BLOOD ON MY WELLIES…

It’s pig’s blood – probably. That’s what they were killing just before we arrived. Can’t say I was sorry to miss the actual slaughter – though having watched them managing the carcasses with such professionalism and skill, I figured maybe I could bear to watch it now. It’s not a comfortable thing; though I felt less of a ‘townie’ when one of the pig-breeders told us he’d never seen his animals killed and didn’t want to.

I’ve eaten meat in moderation all my life, though I prefer fish and vegetarian dishes. Eating meat for me is cultural, and convenient. As a product of a working class Yorkshire family the Sunday roast, the ham tea, pie-&-peas are in my DNA. In addition to which, I grew up to be an actor and a writer – both of which are groups that accept any meal offered, wherever and whatever. Quite regularly I eat, and enjoy, meat…

…but now I have blood on my wellies.

They’re very pale wellies. My husband bought them for me a couple of Christmases ago. They’re ‘Hunters’ – which I’m told is rather smart. I wouldn’t know myself, but then I’m the kind of wife who doesn’t object to being bought wellies for Christmas. They were bright pink originally, but they’ve faded. Faded to the colour of… freshly killed pig-skin, actually. Rather unsettling, when you come to think of it.

A friend of mine, the daughter of a butcher, said to me that she thought that a visit to an abattoir should be on the national curriculum. I’m not sure the meat industry would encourage this. I doubt that all slaughterhouses have the exemplary high standards of Mr Griffiths.

And this is the really unsettling thing about our week. We saw very high standards of animal husbandry and meat processing; but the scale could hardly be said to be industrial. We met wonderful people with a deep, ancient connection to the land and the animals they reared. But they were not producing in the kind of quantities I know must be required to fill the shelves of the big supermarkets. I was disturbed by what I knew I hadn’t seen; but my heart was lifted by what I had.

As a writer you’re always looking for connections, relationships, stories. The week with Pentabus set my mind crackling. It’s like a fire is lit under my imagination and the scenarios unravel and unfurl like smoke in my thoughts. It’s my job to make stuff up. And I will…

…but there’s blood on my wellies.

I’ll still eat meat, but with a new-found respect; and I will redouble my efforts to ensure that meat is ethically sourced. And I won’t forget, because I have a pair of very smart wellies.

Debbie McAndrew