Not so many bulls about farms these days 70

Not so many bulls about farms these days, particularly the dairy herds. Before the advent of Artificial Insemination, you often reared a bull calf out of one of your own best cows, the resultant heifers coming into your herd and completing their first lactation, would be very hit and miss. Also you had three more years of calves on the way before the bull had been proven.

It was not uncommon to see cows with curled up toes and long pendulous udders often having front teats pointing east west. However once AI came in and a few years later they could offer proven bulls with superior confirmation, the misshapen feet and udder started to disappear within ten years. Another benefit was there was less dangerous bulls to handle in your own yard one your own farm.

Alost every farm in our area could relate to a narrow escape or injury from trying to move or separate a bull from the cows.

At home the bull had his own loose box, the only window was a brick arched half moon hole on the back wall where he could put his head out, but even then he could see nothing, only fresh air. To serve a cow in season, she was loosed onto the farm yard and the bull pen door opened to let him out, while he was busy the cowman would pop in quickly and bed up with straw and put in some dairy nuts or corn, and being used to this routine, as soon as the cow had been served he would head back to his pen at full gallop and the door shut.

However training the bull to get used to a routine was hard and dangerous, this one day (in around 1946) when we got home from school father was in the house and mother had been away for the day. This was a bit unusual and we thought nothing about it until evening, when the cowman Philip came to the door for his wages, mother answered the door and first thing Philip asked was “how’s the old chap”.

 Mother asked him why, and he replied that the bull had had him down on the yard that afternoon, and had escaped with a good heavy bruising of his legs and thighs.  Mother was very shocked and upset that father had not told her, he knowing what her reaction would be had not planned on telling her. But Philip had let the cat out of the bag.

A few years prior to that incident, soon after we had moved to Seighford, we had a new young bull, and the plan was to tie him up in a single stall along with other cows, usually if the bull and a cow are crammed into a single stall, and eating, you stand a chance of getting a chain round his neck. It was only a slim chance that did not pay off, as the old man Harry who was helping father and Philip the cowman at that time, got a mauling and badly knocked about.

The bull was put down and old Harry never came back to work on the farm again, in fact he got a job with the County Council as a road man, and his stretch of country road was about three miles, all through the village and right past his own house. His one leg was so badly damaged the for the rest of his life he had a very bad limp, as though one leg was shorter than the other

I had a narrow escape one day when walking a young bull down the lane to run with a bunch of heifers. We had reared the bull from a calf and had him leading all through his early years, but now he was up on his toes so to speak, and realised when we got within a hundred or so yards from the field and he could see the heifers where he was going.

He started walking faster , faster than I wanted to go, then he started bouncing, up with the front, then up with the backend, all the time getting faster. He had got his head in front of me and was shouldering me sideways closer and closer to the hedge bank, a steep grassy hedge bank about  three foot high, with a three foot hawthorn hedge on top, a just off vertical six foot.

 I started doing the wall of death walk along the near vertical grass, then on the next bounce his shoulders almost underneath me I was pitched clean over the hawthorn hedge. Fortunately as well as a pole, of which I lost grip, I also had a long chain that was attached through his nose ring up round his horns, so had still got a hold on him. Apart from a few bruised ribs and a dented ego, it was a hard lesson to learn and just lucky to have gotten away with it.

The bull, our bull, was often tethered on a long chain with a 56lbs weight to anchor him to one place, the chain was threaded through his nose ring and fastened round his horns. He soon learned to move the weight by lining up the chain in the middle of his nose and under his chin, and then lift his head up sharply. He could do this from along his side and flipping his head violently, so violent that on one occasion the half cwt  (25kg) was flying 10 foot in the air, all the energy pulling the chain was round his horns and nose with no weight on his ring.

So to sum up, no bulls can be trusted, not even the Herefords and Aberdeen Angus, also some newly calved cows are just as dangerous. All these animals are seven to ten times heavier than us, so proper handling and housing facilities are essential. There has been a  lot of people killed over the years and still up to this date. Don’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time, you will be badly hurt or killed.

Lighting the Kitchen Fire 69

I Remember Mother Lighting the Kitchen Fire

If the oven door was slightly open we found out that the cat even slept in the oven over  night. But she soon found out that that was not a good place to be.

The kitchen range was the main source of heat for the whole house and it also had a back boiler to heat the water in the taps, so this was lit every morning of the year. Mother would put some chopped sticks on the hearth or in the bottom of the oven each night so the sticks would be dry as tinder for lighting the following morning. As you can imagine the hearth was a nice warm place for the cat to spend the night and if the oven door was slightly open we found out that the cat even slept in the oven. But she soon found out that that was not a good place to be.

