Fear grows in plague village

Fatalism rules in a farm community as a way of life seems to be dying. Paul Harris reports from Devon

Special report: Foot and mouth disease

Paul Harris
The Observer, Sunday March 4 2001

Highampton is a modern-day plague village. It lies at the centre of a viral hot zone, surrounded by farms infected with foot and mouth disease.

Life here has come to a complete halt. Dozens of families in the farms around the hamlet have practically barricaded themselves into their homes. Some have not left their farms in almost a week.

The village has been transformed from a sleepy backwater in the rolling hills of mid-Devon to a surreal place reminiscent of the Black Death or the aftermath of a nuclear accident. Signs on gates, often painted in big red letters, warn visitors to keep out. Straw soaked in disinfectant has been laid across farm roads, and buckets of it stand at gates for the few allowed in to soak their boots.

The village primary school has shut for fear of spreading the virus further - either between farms or infecting children from neighbouring villages. Church services, too, have halted. The church warden, who had the only keys to the vestry, lives on a farm and cannot leave it or be visited. Traffic on the lanes around Highampton has dwindled to a trickle as local markets have closed, and trips to the shops are being kept to an absolute minimum.

In the village itself, the white-coated figures of officials from the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food wander from house to house, telling the occupants the latest news and giving them advice. After anyone, from a doctor to a vet, leaves an infected farm he or she has to burn overalls and change clothes. So great is the fear of the virus that even their pens and papers are left behind to be destroyed. The people of Highampton are scared and bewildered. Foot and mouth does not kill but they know it could destroy their livelihoods and their way of life.

Ross Baker, 35, farms land just inside the five-mile exclusion zone set up round Highampton's Burdon Farm, where the outbreak began in Devon and spread to infect at least seven other farms. Baker says that, after BSE, things were just beginning to improve. 'I grew up here and I would like my son to follow me. I want to go on farming, but I will have to see if my overdraft can take it. This really is a disaster,' he said.

It is hard to overestimate the impact of the crisis. Morris Thomas, 61, runs an old people's home deep in the exclusion zone. He has a special pass that allows him out, but he cannot set foot on a farm for fear of passing on the virus. He is worried about the mental state of his brother, George, whose farm may be infected, but he cannot go inside the property to see him. 'I went to talk to him because he is under a lot of strain and he came down to the gate and we spoke over the fence. We didn't want to get too close for fear of passing it around,' he said.

A grim fatalism has settled on the countryside as the culling of thousands of animals in the area has begun. In an industry battered and bruised by food scares, foot and mouth is seen as the final straw for some farmers. 'This is a calamity; it is of horrendous magnitude. People are extremely frightened and there is an anticipation of doom,' said Asad Aldoori, the village doctor. It took until Wednesday for Aldoori to secure a permit to visit two farmers who needed counselling. Now that he has been on an infected farm, Aldoori cannot visit any other farm for at least five days. 'But I had to go,' he said, 'they just needed someone to talk to, and perhaps something to help them sleep.'

Local churches are also involved. But again the full extent of the disaster prevents visits to many of the farmers feeling the strain, as herds and flocks built up over generations disappear in the smoke of a bonfire.

Alan Andrew, a lay worker with the Methodist Church, is manning his farm's phone all day to answer calls from his depressed neighbours. Neither he, nor anyone in their family, has left their farm since Sunday, but he is ready to talk. 'It is my faith that keeps me going. But I am here for everyone, no matter whether they are church people or not. I just tell them to stay at home and hang on in there. I am a farmer too and they like to hear it from someone who understands them.'

Ian Harris's tragic story is becoming all too typical. He built up his business over almost 20 years, from a single flock of sheep to two farms in the Highampton area.

Now all his sheep have been shot. His cows will most likely follow. Almost a lifetime's work has been destroyed. 'I feel sick,' Harris said.

He first noticed the disease on Wednesday, when several of his sheep could not walk properly or feed and kept on licking their lips. Harris, 48, had never seen the virus's effects before, but he knew straight away that he had fallen victim to it. A quick visit by Ministry officials soon confirmed his fears. Now he faces an uncertain future. When the crisis finally rolls to a halt, people like Harris will be barred from keeping any animals on their land for a further six months. That means no income and he must search for any part-time work going.

'My farm will be a dead farm. I will need to get some work, but my farm has been infected, I might be seen as some kind of hazard.'

For Harris, who appears stoical, the reality of the situation has not yet sunk in but he knows that when he wakes up this week with two empty farms and compensation pay-outs months away, it will hit him hard.

'At the moment I have things to do still but when I don't, that will be difficult.'

Despite the determination of people such as Harris, some are worried that the crisis could impel Highampton farmers to leave the land. Previous crises have left many in the red and financial rewards seem a lot greater off the farm than on it. It would be the end of a way of life. Rural Devon is still a tight-knit community where surnames in a village often go back centuries and some farms have been in the same family for 100 years.

Despite the disaster, there is little real anger. Farmers mutter about cheap foreign imports bringing in the disease and the closure of local abattoirs allowing it to spread so quickly. But Highampton is still too numb with shock to voice any real rage.

Instead an eerie silence seems to dominate the landscape. 'In the fields it is just so quiet - even the birds are hardly making any noise. I can't explain it. It is like everything knows something is wrong,' Harris said.