Creating a new spinning mill from scratch is difficult, expensive and slow. In this series of blog posts, we’re taking you behind the scenes to show you exactly what goes into the journey to spinning our very own yarn in our very own mill. The second instalment in our founding story focuses on one special day in 2001.

 

In spring 2001, disaster struck the British farming community, decimating farms and taking the lives of over 6 million cattle and sheep around the country. The Foot and Mouth disease outbreak had a devastating effect on agriculture, halted movements around the country and is etched into the memory of every farmer around.

 

I have vivid memories of playing with my toy farm out on the front lawn, all my fields and sheds laid out, but my tractor being used to push the model animals high into a pile, just like I was seeing on the news every single evening. Those poor animals were tragically euthanised and burned on colossal bonfires up and down the country in their millions in an attempt to halt the spread of the disease.

 

At the time, there was a great deal of publicity about the impact this would have on the meat and food industry. Almost all sheep, cattle and pigs farmed on a commercial basis in the UK are for the food chain, so it’s entirely understandable that this was the headline. However, there was an undercurrent to this story: a rekindled wool trade already in a tumultuous battle against man made fibres.

 

Trying to get recognition of this struggle wasn’t easy. Various letters were sent to local and national politicians (including the Prime Minister!), campaigners and leaders, but it was difficult to get traction. Then one day…

 

“I remember it like it was yesterday.” Sally tells me. “The whole family were sitting out on the terrace in the June sunshine along with a neighbouring farmer who’d called in for a cup of tea. Chris had gone inside to answer the phone, then came out to let me know it was for me, but that the caller wouldn’t say who it was. Mysterious! This was back in the days of a corded landline phone, so off I went to find out who was calling on a Saturday afternoon.

 

“When I came back out of the house, everyone asked who it was, so I had to think on my feet and casually mentioned it was just the insurance broker calling about our renewal - nothing exciting at all, as I’d been sworn to secrecy. It wasn’t until the neighbour had left and the children were back playing and doing homework that I could tell Chris who’d really called. He had the same disbelief as I did: why on earth were St James’s Palace, the office of (then) His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales calling us?!

 

“It turns out that Prince Charles had read my letter explaining the difficulties of the wool industry, and wanted to meet to be able to discuss things further. My absolute delight had quickly turned into panic when the gentleman on the phone mentioned they’d love to visit the farm. For those of you that have visited us at Garthenor Farm, you’ll know that in many ways, it’s a typical, traditional West Wales hill farm. We have a myriad of machinery dotted around dating back to at least the 1950s, a variety of chicken coops around the yard, and some traditional stone barns and cow byres that could do with at least a fresh coat of lime wash. It makes life here idyllic, but it didn’t feel like quite the setting for a full Royal Visit.

 

“Over the following weeks, I remember the constant phone calls, faxes and meetings with the seemingly endless stream of staff from the royal office at St James’s Palace, the local police (thankfully the only time my path has crossed with the Chief Inspector), security and even the Lord Lieutenant of the county. At some point in the proceedings I brought up my hesitation about the visit being conducted at our farm, also raising the point that the entire farming community around the country was still very much on lockdown, so perhaps a very public showing of a farm visit might not be the best look. I suggested that it might be a good idea to conduct the visit at the local farmers market. I’d been on the committee since its inception, and we still had a stall every third Friday of the month selling yarn and eggs. There was the added benefit that this would bring publicity and prosperity to more than just us, but to a whole host of local farming businesses.”

 

Even though I (Jonny) was only seven, I vividly remember the chaos, panic and excitement in the build up to the royal visit. One of the key things was that we’d decided to gift His Royal Highness a bespoke hand knitted jumper (sweater). At the time, we not only produced and sold yarn, but also hand knitted garments, toys and accessories, so we called upon one of our team of hand knitters, Linda, to create something extra special. The only thing was that we were sworn to secrecy! At this stage, nobody could know about the visit, so we had to be quite vague with Linda about the project - as mum remembers it: “I had to tell her it was to be a bespoke fairisle jumper, knitted in some undyed shades of Shetland lambswool from our home flock, for a country loving gentleman - and nothing more. She only had three weeks to design and knit it to his measurements, and she somehow pulled it off. Her face was an absolute picture when I told her who it was for, just a day or two before the visit!”