 A shovel full of ashes was cleared out from under the grate, some news paper runkled up and sticks put on top then a shovel full of coal ( best steam coal from the railway, rolled off a steam engine tender as it past through our fields, dad knew the driver and they exchanged contraband when food was on ration). A match was applied and both dampers were pulled out to draw the fire round the oven and boiler, then she went on with other jobs such as getting breakfast for when morning milking had finished and we all came in. Read on

I Remember Mother Lighting the Kitchen Fire

First job every morning, is to light the kitchen fire,
It heats the water in the tap, heat this end of house entire
Chopped sticks were placed, hearth night before,
It catches light instantly, and with damper out it roars.

One Sunday morning after breakfast, when father tales us told,
We heard a scratching and a scowling, from the oven wo behold,
Mother opened oven door, out popped our poor old cat,
Door left part open night before, to keep warm at that.

When mother put match to fire, she latched the oven door,
To pre heat for Sunday joint, not knowing who was indoors,
The poor hot cat shot out the door, to cool off in the snow,
Not out there long the milk she sort, she was all aglow.

Big shovel full of coal brought in, and bank the fire up hgh,
The beef was put into the pan, vast heat it was then to apply,
When part done and she looked in, great waft of heat and haze,
Tatters placed around in fat , to roast till brown and brazed.

Our Sunday morning tales dad told, lasted to coffee time,
As long as nothing else came up, to delay the ending what a crime,
Then we all turned out, a brush apiece, to sweep up round the yard,
All trying to imagine all the escapades round uncle Dan's farmyard.

Countryman

Don't seem to have a relavant picture to this blog so, this is just a picture of trees in our back fields, the big oak on the right is almost dead and is a prime candidate for firewood.


Uncle Dan's Fire

This would have happened in the 1920's when father was in his teens; he and his mates were inquisitive as to know the sleeping arrangements of his uncle Dan and his house keeper.
 Them years ago straw was in battens not bales, so they decided that they needed to wake them up quickly in the middle of the night, and the best way was to light a fire in the middle of his front lawn, well lawn, it was a sheep grazed patch of grass round the house, lawn mowers for farmers were sheep.

They brought a few battens of straw stood up wigwam stile and chucked in a match, when the fire had got going well, they stood round the corner and shouted FIRE.

Uncle Dan's Fire

I remember father telling us, about his uncle Dan,
Lived in his farm house, and they did get a plan,
His house keeper lived with him, had to check which room,
And wondered how to find out, they dare not assume.

They went round one night, out to his front lawn,
Way after they had gone to bed, curtains they were drawn,
Built a pile of straw there, and set the lot alight,
Hiding round the corner, twas middle of the night.

They had done all this, and shouted loudly FIRE,
Only wanted to see witch window, what was to transpire,
If they looked out same window, that it would confirm,
What they suspected all along, just to make him squirm.

Father never did tell us, what the outcome was,
Told us we're to young, to understand the cause,
Always looked after uncle Dan, right up to the end,
Buried in Bradley church yard now, his courage we commend.

Countyman

It is with our passions, as it is with fire and water, they are good sevants but bad masters.Aesop (620 BC - 560 BC)

To Cut and Cart the Kale Blog (Mid 1940's) 68

To cut and cart the Kale  (Mid 1940's)

This was tale about what happened to my brother and I when I was 9 years old and my brother just over 6 years  1946. I was just old enough to work helping the then cowman Philip to load kale for the cows, a job he did every afternoon ready for the following days feeding.


Philip had a tremendous scramble to get us out, I know I was first out and standing by on my own in a daze, and after a short while my younger brother Robert emerged all muddy an shaken.

In winter time father grew Kale to be used up to the turn of the year, after that the cows went onto mangels that were kept safe in a covered hog to protect them from the frost.
The kale was Marrow Stem and drilled early April it would grow up to six foot high, as the name suggests over half the feed was in the centre of the stem, the marrow.

This was cut by hand and loaded in the afternoon by the cowman onto a flat four wheeled dray pulled by one of fathers shire horses, then thrown out onto a grass field near to the sheds for the cows to go out for exercise the following morning and brows their ration of kale.
Cows in them days were all tied in stalls and only went out once a day in winter, so the sheds could be cleaned out and bedded up properly.

Some days we would go with the cowman Philip and ride back on top of the load of kale, he was only a young chap in his twenties, and a bit of a reckless driver (of the horse), like turning the horse and the front turntable of the dray quarter turn and the horse would snatch to get the load moving, on this one occasion tipping the load onto its side.

That would not have been too disastrous only my brother and I were buried under the load. I believe Philip had a tremendous scramble to get us out, I know I was first out and standing by on my own in a daze, and after a short while my brother emerged all muddy an shaken. On the way home we were sworn to secrecy on what had happened not to tell our father ( the old chap as Philip called him) or he might have got cussed in no uncertain terms. The secret was kept and Philip kept his job for another twenty years.

To Cut and Cart the Kale

We used to go with cowman Philip, to cut and put out the kale,
This was done with horse and flat dray, come sun or snow or hail,
Half and hour to chop the stems, and fell them in a row,
Then load them up, stems to the middle, cold its' down to zero.

