As one door closed, another opened 

Pippa says: ‘I feel very lucky to have spent most of my working life doing two jobs I absolutely love. Redundancy can be crushing when it’s not something you would have readily chosen. Even the word itself means “surplus to requirements” and “unnecessary”.  

‘I was so fortunate to find a new home at The Mare and Foal Sanctuary and the chance to tell so many wonderful stories about the work this team does and the courage, trust and kindness our rescued equines show every day. I wanted to pay tribute to my former friends and colleagues at the BBC and the deeply inspiring people I work with now. I also wanted to encourage anyone facing a similar crossroads who is wondering what might be possible next. The honest answer is that a lot of good things can follow redundancy, if you stay open to them.’ 

Here’s what Pippa shared with readers of the Western Morning News in Charmian Evans’ column on 20/06/26: 

There was an avalanche of well-meaning platitudes after it happened. I appreciated the kindness, but nothing eased the pain of leaving the BBC after 30 years. Not a marriage in the traditional sense, but close. We had many of the usual milestones of a good marriage: shared celebrations, the odd emotional rock bottom, a few wilderness years and underneath it all, reassuringly solid foundations.  

A friend said ‘You may love your job, but your job isn’t capable of loving you back. Find something you love doing and do it, but don’t expect the impossible from it.’  

The BBC and I first ‘courted’ when I was a young postgrad freelancer. I joined the BBC family as a staff journalist, then senior presenter. My happiest years were at Radio Devon, part of an amazingly talented, creative, occasionally eccentric team united in a deep commitment to local people. Our job was to reflect what was happening in Devon, challenge decision makers, share good times with listeners and hold space with them through the difficult, emotional stuff. For many of us, born and bred here, it was our world. We believed in local radio with a zeal only slightly dented by very early starts.  

My job was never predictable, from interviewing an inebriated famous television puppet while keeping the conversation just the right side of broadcastable, to being ‘regressed’ to a past life as a Munchkin actor in The Wizard of Oz. I’ve met a death row prisoner in Texas, camped in the desert with Kate Adie and lived on board HMS Cornwall off Oman.   

But in 2023 a redundancy process swept through local radio as funds were redirected to make the licence fee stretch further. I realised my only real option was to leave. I have enormous respect for those who faced the same choice, friends who left and friends who stayed. We were all affected by decisions made way above our heads. I have my own views about the process, but I also know no one set out to hurt individuals. The BBC is facing the biggest challenge in its 104-year history, and I still feel huge affection for it. I still want it to thrive and remain proud to be a tiny part of its story. 

Redundancy at 50 can feel like the end of everything you know and brings with it a huge emotional, financial and reputational pressure – being a lady of leisure was not an option.   

I considered freelancing but gradually realised I needed to be part of a team with a sense of shared purpose. I love nature and wildlife and felt drawn to animal charities. Almost immediately I saw a role that felt perfect: PR and Campaigns Manager for The Mare and Foal Sanctuary. Years ago, I met the founder, the late Rosemary Kind, and knew it was a serious, thoughtful organisation. My name, Philippa, means ‘lover of horses’, which felt like an encouraging nudge from the universe. When I was offered the job, I was ecstatic. 

In my first week the chief executive asked me to bring my creative problem‑solving skills to the table and find a way to celebrate our patron Angela Rippon’s Strictly Come Dancing journey and help more people hear about our work. I have interviewed Angela many times and respect her charitable work, including ours, so I decided to make a special film, which you can watch here.  

At the Sanctuary we treat horses and ponies as sentient beings and respect their dignity. So, the staff wore feather boas and sparkly sandals, and the ponies watched, fascinated, and joined in when they chose. One shook a bucket on cue. Another nudged a hanging glitterball. A third let out a well‑timed neigh that any sound director would be proud of. The resulting film was shared widely, and Angela adored it.  

Film stars Sir Didymus and Vogue 

The Mare and Foal Sanctuary is professional and ambitious, clear about its standards and full of kind, knowledgeable colleagues who praise achievements. It’s an organisation that shows real compassion and wants its staff to grow. Dawn Vincent, my Director of Fundraising and Communications is a brilliant mentor. Her grandmother was Dr Elisabeth Svendsen, who founded The Donkey Sanctuary, and Dawn’s depth of knowledge and leadership is remarkable.   

I get to spend time with rescued horses and ponies on our beautiful equine reserves. I feel joy when a foal is born, the grief of losing a much-loved equine friend and the shock of seeing traumatised new arrivals at the start of their recovery. With us they have safe sanctuary for the rest of their lives in a place of hope and healing.  

I see traumatised people find calm and connection simply by standing with a horse and breathing with them. Horses live very much in the moment. They read our body language and respond to what’s real, not what we say. There is something quietly powerful about that and we have a lot to learn from them. I have a much healthier work/life balance. I am, quite simply, happy.  

Time does heal. Doors do open. Sometimes the thing you dread turns out to be a blessing in disguise. Change has brought the wisdom I lacked when I was married to my job, when my career was my identity, my social life and my measure of worth.   

This connection feels steadier. I bring care and energy to what I do, but I no longer expect my job to love me back. And when I walk into a yard and a once‑nervous pony chooses to walk towards me, ears forward, breathing slow, I feel something better than ambition. I feel useful. And that’s more than enough.