Why one Gen Z Londoner is allowed to graze sheep on land in the Welsh valleys

Caleb Tutt's life looks much like that of many Gen Z professionals in London - rent, student debt and a routine shaped by commutes and convenience food.

But there is one thing that is very different.

He has the right to graze livestock on common land - a 680-year-old honour - in Llantrisant, a town in south Wales 160 miles (257km) from where he lives.

Freemen can graze animals on the land owned by them, which in this case is Cymdda Bach and Brynteg.

Caleb, 24, remembers having the conversation about the freemanship with his dad when he was growing up.

"I wasn't 100% sure what it was, but in my mind it would look something like a grand coronation with ermine cloaks and gold," he said.

He had forgotten about it all and, as Covid hit in 2020 when he went to university, the freemanship "fell by the wayside slightly as life got in the way".

So, when dad James messaged him out of the blue about his ancient right to look after animals on the land, it was "like finding a fiver down the back of the sofa".

"All of a sudden here's something eccentric, albeit materially meaningless, that I could do."

Growing up in the home counties, Caleb said it was "painfully obvious to everyone within a few metres of me that I'm English".

But he is entitled to be a freeman of Llantrisant through his grandmother Gwen as he is "descended from coal miners from Senghenydd and housewives from Pontypridd", and is related to an existing freeman.

"I think being able to trace my family back to that small hilltop town and the surrounding land is something I didn't appreciate until I was right there," he said.

"Being able to go back to the room on the hilltop where my Welsh ancestors wrote their name in the exact same book was pretty emotional, even for someone like me who's kind of cynical at the best of times.

"I think that's the charm of the freemanship. It isn't a lordship with swanky estates or privileges. It is literally the right to graze on a patch of grass in south Wales."

In his head Caleb thought it would be like Anne Hathaway in the Princess Diaries - being swept up in meetings with dignitaries and having his inheritance read to him from a scroll.

He admits that, even if he wanted to graze livestock, he wouldn't know where to begin.

"I think deep down I knew that I only stood to gain the right to graze a sheep or two in a country I don't live in, but I didn't have much to go on.

"Even my dad couldn't remember many details from his ceremony - this might be because it's followed by a dinner where the drink is pretty free flowing."

Caleb said the ceremony was great and "nothing like the weird coronation I had imagined when I was younger".

"We were all aware that we weren't being knighted or accepting a peerage. We all knew that the right we stood to gain was fairly inconsequential as inherited birthrights go."

Caleb, along with 20 or so new freemen, sat in Llantrisant Guildhall before the chairman of the committee called for the ceremonial Mace of Llantrisant to be brought in "which made me feel like we were in Parliament".

New freemen's names are called and they state which existing freeman they are related to before signing an 18th Century ledger - the one from 1346 was apparently lost in a fire - before getting a handshake and a ceremonial necktie or scarf.

Caleb said he was told the Llantrisant Mace was older than most of the Crown Jewels and survived Oliver Cromwell trying to melt down any remaining precious metal bearing Charles I's crest.

"I know it's literally just a rod of silver but the hype around the mace had already been built up so I was a bit nervous, especially as I didn't want to drop it," he said.

Caleb said he was told the mace went missing in the 19th Century when some men came from London to become freeman and were so cash-strapped they couldn't afford the fare home.

"Apparently they stole the mace and sold it to secure some transport funds. The mace was only found years later when its new owner realised what it was.

"It didn't exactly do me any favours as I too was a new freeman who had come from London, and is also pretty broke.

"I think they were keeping a particularly beady eye on me when I was holding the mace, suspicious I might do the same."

Then, at the freemen's dinner at Llantrisant Rugby Club, the "loving cup" was passed round.

Caleb described it as "some big trophy" filled with port, with tradition dictating that everyone in the room takes a big swig and passes it to their left.

"It reminded me a bit of something we used to do at my rugby club at university, but my brother and sister refused to drink from it... but I took three big gulps to make up for my brother and sister refusing."

Going through the experience with his siblings Silas and Imogen was "great", Caleb said, as they are triplets but "all into different things, but I think that's why it was so nice to do it with them".

"We struggle enough to meet up for a drink after work most of the time, so it was impressive that we all met up on a remote hilltop in Rhondda Cynon Taf on a random Friday."

Caleb said he had a habit of going on "strange side quests" but this was "probably the most out there of the lot".

"I think that's what I've enjoyed most about it, on paper I have very little in common with the other freemen but we all got on like a house on fire.

"It's nice to see a shared occasion where people can come from all over and celebrate a shared history.

"I think lots of people these days get their sense of identity from some sinister ideas on ethnicity and who belongs in what group, but the freemanship is a bastion of historic and quite eccentric identity that is friendly and warm, not hostile."

With an estimated 1,200 freeman around the world, Caleb said the fact that people come from all over to inherit that right speaks to how the sentimental side of the title is strong, despite the lack of material benefits that come with it.

He would like his children to follow in his footsteps as "eccentric things like these are only kept alive by people telling their kids about it".

He added: "I never met my great-grandfather William but at the dinner table I heard all about him from the older freemen who could remember him.

"It's being part of history, admittedly in a small and inconsequential way, but in a way special to my family's fairly humble roots."