In the Fens, a slow and relentless transformation is unfolding, one that stretches far beyond the soil itself. The agrarian farmers, once the heartbeat of the flat, fertile land, are dwindling. As they pass away their modest plots are increasingly amalgamated into the vast, faceless holdings of large agricorps.

Each death marks not only the loss of a steward of the land but the quiet unraveling of a rich cultural tapestry that has defined the region for half a millennia.

When the late Jessie Watson of Littleport, Cambridgeshire purchased a Tullos threshing machine in 1946 he transported it by train from Aberdeen to the Fens – a distance of 490 mles. Then it was a symbol of modern engineering ingenuity, requiring three workers to operate it and another to tow it by tractor. Today, its tasks are managed by a solitary operator, an illustration of how technology has streamlined labour while stripping away the human bonds it once fostered. Of course, farm work is hard work and should not be romanticised but working together is much more enjoyable than working alone as this retired labourer testifies.

The Labour government’s new plan to impose inheritance tax on farm sales is poised to accelerate this erosion, piling financial strain onto families. For generations, farmers like Watson handed down not just land but a legacy and a rhythm of life tied to the seasons.

The tax makes succession untenable, forcing heirs to sell not to neighbours who might honour those traditions, but to agricorps that see the soil as little more than a balance sheet.

As these corporate entities sweep in, the patchwork of fields that once bore the imprint of individual hands is giving way to a sterile uniformity, erasing the dialects, folklore, and a culture that thrived in the shadow of the hedgerows.

For further reading see Justin Partyka's photographs of the agrarian farmers of East Anglia.

Early morning shift change at Superflora on Washway Road, Fleet Hargate, Lincolnshire. The company which supplies flowers in bulk to supermarkets and wholesalers around the UK is a major employer in the area and part of the Dutch Flower Group, a significant player in the global floriculture industry.

The Dutch played a foundational role in shaping the flower trade in South Lincolnshire, particularly through their expertise in land reclamation.

In the 17th century, Dutch engineer Cornelius Vermuyden led drainage projects in the Fens, transforming the marshy expanse into fertile land with silt soils. This reclamation, continued by figures like Philibert Vernatti, created the conditions for agriculture, including flower growing, by providing well-drained, nutrient-rich ground ideal for bulbs like tulips.

The Dutch model of fenland management didn’t just alter the landscape—it brought a mindset of precision agriculture to Britain. By the late 19th century, their influence deepened as farmers  across the country looked to the Netherlands’ thriving bulb trade for inspiration.

The introduction of the Darwin Tulip around 1890, a Dutch-bred variety prized as a cut flower, spurred  experimentation with forcing bulbs under glass—a technique borrowed from Holland's growers. The Fens emerged as a rival to Holland, with its bulb production peaking in the early 20th century, when over a third of Britain’s bulbs came from the area.

In the Fens, a slow and relentless transformation is unfolding, one that stretches far beyond the soil itself. The agrarian farmers, once the heartbeat of the flat, fertile land, are dwindling. As they pass away their modest plots are increasingly amalgamated into the vast, faceless holdings of large agricorps.

Each death marks not only the loss of a steward of the land but the quiet unraveling of a rich cultural tapestry that has defined the region for half a millennia.

When the late Jessie Watson of Littleport, Cambridgeshire purchased a Tullos threshing machine in 1946 he transported it by train from Aberdeen to the Fens. Then it was a symbol of modern engineering ingenuity; requiring three workers to operate it and another to tow it by tractor. Today, its tasks are managed by a solitary operator, an illustration of how technology has streamlined labour while stripping away the human bonds it once fostered.

The Labour government’s new plan to impose inheritance tax on farm sales is poised to accelerate this erosion, piling financial strain onto families. For generations, farmers like Watson handed down not just land but a legacy and a rhythm of life tied to the seasons.

The tax makes succession untenable, forcing heirs to sell not to neighbours who might honour those traditions, but to agricorps that see the soil as little more than a balance sheet.

As these corporate entities sweep in, the patchwork of fields that once bore the imprint of individual hands is giving way to a sterile uniformity, erasing the dialects, folklore, and quiet pride that thrived in the shadow of the hedgerows.

For further reading see Justin Partyka's photographs of the agrarian farmers of East Anglia.