Old Flower she turns and pulls, hard as she goes to the gate,
Through muddy ruts we had to walk, for a ride we had to wait,
We were not very big and had to be lifted up on top of the load,
Down hill now all the way home, a half a mile on the road.

Into the turf close to the farm, throw the stems off in the field,
Cows to eat the following day, and hope to improve their yield,
Winter feeding of the dairy herd, a never ending job,
Nice to get into warm cowsheds, cows in their bedding flop.

On this one day when we were with him, loading up the kale,
Turned old Flower, tipped the load, such a sorry tale,
Slid the load of Kale off, all over me and my brother,
Philip dug fast to find us, as under the load we'd smother,

We were OK a little dazed, soon came round and recovered,
Squared the horse and wagon, to load up again we staggered,
On the way home Philip asked us, not to tell the old chap,
Father never knew why, we were covered in mud in a mishap.

Owd Fred

On the way up to the kale field with Philip he stopped ( he may have stopped before when he was on his own ) under an overhanging nut bush, he pulled old Flower the shire well over onto the grass verge and well up under the hedge and stopped well under the thick of a good crop of hazel nuts.

He had the long cutting hook that he cut the kale with, and pulled down those nuts that would otherwise be out of reach, we were already standing on the wagon. As kids this was exiting as we filled our pockets and Philip cracked some for us to eat. Then a loud voice came from the big house across the grassy orchard, "oooyyyy what are you up to", they had seen the bushes swaying about and came out to investigate.

We all went flat on the wagon and flapped the reigns on old Flowers back and we were off. They knew who it was and what we were up to, and as no damage had been done nothing was ever said. But they never realised how many nuts we had got.

I Remember Philip Boulton.

At the Beeches we had a cowman, his name was Philip Boulton,

He liked his beer at weekend , was at the pub quite often,

Lived in a cottage by the shop, front door opened from the pavement,

It had low doors and ceilings, and dormer window casements.

Only a young chap just got married, and never learned to drive,

Went everywhere on his bike, except the pub till he'd revive,

The bike it had low handle bars, and a dynamo driven headlight,

A sad a crumpled saddle bag, nothing in it to excite.

He always wore a bib and brace overall, and a singlet vest,

Even in the winter time, when working bared his chest,

Wellingtons or wellies, with turned down tops so short,

Even in the summer time, no working boots to sport.

A round faced man, hair combed flat back,

Receding over each temple, and he never wore a hat,

What few teeth he had, dentist ventualy pulled the lot,

And a full set of dentures fitted, no more for him the rot.

He looked after all the cows, fed and milked them all,

In the winter had some help cleaning out the stalls,

Often us lads would carry milk, to the dairy there to cool,

Filling up the churns for transport, before and after school.

He'd harness up the horse, on afternoons in winter,

Cut and load kale onto the wagon, he was quite a sprinter,

Throw it out around the field, next day for the cows,

They're turned out for exercise, and the kale to browse.

For many years he stayed with us, until he saw more money,

A factory job and no weekend, he left in such a hurry,

His cottage was never used again, pulled down to pile of rubble,

Bungalow built on the site, back off the pavement out of trouble

Owd Fred

Being a drinking man he (Philip) frequented the Holly Bush pub two or three evenings a week only just up the road. When, as kids we occasionally called at his cottage, we would be offered a cup of tea, but not cups as we were used to, these were pint sized, he had nothing smaller.

There was a little cast iron stove with the huge kettle boiling hanging from a hook on the chimney crane, his toasting fork that he or his wife would poke or re-arrange the logs on the fire, and a square table in the middle of the small room covered with a colourful piece of worn oilcloth. Each side of the fire was what passed for  two arm chairs, any one else had to sit on the old wooden kitchen chairs. In front of the fire for the kids to sit on was the peg rug made out of strips of cloth from worm out clothing.

On the left is the village post office shop, and next on the right of it in the middle of picture was Philips farm cottage , a tied cottage to Beeches Farm. Extreme right is the chimneys of the Holly Bush pub Seighford

 

I think the house had been built before the roadside pavement had been established because from his front door you stepped down a step into the house, the door opened directly onto the pavement. The doors could not have been much more than five foot six and inside the beams in the living room come kitchen no more the six foot.

I suppose in them day's people were not so tall, or maybe it was the estate thought they would save bricks by only building a cottage with very low rooms. As I remember it , it was the only cottage that had round edge (feather edged) tiles on the roof, quite fancy for a farm cottage, and what's the betting that the tiles had come off another larger house that had perhaps been demolished to replace it's original thatched roof. Who knows?


Remember, people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold - but so does a hard boiled egg.
Unknown

Pig Stopping Days are Over? not now. 67

Pig Stopping Days are Over? not now.

Many of you older reader of this blog will know what its like when your knees start to bow out and they get very painful (it's when bone rubs on bone and they creak),my old dad always said, when he saw anyone like that "his pig stopping days are over", well nowadays its not.

