Alison Thomas

The Farm in the City

Country (November 1997)
A motley assortment of poultry wanders around the farmyard, scratching at the soil,clucking and squawking as they go. In a nearby pen, Gertie the sow suckles her young while in the field beyond sheep and goats graze placidly in the sunshine. Were it not for the gentle hum of traffic and the occasional roar of a plane overhead, it would be easy to forget that you are in Bedminster, an area of densely packed Victorian terraces and high-rise flats barely a mile from the centre of Bristol.

For this is Windmill Hill City Farm, twenty years ago a pile of rubble and abandoned cars, today an attractive environment supporting a variety of livestock and crops and focus for a wide range of community initiatives. As one of the pioneers of what is now a thriving national city farm movement, it has served as a model for similar projects at home and abroad, and today its resident goats, sheep, calves, pigs, geese, hens and ducks attract around 150,000 visitors each year.

But as farm co-ordinator John Purkiss is keen to stress, this is no "pets' corner". This is a working farm, and every animal serves a purpose. "Even the calves, who move on to our sister farm in Somerset when they get too big for our small site, eventually reappear in little bags in the farm shop," he grins.

Like all city farms Windmill Hill is committed to the principles of sustainable development. The buildings are made largely from recycled materials, vegetables are organically grown and livestock is reared on natural foodstuff. There is also a small conservation area where wildlife flourishes undisturbed, and elsewhere a range of trees and hedges attracts insects, birds and small mammals.

But although agriculture and horticulture are a fundamental to the farm's existence, it offers a huge range of other attractions too.

"Everything we've introduced has been in response to local demand and lots of volunteers get involved in developing and running our various activities," says John, who believes that this explains why vandalism is rare. Facilities include an all-weather sports pitch, adventure playground, indoor play centre, craft room, cafe and shop.

Work with the community ranges from playgroups for the very young to a respite day care service for the elderly. Arts and craft courses are available free of charge to people on benefit while other local residents pay a modest fee. There is also a thriving local history society and a well-established rehabilitation programme for people with mental health problems.

"Working with plants and animals can be very therapeutic," he says. "Sometimes when people first arrive they refuse to speak to anyone, but gradually, as they respond to the animals, they begin to relate to human beings too” ...

Russians to Port

Daily Telegraph Weekend (18 May 1996)
Heralded as Europe's most lavish sea festival ever, the International Festival of the Sea takes place in Bristol next weekend. Already the first of more than 800 vessels are converging on the city docks from ports all over the globe. On Wednesday the world's largest wooden sailing ship, American-built frigate HMS Rose, will fire a full broadside to mark her entry into the Avon. Two days later Harvey's schooner, the Cream of Bristol, will start unloading her cargo of Spanish sherry on a Bristol quayside.

But there is one little ship which arrived here long before anyone else was even thinking of setting sail. Svyatitel' Nikolai, a 16th century replica Baltic trader, left St Petersburg on September 22, for if she had waited any longer, she would have been locked in by ice. "Even now, in May, the river at home is still frozen," says 40-year-old Captain Evgeny Lebedev, who arrived with his crew of four men and two women in early December.

Built of Russian pine and carrying 150 square metres of flaxen square-rig sails, Svyatitel' Nikolai is as historically accurate as possible, with the exception of her 40hp engine - a modern requirement - and the stainless-steel sink in her tiny galley, her only concession to mod cons.

There are other nice touches added by its twentieth century crew – like the wooden Russian bear, who sits out on deck when weather permits, or the woman’s hand lovingly carved on the tiller. This was apparently the work of a former crew member who liked to hold his girlfriend’s hand whenever he took the helm.

It was a clear crisp day on December 1 when the Nikolai sailed gracefully up the River Avon, the climax of an eventful voyage. Yet even on this, the very last lap, it was touch and go. “We had to get here from Barry on one tide and the wind wasn’t helping us,” explains Lebedev. “We knew that at 1.37pm the lock would be closed but the press had all gathered and we couldn’t let them down. It was 1.34 when we entered the river.”

The wind seemed determined to thwart them throughout most of their two-and-a-half month voyage. Only a week from home, they were stranded by gales on the isolated Baltic island of Moshnii. Five whole days were lost but they were in no hurry and had plenty to occupy them, tracking moose, fishing, gathering berries and mushrooms.

Not everyone would relish spending months on end in cramped, spartan conditions but last mate/liaison officer Hannah Kalkstein dismisses the discomfort with a shrug. "With only seven of us, it's no big deal," she says. "The only real problem is storage - every inch of the ship is utilised in some way."

The barrels we sat on as we sampled Ukrainian cake by a roaring fire double up as larders; the decorative wall hangings that add a splash of colour to the main cabin camouflage row upon row of tins and jars.

"The cake was a present from our dentist," says Lebedev. "We went to her for treatment soon after we arrived and she's been helping us out ever since. I think she likes plying us with sweet things to keep herself in business."

Such gestures of friendship have been typical of their experience wherever they have gone ...