The first of an occasional column on the perils of
trying to be green, run a family and live a pleasurable life.
My chocolate chip cookies have arrived at the farm shop. Caroline apologises as I walk in: ‘I’m afraid they’re Fairtrade.’ ‘All the better,’ I reply. ‘Why on earth would that be a problem?’ ‘They’re a little dearer. Some people don’t want to pay the extra pennies.’ Eleven packets equals a few extra pounds, but I’m happy to spread a little ethical largesse, particularly since we’re going to sell them for £1 each (including a cup of tea) at the big badger debate. Organic Fairtrade would have been even better.
I wonder whether 99 biscuits is enough, and almost turn back for more. But I can’t quite believe that we’re going to get the numbers that Mark’s hoping for. The book shop has sold 67 tickets, and we’ve probably got around 16 promises from friends. That’s still only just over half the capacity of the Assembly Rooms, and Meurig Raymond, deputy president of the NFU, is coming all the way from west Wales to speak for the cows. It’s raining. Will that help the badgers or the cows; who’s hardier, farmers or the animal rights crowd?
I drive into Devizes. The Assembly Rooms are glorious, with a sweeping staircase and duck-egg blue walls. Very Jane Austen; shame my sprigged muslin is at the dry cleaners. One of our farmer friends has threatened to bring rotten eggs. I worry about the carpet.
Mark is in a state of heightened excitement. Not only is he chairing the debate — his first — but we’re also fighting two local by-elections today. He thinks that Nick, a lecturer at Bath University and recent convert to the Green cause, has a good chance. Geoff, the self-styled ‘extraordinary hatter’ (he stitches toy Tiggers and Poohs on to old hats and sends them to deserving recipients, like Nelson Mandela) could go either way — there are downsides associated with public eccentricity, particularly when it comes to a deeply conservative town council.
The kids have opted not to come to the debate, though they have definite views on which side their sympathies lie: Notty (five) is all for the cows, since they look a little like ponies, while Alfie (seven) is on the badgers’ side. I’m still undecided. The motion has been cleverly framed in the hope it will broaden into a philosophical debate, pitching the needs for increased food production in a warming world against the rights of the voiceless wildlife.
I’m all for protecting endangered species, but not if they give our pet Herefords, Sophie and Sylvia, TB. Last year I found myself chasing a badger across their field at six in the morning, in my nightie and filled with maternal rage on their behalf — which is a bit rich, come to think of it, when we’re planning to eat their sons.
I have decided to wear black and white — which could indicate sympathy for either side.
A trio of farmers are the first to arrive. They pay for their tickets (£3) at the door. Soon they’re flooding in, and we’re having to sell cut-price tickets for standing room. We get them to vote as they arrive. It becomes immediately obvious on which side of the aisle people lie: you don’t see many farmers with pierced noses. As Mark introduces the speakers, I count the votes: 49 cows, 55 badgers, and about 40 undecided.
The speeches are impassioned and effective — and only occasionally interrupted by outraged shouts from the floor. I find Meurig’s Welsh oratory particularly persuasive, and when farmer after farmer stands up to relate their experiences of herds devastated by TB, livelihoods decimated, friends slaughtered, I feel my sympathies slide into the cows’ corner. The final vote registers very little movement: a narrow victory for the badger brigade.
As we leave, small knots of farmers are talking to Malcolm Clark of the Badger Group. Neither an egg nor a punch has been thrown. Elated, we drive to Calne Town Hall to join Geoff. But the doors are closing as we arrive, and we find our candidate walking home. He got 24 votes, 2.9 per cent of the total, less than a third of that of the BNP. Nick rings from Upavon. He polled 38.
Mark is in shock. He honestly thought we were riding a green wave; he believed that the voters would read the recycled paper pamphlets that we helped to deliver, and see the urgency and necessity of the green cause. Instead, they voted for more of the same: weekly waste collection and biscuits that cost a few pennies less.
Samantha Weinberg is married to Mark Fletcher, Green party parliamentary candidate for Devizes.
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