My knees went out to almost eight inches apart, such was the ware on the joints and cartilage almost none existent, and at the age of ### I had both knees done. That was eighteen years ago.  It has revitalized my life although to help guard against wearing the new joints out too quickly we have installed a stair lift.

I know of a few folk who are afraid of going "under the knife", but short term pain (of the op) is well worth the long term gain of pain free joints, they never will be as they were when you were in your twenties, but you can get about relatively comfortably.

Knees

Knees are what you sit on when you small and cannot stand,
Knees are what you rely on when walk and need a hand,
Knees are what you bend, when you want to duck ya head,
Knees are what you rest when you finally hit your bed.

They carry all ya weight when ya walking out n' about,
They carry all the load when ya lift and think ya stout,
They start to give ya notice when they're getting worn out,
They're creaking when ya up and down nuff ta mek ya shout.

Joints they need some basting with goose fat to lubricate
Joints they give you pain day and night and won't abate
Joints they need replacing with some metal good and strong,
Joints that are pain free and ya life it will prolong.

I can tell you they're well worth it, under the knife must go,
I can tell you who to see, and explain and tell you all I know,
I can feel the benefit of these new and shiny joints,
I can stand and bend and walk pain free, out away on jaunts.

Owd Fred

A Lift it is a Must

Find it hard to go up stairs, the misses she's the same,
Fourteen steps long and steep, were both getting lame,
We puff and pant as we go up, our joints are getting stiff,
Not much better coming down, like walking down a cliff.

We looked and looked for way to help, a lift it is a must,
One that would take us up the stairs, one that we can trust,
Save our legs and save our breath, were getting older now,
Sent off to the knacker's yard, if I were a lame old cow.

Owd Fred

It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees

Emiliano Zapata (1877 - 1919)

Old Village Mortuary 66

The Old Village Mortuary as it is 2011

This is an interesting old building in the middle of our village; it is the old village Mortuary . For saying that there would be no more than two hundred people, if they were all rounded up, you could not see what need there was for it.
 But I was told that if there was a death or someone was killed in our area, who did not live in the village, that was where the policeman would take the body and the door locked. As you see in the photograph, it is the door at the top of the steps, in a loft above a cowshed, with a cool north facing window.

On a closer look at the window, it too is a secure one with iron bars across it, there again it was not to prevent escape but to stop invaders (or body snatchers) the window being some ten foot up a blank wall. I have not heard of a small village anywhere else in the country having one in existence, but then I have not travelled.
The door below has regularly used by the publican in recent years as a store room, a small window less lockup as this side of the building is in fact the pub yard. On the other side of the building is a cowshed window and a split door, one where the top half can be left open if need be. The lean-to tiled roof by the brick steps is the "fodder bing" (local name for feed passage) which runs' along in front of the cows where hay and other feed can be stored and pushed through directly into the cows troughs.

Just another quirky little building that will instantly be demolished in the interest of providing another building site. But what about the history to it

Accident, n.: A condition in which presence of mind is good, but absence of body better.

Unknown

The old Seed Fiddle 65

He pushed and pulled the bow, with each stride he took,
For the seed must spread thinly, according to the book.

The old Seed Fiddle

I still have a seed fiddle the same as father used when I was a kid. I used it to sow seed mixture in the corners of the fields for the stewardship schemes. I keep it in the office on top of a cabinet where it won't get damaged or run over by a tractor.

Father always had one for broadcasting grass seeds, but according to its instruction card pinned to it you can sow anything that will go through the aperture (that rules out potatoes). It also tells you how to calibrate and set the regulating lever.

If you have an Aero seed fiddle the chances are that the instructions are un readable or even worn away or just got torn off. However here is a copy of the exact instructions that should be followed



THE "AERO" BROARDCASTER AND SEED SOWER
______________________
WORKING DIRECTIONS
Place the stick of bow in position, by putting it through the coiled spring immediately in rear of distributor bobbin; fix end on stick; give thong one turn round bobbin the pass it through hole in handle of bow and secure tightly.

To alter machine to sow different quantities per acre, loosen the winged nut on bottom of box, set lever to number required, then tighten winged nut.

Using instructions

No2 sows 6 pints of Clover Seed per statute acre and 16 feet at cast. Or 2 bushels of Rye Grass to a statute acre and 16 feet at cast.

No3 sows 3 gallons of Flax or Trefoil to a statute acre and 12 feet at a cast.

No4 sows peeks of flax to a statute acre at a cast.

No5 sows 1½ bushels of Wheat to a statute acre and 24 feet at a cast.

No6 sows 2 ½ bushels Oats to a statute acre and 16 feet at a cast.

No7 sows 3 ½ bushels Oats to a statute acre and 16 feet at a cast.
                        Or 3 bushels of Barley and 20 feet to a cast.
No8 sows 4 bushels Oats to a statute acre and 16 feet at a cast.

 
No9 sows 5 bushels Oats to a statute acre and 16 feet at a cast.

