As a young child in the mid-1960s, my days were spent living an idyllic rural life on a dairy farm in the village of Lewdown in the heart of Devon. I recall many happy days exploring the glorious countryside, living a life in balance with nature and the environment – or at least, that’s how it felt.
But I also remember the ever-present slurry pit full of manure down at the end of our cowshed. It wasn’t fenced off, and my mum would remind me on regular occasions that to stray too close could mean death by drowning in what was, in essence, an enormous vat of smelly cow pats. As a five-year-old, I stayed well clear.
