This is what drives me to work hard everyday……
The Fields of Silence: The Unseen Crisis on Britain's Farms
Is it true that in the UK farmers commit suicide at a higher rate than any other UK industry? Why is this?
Tragically, yes. For years, data from the Office for National Statistics and farming charities like the Farm Community Network (FCN) and YANA (You Are Not Alone) have painted a harrowing picture. Men working in farming and agriculture are one of the occupational groups at the highest risk of suicide in the UK.
The "why" is a complex, painful web of pressures unique to the profession:
Financial Precarity: Farming is a business of immense risk, hostage to global commodity markets, volatile weather, and disease outbreaks. A single event—a bad harvest, a foot-and-mouth crisis, a sudden drop in milk prices—can wipe out a year's income, or worse, a multi-generational livelihood.
Isolation & Stigma: Many farmers work alone for long hours. The cultural stigma around mental health, particularly in rural communities built on ideals of resilience and self-reliance, can make it incredibly difficult to admit struggle and ask for help. The feeling of being "the strong one" can become a crushing weight.
Loss of Identity & Control: A farm is more than a business; it's a home, a history, and an identity passed down through generations. The threat of losing it isn't just a financial failure; it's a profound personal and familial loss. Furthermore, farmers are often at the mercy of powerful supermarkets and government policy, feeling a complete loss of control over their own destiny.
Is it also true that they work on average over 100 hours a week?
While the average may fluctuate with the seasons, it is absolutely standard for farmers, especially those with livestock, to work well over 60-80 hours a week. During key periods like harvest or lambing season, 100-hour weeks are not an exaggeration but a necessity. The work is relentless, 365 days a year. Animals need feeding, crops need tending, and machinery needs fixing, regardless of weekends, bank holidays, or personal illness.
Is it also true that we spend less, per household % income, on food than we ever have?
This is one of the most startling statistics of our modern economy. Yes, it is profoundly true. According to UK government data, the average household now spends just 10-11% of its disposable income on food, compared to over 33% in the 1950s. We spend a higher proportion of our income on housing, communications (phones, internet), and recreation than we do on the very fuel that sustains us.
Would it then be true to say that the financial industry takes more of our money than ever before and this a factor in farmers not being paid enough?
This gets to the very heart of the issue. It's not necessarily that the financial industry itself is the direct villain (though complex financial speculation on commodities can drive price volatility), but rather that our entire food system is designed to extract value at every stage, leaving the primary producer—the farmer—with the slimmest of margins.
The money we don't spend on food hasn't vanished; it's been redistributed within the chain. The power of a handful of giant supermarkets has created a fiercely competitive environment where the cheapest price wins. To meet this demand, processors and retailers squeeze their suppliers. The farmer, often with no other buyer for their perishable goods, is forced to accept a price that frequently sits below their cost of production.
So, while our spending on food has decreased, the costs of farming (fuel, fertiliser, machinery, seed, land, labour) have skyrocketed. The farmer is caught in this impossible pincer movement.
The conclusion is inescapable: Our cheap food policy has a devastating human cost.
We have chosen, collectively, to value convenience and low prices over sustainability, animal welfare, and the well-being of the people who feed us. We outsource the true cost of our food to the environment through degraded soils and to the farming community through immense mental anguish and financial despair.
What can we do?
The solution isn't simple, but it starts with conscious choices:
Buy Direct: Where possible, buy from farm shops, farmers' markets, or veg box schemes. More of your money goes directly to the producer.
Value Quality Over Quantity: Choose to buy less, but better. A smaller amount of ethically produced meat from a known source is better for the farmer, the animal, and your health.
Ask Questions: Understand where your food comes from. Support retailers and brands that are transparent about paying their farmers a fair price.
Support Charities: Organisations like the Farm Community Network (FCN) and YANA provide critical, confidential support to farming people experiencing stress and mental health difficulties.
The next time you enjoy a cheap meal, pause to consider its true cost. The future of the British countryside and the lives of those who steward it depend on us revaluing the food on our plates.