Great Yorkshire Show shows why we need to support our farmers: Christa Ackroyd

Whatever happens tonight on the pitch, the pitchforks of England never lie idle and we are safe in the knowledge that at least one group of people will deliver as they always do. But are they living the dream if they are Yorkshire farmers? Many would say they are not.

To them it is more than just a dream. It is a tough reality, a vocation. It is in their blood, in their DNA, yet the battle is just as hard fought in donning a pair of wellies rather than a pair of usually sponsored football boots.

Year after year despite, and I mean despite, every stumbling block that is put in their way from change to inheritance laws, EU rules and now post EU trials and tribulations, from the crack of dawn until the full time whistle at the end of the day, thousands upon thousands of men and women will do what they have always done and that is work, work work seven days a week to tend their livestock, plough their fields and make us world beaters by any standard. At the Great Yorkshire show and many other miniature versions they are honoured and trust me any silverware is just as hard won, dare I say even more so.

Half of my family were farmers or at least country folk. Every year growing up I spent my holidays happy as a pig in clover roaming the fields, milking the cows, picking the vegetables and eating the best food money, time and effort could produce.

But boy (and girl) was it hard work. To the outside world granny, Aunty Nellie and Aunty Ruby didn’t work – or rather they didn’t bring home a pay cheque. I actually never knew women who worked harder. Up at the crack of dawn straight to their stoves, they fed not just family but everyone else who came to lend a hand at the busiest times of the year, from lambing season in the Spring to potato picking in the Autumn. Talk about feeling the heat in the kitchen. Hungry mouths to feed from breakfast until late. An endless supply of sustenance constantly cooking in their well worn Agas, to be placed on a well scrubbed table and for cold cuts in the pantry, vegetable plots to tend and eggs to collect. It was relentless. They put their feet up only when the ‘workers’ did, which was if I recall just about the time England kicks off against Norway tonight.

As for the men folk, the only break they took was to take a rare day off, not to visit the seaside, eat out at some fancy restaurant, (why would they? They were the best fed men in the country), and I am absolutely certain not one of my lot ever set foot in an airport.

They simply didn’t have the time or in many cases the income) to indulge in anything like a holiday. No, their down time each year could be seen as something of a busman’s holiday. The annual visit to to either The Great Yorkshire Show or the local agricultural show was sacrosanct.

There they would lean on well worn walking sticks, sweltering in their Sunday best whatever the weather, proud of their produce and proud of their community. Sometimes they exhibited, other times they spent hours and hours debating who deserved he red rosette whether it was best in show in the county ring or six newly laid eggs in a tent in the Dales.

More often than not they were there to greet old friends they hadn’t time to see and spent a few hours chewing the cud, before looking at the pocket watch tucked neatly into their waistcoat and leaving early enough for milking, or feeding or whatever else needed doing. Until the next year. And they are who the Great Yorkshire Show, and all the scores of other smaller shows celebrate. And so must we. We talk a good talk about insisting we know the provenance of the food served to us, yet often don’t even look at the label when we are buying our own. One simple change, to buy less (and therefore throw less) but buy the best and buy local would change the fortunes of hundreds of our farmers who produce the best. If we don’t that choice will be taken away from us forever.

And Britain, England and Yorkshire would be a poorer place for it. So if you are looking for a simple cheaper meal what is wrong with crumbly Yorkshire cheese on toast. If you are looking for a celebration (maybe after England win the world cup) make it the best celebration ever, using the best ingredients, good food, good family and good friends and supporting not just our footballers but our farmers down the road.

Football tournaments come and go. Our farmers deliver consistently and constantly. Footballers have the ability to change the mood of a nation in a heartbeat. Farmers are charged with preserving the food of the nation regardless of fame or fanfare. Without victory for England we would go on hoping. Without support for our farmers we would lose far more than a short-lived high, wonderful though it would be.

We would lose a way of life that protects our green spaces. We would lose generations of farmers who care for their animals like family. We would lose the ability to choose where our meat, our milk, or our grains come from and be entirely dependant on imports from countries whose regulations are far less stringent that ours. Chlorinated chicken anyone? Above all we would lose a tradition stretching back centuries that once lost could never come round in four years time to start all over again.

Tonight England expects. Next week and throughout the seasons Yorkshire and our farmers will deliver. These next few days at The Great Yorkshire Show are vitally important for a few thousand men and women who rely on the land, are guardians of our heritage and who work tirelessly to put food on their table and ours. The least we can do is support them by putting our money into that which literally is meant for our mouths. If the future of England in a football tournament lies at the feet of a group of a handsomely paid young men, the future of farming rests on the shoulders of all of us. May both turn out the victors.

So onwards one and all, For England and St George. Yes to win a football match. But above all to preserve what still is, for now, a green and pleasant land.