Sally Coulthard’s beautiful books have shown us the beauty and rich history of everyday things like sheep, bees, hedgehogs, flowers and snow – and now, the humble barn…
“We’re often obsessed with the exotic, or the grandiose, but so much of the enjoyment in life comes from small moments,” says Sally Coulthard.
Sally Coulthard finds joy in things the rest of us might sometimes overlook. Her books have fabulous titles like A Short History of the World According to Sheep, The Book of the Earthworm, The Bee Bible and The Little Book of Snow. The latest is The Barn: The Lives, Landscape and Lost Ways of an Old Yorkshire Farm, and again it finds wonderful ways to tell stories of history, culture, folklore and politics through the prism of an apparently everyday object.
Raised in rural Yorkshire, Sally headed to London to become a successful TV producer, until a diagnosis of chronic fatigue syndrome forced her to reassess things. Moving back to Yorkshire, she married a gardener, set up a smallholding in the Howardian Hills near York, bought a small flock of sheep, and began raising a family. Today, she writes on a bewildering array of topics from shed décor to forgotten crafts – but nature remains her first and fiercest love.
CW: You grew up in rural West Yorkshire before moving to London. What was that upbringing like, and how did it influence the career you’ve nurtured since?
SC: I grew up in a village called Calverley, on the cusp of the countryside. That part of the world is really special for me. Plenty of the West Yorkshire countryside was changed irrevocably by the Industrial Revolution and Calverley was no different. It must have been extraordinary to live through the village changing from a small farming community to a busy wool-weaving centre in the 18th and 19th centuries. The countryside there is both wild and pockmarked by industry, and I love that tussle between two worlds. Growing up I could run down our long garden, climb over the wall and I’d be in a sheep farmer’s field and on into the woods. My brother and I played for hours, building dens, whizzing on rope swings across old quarry pits, lighting campfires, sledging when the snow hit us hard, as it did most winters. For me, rural life meant freedom but there was always a whiff of danger to it, which made it even more exciting. I still find being out in nature both relaxing and exhilarating.
The Barn is a wonderful read. As walkers, we see barns all the time and might even be guilty of taking them for granted, but you reveal the enormous role they’ve played in our history. What inspired it, and what was that like as an investigative journey?
Illustrations from The Barn courtesy of Apollo.
The journey started with finding some ancient witches’ marks, scratched high up on the wall in our threshing barn. It struck me that those marks – which were made to bring good luck or ward off evil – were made by someone whose life and preoccupations were totally different from mine. It made me wonder about all the other people who had lived and worked here on the farm, and in the local area, and how they managed to thrive without so many of the basic necessities we have today. We run a smallholding here now, and we rely on mechanisation, electricity, main waters, good roads, transport and lots of other modern inventions. How people managed to farm without any of these fills me with huge admiration.
I also wanted to find out why the barn changed over time – why did someone build a threshing barn but then extend it later to include stables, a cart shed, cow houses, pigsties and so on? Delving into the barn’s history, and the story of rural Britain over the centuries, made me realise just how monumental the changes were. We essentially went from a medieval feudal system to a large-scale industry in the space of a few hundred years. People’s lives changed too – rural work, child labour, women’s lives, health, diet, education; farming had an effect on all these things too.
There are some amazing and surprising stories in the book.
So many! I especially loved moments when resourceful farmers tried new techniques to improve their revenue. I was amazed to find that some Yorkshire farmers tried their hand at growing tobacco, and some imported thousands of tons of bones to grind for fertiliser. Many of these bones came from dubious sources; everything from battlefields to Egyptian archaeological excavations. Farmers were sprinkling crushed human bones, cat skeletons, buffalo carcasses – anything they could get their hands on. And Yorkshire was at the heart of that trade.
A big part of the wonder of your work is that it’s about things you see and observe in the relatively small space of your smallholding – the barn, the sheep, the wildlife, the flowers. There’s a lesson there, isn’t there, that enjoying the countryside isn’t always about big adventures and panoramic views; it’s also about just observing what’s close at hand.
That’s so true. We’re often obsessed with the exotic, or the grandiose, but so much of the enjoyment in life comes from those small moments. Especially those ones that are unplanned. I used to long for foreign holidays; now I prefer to spend time just pottering around the farm. Strange things make me happy: my hens, growing vegetables, talking to the sheep, lighting a real fire, seeing a barn owl. And you’re right, the minute details are the most interesting. So much is happening under our noses, all the time, and we often fail to stop and take notice. Writing books about bees and earthworms, for example, made me really think about the exquisite complexity of our ecosystem.
And you’re also a big fan of a good walk.
As a child, I used to have to be bribed to go on a walk. Usually the promise of a toasted teacake or a cup of hot Vimto in a walkers’ cafe was enough of an incentive. Now I feel itchy if I don’t get out and walk. Having an energetic Labrador is a great excuse.
Do you walk with the family?
Oh yes. The kids are often reluctant but enjoy it once we get on the move. My husband is hugely outdoorsy, so doesn’t need an excuse. I treasure those family walks, especially as I know that time is limited and before I know it they’ll be off doing their own things. That said, I’m looking forward to just my husband and I being able to tackle some more ambitious walks. I’d love to do the Cleveland Way or the Coast to Coast, taking our time and really taking in the scenery. You miss so much of the countryside when you whizz through it in the car; walking through nature means you absorb things at a more human pace. You get to experience not only the smells, sounds and sights, but also the dynamism of the countryside; it’s always changing.
Does walking help with your writing?