No10 sows 6 bushels Oats to a statute acre and 16 feet at a cast.

 A shorter stick can be used for sowing headlands or narrow ridges

Keep your seed clean Keep your belt tight

Oil the journals and grease the stick well. Keep a regular and firm motion.


Never be entirely governed by the numbers as difference in the walk of the operator and the difference in quality of seed makes a gradual difference in the amount distributed therefore always measure in your hopper the amount of seed wanted of a cast or acre, and you will soon know how to set the machine to your walk, and never fail to get just the amount you want to the acre.

This machine will also sow fertilizer.
(If you want a new laminated card to pin back on your Aero Fiddle, I could post you one at cost,drop me an email.)


I like the bit where you can sow fertilizer with it, and as for broadcasting 5 bushels of oats to the acre, the bag on top of the machine must only hold about half of a bushel.


Father often liked to broadcast by hand, for this he had a kidney shaped deep pan that had two loops and a vertical peg type handle.

This will give you an idea of what a seed pan looks like.It would hold about half hundred weight of grain seed in old money thats 56lbs, or 25Kilos


It had a strap that went over his shoulder onto the loops to carry it in front of him, this allowed him to use both hands swinging one hand then the other as a marching soldier, picking up seed at the front and slinging in a wide ark to distribute the seed with each stride.
Fine seed like kale, it was a finger and thumb job, and with grain, in wet patches where it was too wet to get with the drill, it was hand full's at a time job.

I Remember the Seed Fiddle.

This happened in spring 1944 when I was 6 years old

Father he sowed the grass seed, with an old seed fiddle,
The field across the road, from house was all in stubble,
He filled up his fiddle, with grass seed and clover.
Seed bag as this end marker, his blue jacket at other,

Four yards move the marker, at each end of the bout,
March strait like a soldier, strides even and stout,
He pushed and pulled the bow, with each stride he took,
For the seed must spread thinly, according to the book.

Working all through the morning, half the field is sown
He was heading for the sack, on which he could sit down,
As a little lad to see my dad, went across the field,
Picked up his jacket on the way, look at me I squealed.

On seeing what I'd done, he wasn't very pleased,
He lost his far end marker, and with grass fine seed,
There was no way of telling, where he'd sown up to,
At very early age I learned, what the markers do.

Countyman

It is like the seed put in the soil - the more one sows, the greater the harvest.
Orison Swett Marden (1850-1924)

That Unsettled Feeling 64

That Unsettled Feeling

Occasionally in life you get the uneasy and unsettled feeling when you’re unsure of the future and not certain as to which way life is taking you, well I got that feeling this last few months.

This you understand was written in 2012 when I was still a working farmer on 250acres 

Looking back over the years I got it when I first started school, then at eleven when we went to the big school in town, but that was soon over come within a few days when you got to know your way around.

The next time was when I got married and got my own house when I set up on my own farm (tenanted farm), then every now and then when things did not go how you would like, like loosing a calf or even worse loosing cow. I was always reminded by my father that “Where you have livestock, you have dead stock”.

Some of these feeling pass quickly, gone in a few days, other times they last for weeks and weeks or so it seems until you get used to the new situation. When in one of these periods I find it hard to concentrate enough to even write a blog, so I thought I would write a blog about this subject to see how many other folk have the same unsettled feelings and how they get through them.

Perhaps I better start to reveal what is causing my unsettled feeling,

Don’t know if a blog of this sort is in the right place, being a farming blogger and this is a medical blog, but the farmers and all folk who work on the land and in agriculture are not immune from these sort of problems,

So here goes

Well it started some 10weeks ago when I had one of my rare visits to the doctors. It was nothing, or nothing that I had not had occasionally over the years, and would not have bothered with, only my dear wife pointed out I ought to go and reminded me of my age (73). So that same morning I tracked off to see our doctor Sam H. he asked how things are and gradually got around to ask me the reason for my visit. Well I said, I get a bit of a twinge or sting every time I pass water (pee)  and wanted something (other than the old remedy of Pearl barley) to clear it quickly. ( Doctors used to tell you you have got "Farmers bladder"--- never ever having to hold onto ya water, feel you want a pee, just turn to the hedge or the tractor wheel and let it go instantly) never having to wait to go to the loo.

 Sam had already started doing a prescription of antibiotics to clear the immediately problem; when he suggested that I go to the hospital for some tests. (he had seen a trace of blood in the urine sample) An appointment came through the post for two weeks later to see the Urologist, who promptly put in motion kidney bladder and blood tests.

 This all done I waited for the results in a weeks time to be told the kidneys and bladder all clear. But next he wanted a biopsy of my prostrate, and yet another appointment came through for me go to the operating theatre ( at the Stafford Hospital, ) They took ten biopsies (felt like an old hen pecking at ya arse) in all, and the result came a week later positive, in other words I had got Prostrate Cancer.

