Arthur Parkinson: I am a cleaner, security guard and matron to my happy hens

I would really struggle to chat if I didn’t have the topic of my chickens to call on — in fact, I’d be the first to admit that I’d have very little to cluck about at all!

The daily sight of my well-nurtured hens, come rain or shine; of them bustling about cheerfully with their little consistent daily routines is a joy to behold. I derive such a sense of pride from the fact that they are healthy and that they are such good examples of their various breeds — especially so when young chicks, hatched through the spring months, begin to grow into debutant hens; their individual feathers become apparent; their faces ripen to a raspberry blush.

The flock certainly knows who I am. When I appear, whistling in greeting, they all come running up to the gate, quite giddy and cackling. Healthy hens are always a bustle of animation — aside from when they are preening, laying or sunbathing. And even more so with the traditional breeds who are constantly on the go; curious and energetic. They lend many a period drama film a suitable backdrop for this very reason.

However, a hen keeper has to take on multiple roles to ensure happy hens. I am, most importantly, a cleaner because hen houses must be kept just so and airy. In my mind, my hen houses are thoroughbred horse stables and a daily scrape out of their droppings is a must. I am also a dutiful security guard against a worrisome number of predators — and if you choose to let a hen hatch a clutch of eggs you soon become a sort of matron; moving the mother to a prepared nest and monitoring progress. There is reward to this work: daily eggs, to eat, not to hatch.

Oh and to ensure good yellow yolks you must play at gardener and look after the grass your hens peck on, too. It is grass, afterall, that makes an egg taste delicious!

Visually, eggs, with their individual mottled shell patterns and colour, can easily compete with a Farrow & Ball paint chart. And when it comes to freshness, they are superior to even the most well-marketed and welfare-assured shop-bought eggs. It is this — the thrill of ferreting around for breakfast inside the cosy nesting boxes — that lures so many of us to keep our chickens. Surely, children and adults alike can recall the first time they collected their first full basket? An egg is a thing of creation and hard work worth marvelling at.

In the food world, we are increasingly confronted with sterile supermarket shelves that distance us from Nature’s proper cycles and rhythms. And despite hens being the most numerous bird on Earth today, just three breeds make up 90% of the UKs bred-for-meat chickens. If we want the more traditional breeds to survive — the Scots Dumpy, Derbyshire Redcap and Dorking — more of us need to indeed keep and rear them. The best bit? Chickens, unlike most other farm animals, can be reared in urban and countryside settings — and I have kept them at every stage of my life.

In that time, I’ve come across doted-on, spoilt and happily-kept hens, but I’ve also come witnessed miserable fowl kept in pitiful, muddy slums that stink of stale earth and encourage the dreaded Samuel Whiskers to move in (with nightmarish consequences).

And this is why you’ll find me here, on the Country Life website, for the foreseeable future, sharing all of my top tips and tricks for rearing happy hens — and some wonderful stories of my own along the way.