City slickers trading London life for life on the farm

Ah, yes, that. Research published ­earlier this month claimed that 70% of people in rural areas are former city dwellers who have decamped to the country in search of that elusive quality of life. And increasing numbers of people seem, like Dick and Pauline, to be going the whole hog. With absolutely no previous experience, they're taking up farming.

What is about agriculture that so grips our imagination? After all, you rarely read about farmers who have abandoned the milking parlour or cowshed for investment banking or commodity broking. ("Yes, I've had to accept the champagne and the multi-million-pound bonuses, but for me it's about quality of life.") If you've ever met a farmer, you will know their life can be tough and poorly paid, because that's about the first thing they will mention - especially dairy farmers, who are well on their way to becoming an endangered species, thanks to the supermarkets' relentless squeezing of the price they receive for milk.

The figures speak for themselves: according to the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, the average annual farm income in 2008 was a modest £18,185 (and that was up 42% from the previous year). One in three farmers is aged 65 or over. Farmland, meanwhile, at an average price of more than £5,000 an acre in England, remains largely immune to the downturn - which, given that the average working farm covers 100-125 acres, means a considerable investment for anyone wanting into the business on a commercial scale.

Yet none of this seems much of a deterrent to the legions of prospective first-time farmers, many of whom seem to think The Darling Buds of May was a fly-on-the-wall documentary. And there is no shortage of people around to advise them, among them Monty Don, who is taking the Beijens and other would-be farmers under his wing for My Dream Farm, the latest twist on the rural reality television format, which begins on Channel 4 this week.

Don is best known, of course, for horticulture, rather than agriculture, and became something of a thinking woman's pin-up during the years he spent presenting Gardeners' World, before a mild stroke forced a change of pace. He is also president of the Soil Association, and owns two farms - one in the Black Mountains of south Wales, one in Herefordshire - and claims a connection with heavy agri­culture going back 40 years (well, he worked on a pig farm while retaking his A-levels).

"I've noticed there is a new feeling," he says. "People want to grow food and look after animals." More important, perhaps, consumers want to buy locally and know where their food has come from.

What advice does he give the Beijens? To specialise, for a start: he is parti­cularly taken by the couple's idea for a "vegetarian duvet". "To have a duck duvet, you have to kill a duck," Pauline says. "To make a wool duvet, you have to shear a sheep."

They hope to produce 5,000 Devon Duvets this year, some of which will be sold by John Lewis. Will that (and a holiday cottage) be enough to keep them in business? "I suppose, if the worst comes to the worst, then one of us will have to get a job," Dick says. "But we don't really have a plan B. We will find a way."

At least the Beijens have a comfort­able Dartmoor longhouse in which to escape the winter chill. Chris Drewett and Veronica Bowden are having a tougher time of it at their four-acre plot at Huish Champflower, on the edge of Exmoor, in Somerset. After getting a media-studies degree, Chris, 40, had a series of jobs before setting up an alpaca farm in August 2008, with a £100,000 legacy. The land was rented to them by Veronica's father, a retired farmer.

"The land wasn't good enough for crop growth, and we only have ­access to a small acreage, so we reasoned that there was not enough space to make a decent profit from cattle or sheep," Drewett says. Alpacas, mostly farmed for their fleeces, may have become achingly fashionable in recent years, but they are also expensive. You can get a wether (a castrated male) for £300-£800, but a stud male or breeding female is worth anything up to £30,000. So they're good stock animals for making money from a restricted space.

Even so, after two years the couple have only just made their first sale and a slightly unexpected one at that. When a neighbouring chicken farmer was having trouble with foxes, Chris and Veron­ica offered him two alpacas to guard his land. The farmer was sceptical, but the foxes are gone.

That's the good news. The bad news is that the couple are living in a caravan during the coldest winter for 30 years. "We can't use the kettle, TV, computer or anything that needs to be plugged into the mains for any length of time," Chris says. "It can get very cold here, and our water pipes keep freezing up. But we're our own bosses, and work in some beautiful countryside. Who could ask for more?"

Small farms don't necessarily mean hard times. Ten years ago, Wilfred Emmanuel-Jones sold his London marketing agency to buy 40 acres just outside Launceston, Cornwall, and fulfil an ambition that first gripped him when, as a child, he watered his father's allotment in inner-city Birmingham. The brand of sausages he subsequently launched, The Black Farmer, is now worth £5m and sells in all the big supermarkets.

Emmanuel-Jones, who is standing as Conservative candidate for Chippenham, says this is a good time to buy a farm. "What we've had in the past 10 years is the big power of the corporates and super­markets. There's a lot of evidence to suggest that consumers want to have a relationship with people who are responsible for producing."

Yet this may not be enough for every would-be farmer to make it. Another pair of Don's protégés, Rob Wood and his wife, Sue, who jacked in jobs in property and the City respectively, provide a chastening tale. They turn out to be hopelessly green - and, sadly, not in the fashionable environmental sense.

The couple's dream of selling their family home in the London suburbs, leaving full-time employment and investing all their savings in becoming self-sufficient in Cornwall crumbles as the credit crunch hits. With two children, and a third on the way, their pursuit of the simple life turns out to be anything but: the house they were intending to sell to fund their own smallholding has yet to be completed - never mind finding a buyer - leaving them renting another family home, surrounded by a windswept 1½-acre plot with a small polytunnel.

Nor do their farming skills prove up to scratch. They inadvertently remove the topsoil, stripping vital nutrients in the process; leave their seedlings on the floor, turning them into easy prey for slugs; and spectacularly fail to cost things, with disastrous implications for their bottom line. There are tears; Don claims to feel "let down" by the inexperienced pair. The couple do, however, make some progress on their business plan, which involves selling rare breeds of chicken, complete with designer coops.

When it comes to proffering advice, Don is commendably forthright: "Rob, you are not a farmer and you never will be," he says. "Don't invest all your money in the land or you'll lose it." It remains to be seen whether the Woods - or others intending to tread the same path - will take the hint.

Find your farm

Wilfred Emmanuel-Jones shares his tips for a successful move:

- Never use a London solicitor, as I did. Always use a local firm. You might think farmers are less educated, but they're seriously bright, very canny.

- Be careful what you say. Don't forget that everyone's connected.

- Be humble. Seek help and they'll be glad to offer it; flash lots of money and you'll be ignored.

- The average English farm is about 125 acres, and any new farmer must fit their business to their land. On 40 acres, you can keep chickens and sheep, but not many cattle. For arable, you'll need more area (in the region of 100 acres or more).

- You could specialise in rare breeds, for which you can charge more.

My Dream Farm begins on Channel 4 on Thursday at 8pm