 This now is the reason for my unease and not knowing what the future holds. But wait, more tests now to see if it has spread into bone and the lymph glands, this includes a full body bone scan with some radioactive injected into my blood stream left three hours then the scan taken fortunately this proved clear as did the lymph gland test.

So now the medication has started in preparation for radio therapy, this is a course of pills and injections to suppress my testosterone, apparently the cancer feeds on testosterone and if that is reduced or suppressed the cancer has nothing to feed on. ( do you remember we used to implant cockerels with summat like this to fatten them for christmas and their combes would go pale and walked about very passively. Well I felt just like a bloody caponized cockerel)  

Basically its hormone therapy and it is already giving me sweats and a lethargic feeling with no energy. The first three weeks of pills led up to a monthly injection/implant which I am told will go on indefinitely into the future.

The Radio therapy treatment will be starting in Mid December or early January this will include a thirty  mile round trip every day, five days a week for seven weeks

 If you’re a man of a certain age, fifty or over I am told, you should have a PSA test early to see if you have prostrate problem, neglected it will kill you.

The whole point of this blog is to warn older men (or those who are looking after older men) to have a regular test done; looking back in my diary I had a test done five years ago and it was clear back then,  you do not know you have it, and it's  too damn late if it gets into your bone and lymph glands. I was shocked and surprised; they told me mine is treatable. I am still working full time on the farm up early every morning, the only thing in the back of your mind now is that of  an uneasy and unsettled feeling which I fear is going to last a bit longer than it did in my younger days.

In preparation for the December January  radio therapy I have sold off all the 18 month old cattle that I would have normally keep through the winter, to reduce the work load. The suckler cows winter out and are fairly easy to manage and the weaned calves will be in one big shed for the winter

It looks like me (and the family) will be having a bit of an extended feeling of unease and uncertainty for a few more months yet.

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.
Ursula K LeGuin

Should Have Put the Blade out of Gear 63

He Should have put the Blade out of Gear

These are tales father used to tell us round the breakfast table on a Sunday mornings when all the farm weekend chores had been completed, (until evening milking)

Father had been brought up by his uncle in the 1920`s, a single man who put him to work long hours before and after school, the school was a village in south Staffordshire a mile or so across fields and footpaths, Upon arriving at school the children's boots were inspected, inevitably on wet mornings they would muddy and no excuse would be aloud for not polishing your boots before setting out to school.

Hand Milking

Milking was the first job every morning, (even on school mornings) the cows rounded up from the "night pasture" (usually the nearest couple of fields by the buildings), every cow knew her own stall, tied up and ready for milking. Fetch with the buckets and stools, turn your cap round and head under the easiest cow to milk. With two gallon in the bottom of the bucket, there would be as much again of froth protruding out of the cone shaped pail.

Some were restless and fidgety, some with tails down right filthy, some were just hard to milk, some had pendulous udders almost to the ground and the teats pointing east west (these were usually the heaviest yielder's but the most awkward to milk) When the cows were all in milk it meant there was up to eight or ten cows each, a good hour and half's work.

Milk was carried in pails to the dairy by the farm house, tipped through a cotton wool filter to take out all that might fall into it (straw?) and into a high D shape receiving tub, There was a brass tap on the front so that you could graduate the flow of milk down the ribbed cooling block, locally called a fridge, this was made of copper and plated with tin (or some white metal) the copper a good conductor of heat and the tin easy to clean.

Water from the well is pumped and flowed up the inside of the fridge, the milk flowed down the outside, the aired water that left the fridge went into a cow trough for them to drink when they were turned out from the sheds. From the fridge the milk dropped into the large seventeen gallon churns, all hell would be let loose if anyone let a churn run over, which it inevitably did from time to time, it was one of those things you only ever did once.

Next job was to harness the half legged Cob, put him in the shafts of the float, back up to the dairy, load the churns and tie them to keep them from slipping or moving. The driver, usually the youngest lad ( my father), about twelve or thirteen would be trusted to encourage the horse to move swiftly toward the station, but not too swiftly out of the yard gate as it was a forty five degree turn round the end of the roadside ditch, this taken at speed would "Spill the Milk".

On down the narrow single track road you would be fairly safe, as long as your Cob did not try to load himself up in the back of the neighboughs float pulled by a slow and old "Hack" (and usually driven by one as well). As you got near the station it was like the "Gold Rush" fortunately everyone going the same direction.
Fittest and fastest horses at the front of the queue, (if they did the milking on time,) and wait for the train, when it did come the floats were backed up in turn to the rail wagon, the full ones duly labelled loaded, and the tomorrows empties taken home. Then into the house, get changed and off to school with his boots polished and instant cane if he was late.

