HappyThoughts

In the first series of Clarkson's Farm, a young woman told Jeremy Clarkson his sheep would never make money, and the wool cheque proved her right before the year was out. Ellen Helliwell was the shepherd he hired when it became clear he could not manage 78 ewes himself. She lambed them through the night, treated their feet, and told him the arithmetic at the start. Then came shearing. A gang arrives, charges by the head, and leaves a pile of fleeces. Clarkson sent the wool off and learned what every sheep farmer in Britain already knew. The fleece was worth less than the cost of taking it off the animal. For 800 years that fleece was the wealth of England. It paid for the cathedrals and the wars. A sheep was kept for five or six years for her wool, and the mutton at the end was a bonus that fed the country. Now the wool is a disposal problem, so the only thing a sheep can earn from is a lamb sold at five months. One income where there used to be three. Clarkson's flock lost money, and he said so on television. The reason the fleece is worthless is in your wardrobe. The jumper is acrylic, the fleece jacket is polyester, the carpet is nylon, and all of them are made from oil. Ellen could do everything a shepherd has had to do since the Bronze Age, and do it at three in the morning. The thing she could not do was compete with a plastics factory. Check the label in your collar before you ask why British lamb costs what it costs.

The free bottle of milk on every British school desk was put there by a 4ft 10 redhead from a Manchester slum, who was dead within 6 months of doing it. Ellen Wilkinson grew up in Ardwick in the 1890s, in a house with no bath, and caught every illness going. She got out on scholarships. By 1935 she was MP for Jarrow, a shipbuilding town where the yard had shut and 7 men in 10 had no work. She had seen what that did to the children. They were small, bow-legged and grey. In 1936 she walked with 200 of their fathers from Jarrow to London, nearly 300 miles, to hand in a petition. The Prime Minister would not see them. In 1945 she was made Minister of Education. She had one thing she wanted above the rest. The Treasury told her the country was bankrupt and it could not be afforded. In August 1946 a third of a pint of full cream milk became free for every schoolchild in Britain, every day, whatever their parents earned. That winter was the worst of the century. Her ministry had no coal. She worked in her overcoat with bronchitis, and on 6 February 1947 she was found dead in her flat, aged 55. She never saw a single class of those children grow up. They turned out the tallest and straightest generation the country had ever produced. If you drank it, warm, through a paper straw, you were her life's work.