 

The day of the royal visit arrived in a haze of sunshine, nerves and camera flashes. The market was, on the whole, its usual self - rows of trestle tables, crates of vegetables, farm-fresh eggs and the familiar mix of homemade chutneys and honey. Our stand might’ve looked a little tidier than usual, but otherwise we were determined to keep things grounded, real. That’s what had earned the visit in the first place, after all.

 

The crowd, though, was like nothing we’d ever seen. I remember not being able to move. There were people spilling out from every side street and shopfront, craning their necks and waving little flags. It felt like the whole of West Wales had descended on the market square that morning.

 

When the convoy arrived, the atmosphere shifted. There was a quiet, almost reverent excitement. (That, and a dozen or so very serious-looking people with earpieces.) Prince Charles made his way around the stalls, stopping to chat, shake hands, and taste the occasional biscuit. Then it was our turn.

 

He was warm, curious and utterly engaged. We spoke about wool, sheep breeds, the challenges of producing organic yarn, and the complexities of traceability. Then came the moment of the gift - the Fair Isle jumper, knitted in undyed shades of Shetland lambswool from our home flock, wrapped and waiting in a box. There’s a lovely photo of the handover. He seemed genuinely delighted - and whether or not he ever wore it in the end, he certainly gave every impression he would.

 

What I remember most vividly, though, is that I’d been chosen - proudly, nervously - to demonstrate a traditional pole lathe as part of the market’s craft display. I’d raced up to the top of the hill behind the stalls to get it set up, but the trouble with pole lathes is they’re really meant for soft forest floors, not concrete paving. Just as I set my foot down on the treadle, the whole lathe collapsed, and a hefty branch came crashing down right next to His Royal Highness. He laughed. His security team didn’t. I stood frozen in horror. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in all my life.

 

Despite my minor timber based mishap, the day was a resounding success. It marked a turning point - not an overnight change, but the start of something that slowly gathered momentum. In the years that followed, HRH would go on to support the founding of the Campaign for Wool. We wouldn’t dream of claiming that we sparked it, but… well, the timeline’s there if you fancy joining the dots.

 

The impact rippled quietly through our own work, too. Suddenly, this idea of organic wool didn’t feel quite so far-fetched. It wasn’t just us banging the drum anymore. More people started taking notice. Sally had been lobbying for years - writing letters, attending meetings, pestering certifying bodies - but the royal visit added weight, and the beginnings of legitimacy.

 

That sense of legitimacy turned into something far more concrete in 2003. That was the year the very first organic textile standards for wool were officially ratified. From that moment on, every single skein of Garthenor yarn would be certified organic - the first in the world to carry that certification. It was the culmination of a huge campaign, years in the making, and one that underpins everything we still do today.

 

Looking back, those early 2000s were a time of steady, determined growth. We took on more fleece, introduced new breeds into the mix, and partnered with more like minded farmers. We were still working with our original mill in Lampeter, but the idea of our own mill had started to whisper its way into the back of Sally and Chris’s minds. There were rumours that the Lampeter mill might go up for sale - the owner was nearing retirement - and we toyed with the idea of buying it. But the cost was eye-watering, far beyond our means.

 

There was another mill, long closed, just down the road in Talybont. It had a certain romance to it - old stone walls, wooden floors, the glint of dusty machinery just visible through broken windows. But the romance stopped short at practicality. Everything inside had been moved in by hand, some even by horse and cart. Extracting the machines would have cost a fortune, and many were already rusting quietly into history.

 

So, we parked the idea. For now.

 

But those quiet whispers would come back - louder, more insistent - and one day, we’d say yes.