Fingers (or not)
In his school holidays father in his early teens would be sent off to mow with a pair of Shires. First the blade had to be sharpened like a razor in the barn, by his uncle, this made it easier for the horses to pull, and always take a spare one with you as well, half way through the morning the blade would go "dull" and block , so it needed to be changed. It was during a blockage that the fingers of the mower had to be cleared, and to an inexperienced lad like my dad he lifted the blade from the lever by the seat, then walked round to the back of the blade, and cleared it with his hand, (not with a stick) he should have put the blade out of gear.

At an unfortunate moment one horse did little more than stamp his foot, the blade did a quick couple of zithers and father lost two of his fingers, his little finger was taken back to the first joint and the flap of skin stitched over to cover the hole, similarly the next finger was cut off above the second joint the same again, taken off at the next lower joint. Stitching back on was not an option in them days and you did your work with what you have left.



This is my Father mowing, with his two shires Flower and Dolly, he had lost two fingers in the same sort of outfit that he worked for his uncle Dan some fifteen years earlier.

Soon after this picture was taken he bought his first tractor, a Standard Fordson which took a lot of hard work off the horses

I Remember Fathers Fingers

A tale he told us while working for his uncle Dan, he must have been around thirteen years old

Father lost two fingers, while mowing hay one day,
He was helping uncle Dan on the meadows, not at all at play,
Only thirteen started working, horses in the shaft,
The mower blocked with grass, clearing it by hand (how daft)

He lifted blade and went round back, while it was still in gear,
One horse did stamp his foot at flies, and gave the blade two shithers,
This was just enough no doubt, cut two fingers in one go,
He never said how he stopped, the blood, there must have been a flow,

The little finger it was off, above the lower joint,
The next was off above second, clean cut to a point,
Hospital took one off at knuckle, and stitch the flap of skin,
Tuther left half a stub, of finger what a sin.

No safety men to bother them, it was get him back to work,
They healed so slow, it was a blow, but not a time to shirk,
A motor bike he bought one day, to get about much quicker,
It had a belt to drive, hand clutch, and blow up tyre,

Mother he did find one day, while he was out on bike,
He gave a lift and she did find, how cold the bike could be,
Knit pair of gloves did she, to fit his fingers short,
Then regularly did see her out ,and then began to court.

Round the table Sunday breakfast, father told us tales,
Of how he helped his uncle Dan, less fingers and no bales,
We had to always asked him, to tell us that again,
Of how he lost his fingers, and all about the pain.

Owd Fred

When you point your finger at someone, three fingers are pointing back at you.Anonymous

Animals in our lives 62

Milly the Jack Russell & Tinny the Cat

Off to the vet for stitching, twas young vet with a tutor,
But while he's knocked out, we got the vet to neuter,
Two lots of stitches made him sway, but stronger did he get,
Hardly leaves the house at all, so lazy is this cat you bet.

Animals in our lives

Is it any wonder that we dominated by our animals (and kids). When your stuck with an instinct to protect everything in our charge, they come first, come what may. Take our little dog Millie, she is a Jack Russell, she is not aloud to be "home alone". When her principle carer goes out (my misses) she will instantly bring me (Fred) up to the top of her "pecking" order.

 She will follow me about the house, and settle in the next chair, and sometimes settle on the office desk. The slightest hint that her principle carer is back and I am relegated to Zero. Only one look at the cupboard and she gets fed, whereas, I can look at the cupboard and I still have to wait until meal times.

Millie should be fed dog food once a day as she does nothing, in fact she is fed at our meal times and three times in between as well (or so it seams) .The dog food is rejected in favour of best sirloin, breast of chicken, and fish but not the batter. The belly fill cereals are way down her list of options as food.

When Millie needed an operation ( woman's problem you see) there was no stress on Millie on the run up to the big snip, but my misses was not to be told until the night before. Millie had a good nights sleep but her principle carer and me had a very restless night with the misses worrying about the impending op.

  Morning came with Millie not to have food that morning at all, in fact out of loyalty and gilt her principle carer could not eat either. We are talking about a normal human being and a mere DOG Millie, the one with no tail, unless you look closely. On with her heavy collar and robust dog lead (no escape for her) into the car and off I go to do the dirty deed, among stifled tears and fond fair wells (my god she's only going for four hours).

 No wonder I get rejected by most of the pets, it is always me who gets landed with the job of injecting them, or taking them to the vet where they almost invariably get injected as well. Ear drop jobs and nail clipping are other detestable jobs that I am involved in, no wonder she sees me as an expendable friend.

  Later that day I picked a bleary eyed Millie up expecting at least twenty stitches and a good four inch knife hole (like her carer had). But no, we put our glasses on to look closely and mistook her op wound for her belly button, it was one miserable stitch (two when the vet took them out). Key hole surgery you see.



This is Milly, as you see she is diplomaticly reads the right papers, (SOLUTIONS FOR AN UPHILL HARVEST ?)should not realy be on the table, but as you can see from the paws and the long claws she does not go out round the farmyard nowadays. Milly is not too keen on the cats and sometimes backs off with a bloody nose, where each cat claw has penatrated a little bubble of blood pops up, and she is not too pleased.

