Lambing is in full swing but a moorland fire brings a threat to wildlife and livestock at the farm on the M62

But of course the prolonged dry spell has brought the idiots out, box of matches in hand and the moors have burned.

Long before we see the first fingers of smoke curling up into the sky, we can smell that sweet, unmistakable aroma of grass and heather burning. The scent can travel for miles even on a seemingly still day, instantly putting us on edge.

Phones start ringing, neighbouring farmers alerting one another, quickly discussing the location, size, direction and most importantly, who is in its path. Whose livestock need to be moved, do they need help, where can they be moved to?

The list goes on and in the blink of an eye, your plans for the day have changed. The National Trust land that we border has succumbed to several fires recently, nothing too big and with a quick response from the fire service, have been got under control. This latest one, however, looked bigger and had really got itself established just as night fell.

A great orange line could be seen from my mother’s house, several valleys away, lighting up the horizon. I left John-William with her, following his weekly stint at the local Cub group and headed home, hoping my phone silence meant it hadn’t reached us.

Great plumes of smoke billowed into the night sky, lit up by the fierce orange glow of the flames. I finally got to the start of the Deanhead valley, where as I’d expected, the police had closed the road.

They begrudgingly let me through after I’d explained our ewes were out on the hill and would need moving if the fire looked like it was going to cross the road. I pulled up, halfway up the valley and got out of my car. The smoke was overwhelming, despite the wind favourably pushing it away from us.

I stared at the line of flames, crackling and hissing, slowly creeping towards the road. The road usually gives us a fighting chance, a safe place for the firemen and women to work from.

I know how easy it is for fires to jump roads though, all it takes is a burning piece of blow grass to drift across and settle on the other side, reigniting a new swathe of moorland. I tried not to think of the loss of life, the confusion, panic and hopelessness of fresh nests and the countless smaller wildlife that will perish.

It seems to be a recurring theme in spring, a pattern that unless drastic action is taken will continue unchecked, causing untold damage and putting the lives of those that care in danger.

The fire was extinguished the next morning and by the next day, walkers were back out, dogs off lead, selfishly ignoring the countless pleading signs of keeping their dogs on leads and giving the moor and its threatened wildlife a chance to recover.