Some time in the late 19th century a cow – or possibly several cows – walked from
Staplehurst to the Y junction of Whitebread Lane and Station Road, just south of Newenden. They were accompanied by a man called Cysters. At the junction he forked left up a track and settled at what is now Northiam Dairy.
There is no record of why he did this, but it’s a good thing for Rye and the villages that he did.
In 1919, his son, Captain Cysters, returned from the Western Front where, among other horrors, he had fought through the mud at Passchendaele. He never said a word about it, but he did have ambitions for the dairy. He was one of four brothers and had the determination to build a business, so he bought the farm and worked it as a dairy with his brothers.
His military habits stayed with him – the employees had to form up on parade every morning before milking. The cows less so. Skip a generation, and Northiam Dairy is now a 400 acre farm owned and run by Rupert Cysters, with his son George, and during uni vacations, his other son Jack.
Milk production has a long and complicated history. If you want to know more (and
who doesn’t?) check out Bert Collacott’s 2016 book A Brief History of Milk
Production: From Farm to Market published by Pond Books.
If that doesn’t appeal then the short version is that milk and its offshoot products moved from one-man/woman rural occupations largely for survival to widespread commoditisation and regulation in the space of about 150 years, along with a shift from doorstep delivery (remember the horse-drawn milk cart?) to wholesaler for retail.
Some farmers wanted to escape commodity pricing by developing value-add products – cheeses, yoghurt, speciality milks. Rupert is one. While at first encounter he is an amiable, wellie-clad chap with the demeanour of a retired hippy don’t mistake this for disinterest in business. He has an extremely sharp mind for opportunities and how his business can stand above the competition.
First, diversification. He began making yoghurt back in the 1980s as a way out of the then quota system. He moved to a more organic form of farming. He focussed on supply to independent outlets rather than major chains. And he started cross breeding to increase the robustness of the cattle and the quality of the milk.
There is an interesting sidebar here. There is, apparently, an international brotherhood of baristas. Who knew? They even have competitions. One day, Rupert had a call from a complete stranger who’d had a coffee with a fellow barista in London, was astonished at the quality, and couldn’t believe it was because of the milk not the beans. He asked to be supplied. Rupert obliged. It then turned out that he also wanted a whole case of Rupert’s milk to take to the Tokyo World Barista Championships.
Whether he won or not is unclear. But what is clear is that if you ask Rupert what defines high quality milk his answer is “Is it thick enough to draw a picture in it?”
He goes on to say his business mantra is “the quality of the product (drawing pictures), price, and quality of service.” The last point is not as obvious as it may seem. Last orders for supply are at 9pm the night before it is required.
Drivers leave from 9.30pm and head for customers – many of them in London, some in Brighton, some locally. (Rupert does not supply large retail outlets and focusses instead on businesses with whom he can build a strong personal relationship). So what exactly
is “service” when you are in the business of delivering milk you can draw in, and in the middle of the night?
“It’s the drivers,” says Rupert. “We only hire drivers who care. Customers want someone who is willing to put the delivery in the back of the fridge and not just dump it on the doorstep.” Back to the cows. After all, they are at the sharp end of the supply chain, even if they aren’t walking around Kent and Sussex any more.
In summer they graze on open grassland. You might think this is obvious, but it isn’t. A growing minority of dairy cattle are now permanently housed and fed high energy diets to produce high yields. In winter, Rupert’s cattle are housed in big barns and fed haylage and supplements.
This is where the reference to nature comes in. One source of haylage comes from a nearby farm where 30 acres of field have been converted entirely to wildflowers meadows – full of the sorts of flower and grass that would have been familiar to Rupert’s great grandfather. The hay from these meadows is stuffed full of nutrients, minerals and natural medication. And it looks rubbish (which is why it is spurned by horse lovers who think it’s full of “weeds”). Cows, however, love it. And why not?
Farmers long ago used to keep a small field aside to continue growing its abundant flower and herbage crop – they called it the Hospital Field. A sick animal would be put there and would naturally self-medicate.
So when you pick up your pint or yoghurt at Jempson’s, or drink your hot chocolate
from Knoops in Rye, or admire the flower carved in the froth of your macchiato, it
may just have its origins in wild flowers grown in a field near you.
Pots and pots of yoghurt
Image Credits: Northiam Dairy , Christopher Broadbent .