52 Britain The EconomistNovember 28th 2020
1T
he fieldis in Hertfordshire, but it
could be almost anywhere in lowland
England. It is 600m wide and twice as long.
On its northern edge is a frail, gappy hedge-
row that would not stop a car, let alone a
cow. Wheat and broad beans grew in the
loamy soil during the summer, but the field
is now almost bare, with scarcely a weed
visible. Although you can see for miles,
there is little to see—just a few crows and
seagulls over a brown desert.
Under the eu’s Common Agricultural
Policy (cap), the farmer of this field is enti-
tled to an annual subsidy of £233 ($311) per
hectare. The farm automatically receives as
much support as a small sheep farm in an
inhospitable hilly region or a beautiful
Cotswold farm laced with footpaths. Al-
most nobody is prepared to argue openly
that Britain ought to continue subsidising
such environmental degradation. But, with
the country due to leave the capon January
1st, it still lacks a detailed plan to replace it.
And those who support the status quo are
finding their voice.
Decades of farm subsidies since the sec-
ond world war have achieved precisely
what their creators wanted: a huge increase
in food production. The number of pigs
and sheep in Britain more than doubled be-
tween 1950 and 2000 (since when they havefallen slightly) as did the land area devoted
to wheat. Farmers have become far more
productive, thanks to advances in plant
and animal breeding and better machines,
fertilisers, insecticides and herbicides.
Fields have grown, partly because, from the
1950s, farmers were given grants to demol-
ish hedgerows. “Farmers are often blamed.
But they do what the government tells
them to do,” says Ian Gould of Oakbank, a
company that sells seeds and advice.
The caphas boosted land values, partic-
ularly following the switch from produc-
tion subsidies to per-hectare payments in
the early 2000s. According to Savills, an es-
tate agent, the average price of farmland
has risen from below £4,500 per hectare to
about £16,500 since 2003—a better return
than home-owners have seen. Some buy-
ers are enticed by the fact that farms are
partly exempt from inheritance tax.
Subsidies also prop up unproductive
farms, of which there are many. The aver-
age English farm made a profit on its purely
agricultural activities of just £6,200 in the
2018-19 fiscal year, before farmers’ unpaid
labour was accounted for. Thanks to subsi-
dies, and sidelines such as solar power pro-
duction and renting buildings, they stagger
on anyway. Subsidies “have enabled farm-
ers to stay where they are and not be inno-vative”, says Helen Radmore, a tenant
farmer in Devon. Sales—forced or other-
wise—are rare. Last year 47,000 hectares
were publicly marketed for sale in Britain,
according to Savills. That is just 0.3% of the
total agricultural area.
Although the cap has been good for
many farmers, the environment has suf-
fered. Large, unbroken fields are inhospita-
ble to many kinds of wildlife. The zealous
eradication of weeds and the move from
spring to autumn planting of wheat means
little food is available for scavengers in
winter. In 2016 a group of researchers from
conservation groups estimated that agri-
cultural intensification was the biggest
driver of biodiversity loss in Britain since- Urbanisation, invasive species and
climate change (to which farming contrib-
utes) were all much less harmful.
Every year the Royal Society for the Pro-
tection of Birds and the British Trust for Or-
nithology ask volunteers to count birds.
Those binocular-toting folk report that the
population of breeding farmland birds—
creatures like corn buntings, goldfinches,
lapwings, linnets and skylarks—has fallen
to 40% of the 1975 level. Farmland birds
have disappeared more quickly than wood-
land or water birds (see chart on next page).
Farms need not be ecological deserts.
Consider Samuel Topham’s 1,000-hectare
farm in Cambridgeshire, east of St Neots.
Like other cereal farmers, he grows crops
on huge fields created by his grandfather, a
keen remover of hedges. But in the field
corners Mr Topham has planted blocks of
wild flowers and plants that birds feast on,
such as millet. He has set aside plots for
lapwings and skylarks to nest, and has re-
stored ponds. Red kites hover over his
farm. Pheasants and partridges peck at the
ground; they are for shooting.
Mr Topham does this because it pays—
just about. Reversing a combine into a tight
field corner takes time, increasing the fee
that a contractor would charge for harvest-
ing a crop, and compacts the soil. One five-
hectare field is not worth ploughing at all;
other areas are wet and unproductive.
Since the government is prepared to pay
him for growing flowers and bird food on
those patches, he might as well do it. In all,
one-tenth of his farm is dedicated to na-
ture. “I farm the environment,” he says. The
idea that farming is simply for producing
food he calls “old-fashioned”.
About one-eighth of direct support for
farming in Britain, some £450m a year,
goes on environmental schemes like these.
They are complicated and bureaucratic
(asked about them, Mr Topham pulls out a
thick binder filled with precise instruc-
tions about how he should manage his
land) and two-thirds of farmers do not
bother. But the government promises a
simpler, more generous regime. The Agri-
culture Act that received royal assent on
ST NEOTS
A bold attempt to make farming greener runs into two problems:
politics and sheepFarming after BrexitFresh fields and pastures new