Why We Did This - And How We’d Do It Again
People often assume The Promise Co. began with a grand plan to become farmers.
It didn’t.
It began much earlier than that - with a conversation, a shared restlessness, and a promise we made to each other long before we even knew that Leyland Farm existed.
The Lives We Lived Before
Before The Promise, we’d already lived a few lives.
Andrew came from hospitality, sales, marketing and operations — from opening the first Toby Carvery in the UK to running multi-million-pound businesses. Along the way there were successes, failures, consultancies, a tech start-up that taught us more than it ever paid us, and eventually running a waste management business.
Cath trained in Textile Design and Design Management and built a career spanning over 20 years in design, brand identity and product development, working with names like Ben Sherman, Sanrio, the BBC, Cartoon Network and the FA. She still runs her own studio today, alongside running the farm and the business with Andrew.
This wasn’t a mid-life crisis.
This was our fifth business.
Which is important — because it means The Promise wasn’t born from escapism.
It was born from experience.
“Did People Think You Were Mad?”
Yes. Absolutely.
Two children. (One recovering from open-heart surgery.)
Two businesses still running.
No farming background.
A global pandemic.
Four house moves — including living in a friends and families spare rooms while waiting for completion.
On paper, it looked ridiculous.
But we believed in ourselves. We trusted our combined skills. And we backed ourselves to work it out as we went along — even if that meant learning the hard way.
As we wrote in our original business plan:
“We had the combined vision, practical skills, a sprinkling of naïvety — and the balls — required to turn our whimsical Promise into something real.”
Why Farming? Why This Life?
Cath had always carried a quiet pull towards self-sufficiency.
That idea has evolved over time — because the truth is, being completely self-sufficient is incredibly hard. What it became instead was something deeper: a considered relationship with food.
Where does it come from?
What does it really cost — in time, labour, skill and care?
Why had food become so cheap, so disposable, so disconnected?
Growing food, preserving it, wasting less, and paying properly for quality became as important as growing it ourselves.
Farming didn’t replace our businesses — it collided with them.
The juggle is real. The overwhelm is real. The farm doesn’t switch off. Seasons dictate the diary, not ambition. That tension has tested our physical and mental health — and forced us to become better at checking in, prioritising, and working together.
And yet…
We wouldn’t change it for anything.
Against the Odds
Our biggest hurdles?
We weren’t farmers. Everything had to be learnt from scratch.
Time. Home life, businesses, farm life — all running at once.
Investment. We did this ourselves. No shortcuts. And no one warns you that buying a farm means suddenly being responsible for 24 roofs.
There were moments — many — where we stood in the middle of it all and asked:
“What on earth have we done?”
But we never wanted to quit.
Because whenever it felt too much, we stepped outside. We walked. We listened to the birds. We watched the animals. And we remembered why we started.
Why “The Promise”?
The name matters.
Many years ago — around fifteen now — we made a promise.
We don’t remember exactly when.
Maybe it was over red wine.
Maybe it was during those early, hopeful years.
Maybe it was lots of small moments adding up.
The timing doesn’t matter.
The promise was this:
To build a place full of love, good times and family — where we would live, work, and create lifelong memories.
That promise became a farm.
And then it became something bigger.
Living Like the Larkins
We bonded over re-runs of The Darling Buds of May before we ever realised how much it had shaped us.
“Wouldn’t it be great if we could live like the Larkins?”
Not literally — but in spirit.
Time for people.
Care for the land.
Good food.
A sense of generosity.
A place that feels alive.
That spirit runs through everything we do.
And when people arrive here and say, “There’s just something about this place…”
That’s it.
The Question We Get Asked the Most
“How would you even begin to do something like this?”
Here’s the honest answer.
You don’t start with land.
You start with values.
You start by asking:
How do we want to live?
How do we want to work?
What do we want this to feel like?
Then you break the journey down.
Into steps.
Into risks you can manage.
Into things you can learn.
We didn’t have all the money.
We didn’t have all the experience.
But we had a plan, resilience, and a willingness to learn — and to ask for help.
If we were starting again today, we’d still do it the same way:
thoughtfully, stubbornly, imperfectly — and together.
Why we share this …
We see ourselves as the current guardians of Leyland Farm.
It existed before us, and it will exist long after us.
If we’re remembered for anything, we hope it’s this:
That we created a place that welcomed people in.
That felt human.
That gave something back.
And maybe — just maybe — gave someone else the confidence to make their own promise too.