4 minute read
NOT A BAAAD JOB
Stephen Wrench chats to Jaq Bayles about his work as a volunteer urban shepherd with the city council
Stephen Wrench
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What does the role entail?
I’m a lookerer, one of the volunteer shepherds who help look after flocks of sheep grazed by Brighton & Hove City Council. First job on any shift: check the sheep and get them walking. Are they limping or suffering any other malaise? Sheep sometimes get stuck in brambles, searching for tender shoots. They have to be cut out with secateurs because they can otherwise die within hours, simply because they literally can’t see a way out. All fences have to be checked, particularly the electric fence powered by a car battery that keeps the sheep in and dogs out. Occasional electric shocks are part of the job. Water troughs need to be checked and, if necessary, refilled from the on-site bowser. Serious problems are reported to the farmer who owns the sheep. Otherwise I text the council ranger at the end of the shift.
How did you get involved?
A friend heard about a strange council project involving sheep and said: “You have to do this!” I didn’t know the first thing about sheep but I loved the idea of being an urban shepherd.
There was a course not long after, so I applied.
What sort of training is involved?
There’s a day of instruction on how to check the electric fences, how to handle sheep, why the project is important and what the legal position is if, for example, there’s an attacking dog harming the sheep.
How long have you been doing it?
Eight years. The project has been going for 13 years and is unique in using volunteers to keep it going.
Where do you do it?
Mostly, I volunteer on Sheepcote Valley in east Brighton, just behind where I live. The sheep are moved from one patch of grazing to another as they nibble their way through the edibles. At the moment, I’m also on duty with a flock below the racecourse.
Do you need special skills?
Just a willingness to be outside in the most inclement of conditions. That and infinite patience with sheep and their peculiar ways.
What about it appeals to you most?
The sheer connection to the outdoors and to the flock. And then there’s the sense of doing something – however small – for the planet. The council grazes the sheep to eat back invasive species such as brambles, allowing the return of indigenous plants. One is the Kidney Vetch, with its small yellow flowers, a favourite food for caterpillars of the smallest butterfly in Europe, with the endearing Latin name of Cupido Minimus. It too has returned in numbers. All because of the sheep.
Do you do it rain or shine?
The worse the weather the more important it is to check the sheep! There’s a rota with morning and afternoon shifts, so that the flock is checked by volunteers twice a day. I always do evenings, going up an hour or so before sunset, whatever the conditions.
What sort of clothing do you need to wear?
Tough, outdoor gear, preferably resistant to brambles and emphatically resistant to whatever the weather can provide. Shorts are to be avoided at all costs. Walking shoes are essential. I always carry work gloves in case a sheep needs to be handled.
Do you get attached to the sheep?
My job isn’t supposed to be at all sentimental: some 95% of all sheep grazed in Britain end up being someone’s dinner and it’s important to remember that. There was a bossy pair of sheep last summer who seemed to fuss around the rest of the flock, so I named them the Misses Fleece. Embarrassing, but true.
Does it benefit your mental health?
It’s the most extraordinary privilege, a link to the shepherds who’ve done this job for hundreds of years. My mental health can be variable, but once out on the Downs, everything else fades away. I’m 60; there’s no doubt that physically I’m a fitter man through doing this work.
Any funny stories to recount?
The sweetest sheep are the most trouble. Herdwicks, more usually found on Lakeland Fells, are the most mischievous. One recently jumped a high fence and headed - of course - for dense scrub in search of something tender to munch. I attempted to emulate my professional counterparts who can direct sheep with just a few whistles. Naturally, that provoked only disdain in the sheep and amusement in passersby who happily then joined me in physically persuading the escapee back over the fence to join the rest of her flock.
Most memorable moments?
Every shift has its memorable moments, whether it’s stoic sheep in the snow or seeing the flock in the soft beauty of a summer’s evening. There’s nothing to beat lambing time though, and the way the other sheep cluster around to protect the new arrivals. Often, there’s a ram on sentry duty, stamping a foot as a warning to stay away from the lambs.
