The old tree is leafless in the forest —   The old year is ending in the frost — The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest —   The old hope is hardest to be lost : But the young, young children, O my brothers,      Do you ask them why they stand Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,      In our happy Fatherland ?

They look up with their pale and sunken faces,      And their looks are sad to see, For the man's grief abhorrent, draws and presses      Down the cheeks of infancy — "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary;"   "Our young feet," they say, "are very weak !" Few paces have we taken, yet are weary—   Our grave-rest is very far to seek ! Ask the old why they weep, and not the children,      For the outside earth is cold — And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering,      And the graves are for the old !"

"True," say the children, "it may happen      That we die before our time ! Little Alice died last year her grave is shapen      Like a snowball, in the rime. We looked into the pit prepared to take her —   Was no room for any work in the close clay : From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,   Crying, 'Get up, little Alice ! it is day.' If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,   With your ear down, little Alice never cries ; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,   For the smile has time for growing in her eyes ,— And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in      The shroud, by the kirk-chime ! It is good when it happens," say the children,      "That we die before our time !"

Alas, the wretched children ! they are seeking      Death in life, as best to have ! They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,      With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city —   Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do — Pluck you handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty   Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through ! But they answer, " Are your cowslips of the meadows      Like our weeds anear the mine ? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,      From your pleasures fair and fine!

"For oh," say the children, "we are weary,      And we cannot run or leap — If we cared for any meadows, it were merely      To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping —   We fall upon our faces, trying to go ; And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,   The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,      Through the coal-dark, underground — Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron      In the factories, round and round.

"For all day, the wheels are droning, turning, —      Their wind comes in our faces, — Till our hearts turn, — our heads, with pulses burning,      And the walls turn in their places Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling —   Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall, — Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling —   All are turning, all the day, and we with all ! — And all day, the iron wheels are droning ;      And sometimes we could pray, 'O ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning)      'Stop ! be silent for to-day ! ' "

Ay ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing      For a moment, mouth to mouth — Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing      Of their tender human youth ! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion   Is not all the life God fashions or reveals — Let them prove their inward souls against the notion   That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! — Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,      As if Fate in each were stark ; And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,      Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,      To look up to Him and pray — So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,      Will bless them another day. They answer, " Who is God that He should hear us,   While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us   Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ! And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)      Strangers speaking at the door : Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,      Hears our weeping any more ?

" Two words, indeed, of praying we remember ;      And at midnight's hour of harm, — 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber,      We say softly for a charm. We know no other words, except 'Our Father,'   And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,   And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 'Our Father !' If He heard us, He would surely      (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,      'Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But, no !" say the children, weeping faster,      " He is speechless as a stone ; And they tell us, of His image is the master      Who commands us to work on. Go to ! " say the children,—"up in Heaven,   Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find ! Do not mock us ; grief has made us unbelieving —   We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." Do ye hear the children weeping and disproving,      O my brothers, what ye preach ? For God's possible is taught by His world's loving —      And the children doubt of each.

And well may the children weep before you ;      They are weary ere they run ; They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory      Which is brighter than the sun : They know the grief of man, without its wisdom ;   They sink in the despair, without its calm — Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, —   Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm, — Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly      No dear remembrance keep,— Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly :      Let them weep ! let them weep !

They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,      And their look is dread to see, For they think you see their angels in their places,      With eyes meant for Deity ;— "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation,   Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, — Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,   And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,      And your purple shews your path ; But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence      Than the strong man in his wrath !"

----

The Cry of the Children

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

----