My time at the Yorkshire smallholding that is a vital refuge - Julian Norton

My job was a simple one: to castrate a ram lamb, born this spring time. He was the last to be delivered of triplets and had been too weak to castrate in the normal manner. It was thought unlikely that he would survive more than a day or so.

But he’d not only survived, but thrived, and as he reached adolescence, the testicles would need to be made redundant or removed if he was to stay on the smallholding and live with his ovine mates.

My producer from The Yorkshire Vet, Laura, had arranged to come, too. She was keen to meet people, make acquaintances and possibly set up a story for a future Yorkshire Vet episode.

She’s blooming good at that sort of thing. I met Helen at the gate. She gave a brief explanation of what the farm was about, who the lads were that came to the farm and how it helped them. At that moment, a mother arrived to drop off her son, who was dressed in wellies with a saggy ruck sac.

He rushed off to meet his friends and greet the animals he knew so well, energised by the prospect of a day in the fresh air, connecting with life.

“He’s not had a good week,” his mum confessed to Helen. “He’s missed school most of the week. He just couldn’t face it. But, of course, he wouldn’t miss his Friday at the Farm.”

Already, it was obvious this place was an educational gem. I gathered my equipment and went to meet my patient – a young tup called Jim- and the children who were helping there that day. I had a quick chat with the assembled crowd, which comprised about six or seven boys of different ages and sizes.

Their common theme was a problem settling into conventional education- for varying reasons- and a shared love of animals and being outside. Some winced as I explained my plan, why it was important to castrate Jim and how they could help. Of course, for me this was a very simple job.

Numbed with local anaesthetic, it was a simple affair for Jim as well. The lads either watched through their fingers (the squeamish) or with mouths opened wide with awe/astonishment.

Others passed things or held Jim’s hooves out of the way. We were all done and dusted within ten minutes. Next was a coffee and snacks in the little hut which acted as a kitchen/dining area.

Helen explained that the boys would cook the eggs which they collected on the farm for lunch, as well as other simple meals. Some surplus eggs were sold to boost the fund for snacks.

There were basic cooking facilities, one of which was an Air Fryer. This prompted one of the lads to strike up conversation.

“My bruvver bought an Air Fryer. Yeah, he did. He bought it off Temu,” he explained, emphasising the word “bruvver”.

I know very little about these cookers, so I asked him what his brother cooked in his Air Fryer – I’ve heard you can cook anything in a fraction of the normal cooking time.

“Oh, he can’t cook nowt. He’s only six, but he memorised me mam’s credit card and he bought it online. But me mam didn’t want it so she gave it to me uncle.”

Everybody laughed loudly. After I’d finished my coffee, I didn’t want to leave.