I always get up from my desk and walk around the farm when I’m having a moment of brain fog. Getting out and just clearing my thoughts – that’s priceless. My favourite time is summer; I write in my shed, in the orchard, but then get up and take the dog around the pond at lunchtime. I can say hello to the beehives and the chickens, and sit for a while, watching the ducks mess about. It’s like a palate cleanser for the brain. The only thing that frustrates me is that we’re not near any public footpaths, so it’s tricky to go any further than round our own fields. Conversations I have on walks, with whoever I’m with, are always really valuable – they can be a great starting point for an idea for a book. Or, if I’m on my own, a good wander allows me time to mull over things.
Your home is in the Howardian Hills. It’s a really special part of the world, and slightly under the radar as well, isn’t it?
The Howardian Hills: “Nothing about this landscape is too challenging or tough.”
That’s what I like about it the most. So don’t tell anyone! Everywhere in the UK has its own unique sense of place; the Howardian Hills are a very gentle landscape. The architecture is soft limestone, the hills are rolling, the weather is clement; nothing about it is too challenging or tough. I’m completely in love with the area. I came on holiday here as a child and I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call it home now.
And a lovely place to go for a walk. Any particular favourites?
Lots of places are special to me around here. Wass Bank, near Ampleforth, is a favourite with the kids because it has its own unique micro-climate. It’s just that bit higher up than our farm and always gets a good covering of snow, even when everywhere else is clear. Sutton Bank is breathtaking for the views. Hutton-le-Hole, Rosedale Abbey, or along the coastal path at Robin Hood’s Bay – all timeless. Or a paddle at Rievaulx Abbey and then a romp around the surrounding villages and back into Helmsley for a warming coffee. Part of me still needs bribing, it seems!
We loved your sheep book – thank you for writing it! You’ve developed a real affection and connection with sheep; it must be lovely to watch them when you’re on a walk, and get happily distracted by them.
Photo: Tommy Trenchard/Alamy Stock Photo-
I find sheep peculiarly relaxing to watch. They’re such quiet, self-contained creatures. Lambing is probably one of the only times things gets chaotic, but nothing beats watching spring lambs gambolling around the fields or climbing on their mothers. I’m obsessed with rare-breed sheep. I love the idea that certain breeds are more suited to certain climates, or characterise a certain area. As with some other areas of farming, I think something has been lost by our insistence on breeding a very narrow range of sheep.
You’re also a fan of the Cotswolds, which is an area perhaps shaped and defined by sheep more than any other in Britain.
When I was a student at Oxford, and later when I worked there, I spent many a happy weekend exploring the Cotswolds; it’s a landscape made spectacularly wealthy by the medieval sheep trade. So many of the villages, towns and churches still display the evidence of this incredible period in our history. As with lots of pretty parts of the world, tourism is both a blessing and a curse, but the Cotswold epitomises, for me, those wonderfully happy, careful days of my undergraduate life, drinking in tiny rural pubs and finding new places with friends.
You’ve also talked about your parallel passions for both countryside and city. Sometimes a city walk can be just as mind-blowing as a country one, can’t it?
Absolutely. My husband and I often walk around London when we’re there. When you live in a city like London and travel by Tube, you don’t get a sense of the relationships between locations or landmarks. Walks in cities also allow you to go where vehicles can’t - we call them snickleways up here, but others call them alleys or ginnels. York is another great city to explore on foot. It’s a place that developed organically over time and you can feel that as you walk its streets. It’s gloriously higgledy-piggledy, with hidden gems around almost every corner.
Are there any nature/outdoor writers whose work you really love?
Richard Mabey and Barbara Kingsolver are both such a beautiful and authentic writers. But I also like reading about the countryside through the eyes of some of our classic authors; writers like Thomas Hardy and the Brontës so brilliantly captured rural life and landscape. I struggle with some of the more sentimental writers – the countryside is a place of contrasts and can be a tough, unforgiving place. I like books that tackle those contradictions head on.
Farming and conservation are perhaps higher in the national conversation than ever, as we wrestle with issues like sustainability, stewardship and food provenance. Do you feel optimistic that there’s a will out there to resolve the huge pressures on rural economies like yours?
I was thinking about that only this morning. I was doing a supermarket shop, buying some stuff for the local food bank, and thought about the affordability of food. For me, the solution isn’t to have a two-tier system where some of the population can afford very expensive luxuries and the rest of the country has to stick with unsustainable, cheap food. For too long, the price people expect to pay for food doesn’t reflect the actual cost to farmers. A chicken, for example, if it was priced properly and in line with inflation, should cost about £11. But the solution can’t make life tough for people who struggle on very little income.
It’s political; I don’t have the answer but you presumably need to have a situation where people are paid decent wages so they can afford decent food that properly recompenses farmers who farm in a sustainable way. The race to make food super-cheap has had a catastrophic effect on animal welfare, land use, livelihood, climate change – they’re all interlinked. I’m an optimist at heart but the system does need a complete shakedown.
And lastly, what’s next?
I feel like I’m always juggling ten different things! I’ve got a book about barn owls coming out next spring, and another in the autumn called Fowl Play: A history of the chicken from dinosaur to dinner plate. It ties in nicely with your last question because, as well as being a social and cultural history about the chicken, it’s also a look at how this gloriously exotic jungle bird came to be the most ubiquitous, low-value bird on the planet. It’s so sad to think that a bird that is related to the Tyrannosaurus Rex has become a creature you can buy by the bucket. The book follows that journey through prehistory, Ancient Greece, the Roman Empire, medieval Britain, Victorian farming and into the modern day and beyond. It’s been a blast to research and truly fascinating. Can’t wait to share it with you next year!
The Barn is available now, published by Apollo. Find out more about Sally and her previous books on her website here.