Milly is our little dog

Milly is our little dog, Jack Russell she is by breed,
Getting older now, and lot of exercise does not need,
But food she loves, and eats quite well
N' put on weight, her tummy to swell

In her own dish bran is added, it is for every meal,
This to help her keep regular, but cat food tries to steal,
Sours her tummy, makes it gurgle, make an awful noise,
Then eating grass to cure it, and then back in play with toys.

Of people she is choosey, the friends she has to make,
Will nip and pull ya trouser leg, outside you must take,
She knows when we prepare go out, will cower top of the stairs,
Have to go up fetch her down, sit in kitchen mid evil glares.

Pleased to see us when we come home, first we hear a bark,
Only half an inch of tail, wags her bum, swings it in an arc,
Races round the kitchen floor, dives into her bean bag,
Settles down with a new toy, chews it to a rag.

Getting grey and older now , knows everything you say,
Even gets on with the cat, and even tries to play,
A touch of noses when they meet, sometime a nip of tail,
But on the whole they're good pals, in their holy grail.

Countryman

This is to introduce Tinny (the cat)

The cats in our house only catch for sport, and that happens about once a week. Tinny, the currant beneficiary of our principle carers care, exploits this to the full. Its taken him all of six months to twig on to the system that lets him eat his belly full BEFORE going out on patrol, then strole about the stack yard for half an hour and back to the house.

We first noticed "Tinny" (as a stray cat) on the lawn one morning when we were having coffee. He had a humped back and squatting against the wall with his head down, and we thought it was a large stone. Then it moved, and realised it was a cat. We rushed out thinking he was injured, but no, he had his head jammed inside of a ring pull dog food can.

Thinking it might be a wild or nervous cat, we lifted him up by the can thinking he would drop out, but it was tight. To make any progress without injuring him, I had to pinch and pull the hair behind each ear a bit at a time until both ears popped out, then the can dropped off, or should I say he dropped out of the can.He was very dazed because he could hardly breathe, and obviously hungry, that was the reason for getting his head trapped.

When he started on our carers care, he would eat anything offered to him, and he was fed in the shed for at least two days, then he became conscious enough to know where it was coming from. This was when he was called Tinny, and was put on a "build me up diet", which included being wormed.

After a few weeks we noticed he was licking a patch on his fur partway up his back leg, and on investigation found it was a cut. When the fur was parted it opened into a round hole that you could put your finger in. It had to be stitched so we made an appointment for him at the vets, and they were instructed while they had him to knock his tabs off at the same time. This cost me a princely sum of fifty quid plus vat, all for a stray cat called Tinny.

At this point in time he became house bound and has never got out of the habit. From time to time he goes on patrol and catches only the smallest of rats for a bit of sport, but the small ones would eventually become big ones so he is forgiven.



This is where Tinny sits in the morning sun, he is far from a posh cat, he is a happy cat. Never outside for more than half an hour twice a day, so when your planting out the bedding plants it advisable to be wearing gloves. About twelve weeks ago he got very miserable and was loosing weight to the piont we had to take him to the vets.
It was found that he had got some bad teeth, so he was put under and the offending teeth removed. We were shocked to find when got him home we looked in his mouth to find over half his teeth had gone, so now he does not have any dry cat biscuits, and the odd bit of meat he gums it to death, and keeps him happy for ages, he has also put his weight back on as well.

A Cat Called Tinny

We found a cat upon the lawn; his head was in a tin,
A tin that had a raged edge, and should be in the bin,
This hungry cat to reach a lick, of food that's in the bottom,
Shoved his head in over his ears, to get out was his problem.

He'd reversed around the lawn all night, in a bit of bother,
Sat there with his back humped up, he thought he was a goner,
Picked up the tin for him drop out, but firmly was he wedged,
So tight around his head it was, to his maker he was pledged.

To breath it was a problem, suffocation he just missed,
Pulled the hair behind his ears, to extract his head insist,
Found one ear and then the other, and out the tin he popped,
Lay there dopy in a daze, and stay exactly where he dropped.

Resuscitation's what he wanted, and he got it in the house,
This hungry cat around the yard, could not find his mouse,
A little bit of tender care, and food to fill his belly,
Day or two it was before, went out with legs like jelly.

So vulnerable was this cat right now, new home he had found,
And in the following weeks, found strength to trot around,
Into trouble again he was, an injury to his knee,
A hole in his flesh as though, was there to take a key.

Off to the vet for stitching, twas young vet with a tutor,
But while he's knocked out, we got the vet to neuter,
Two lots of stitches made him sway, but stronger did he get,
Hardly leaves the house at all, so lazy is this cat you bet.

Comforts what he yearns for, and its comfort what he's got,
So a name is what he's short of, one that's relevant to his lot,
‘Canny' doesn't sound right, then Tinny' came to mind,
‘Tinny's' what he's called now, now he's safe and sound.

Countryman

I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equels.

Sir Winston Churchill (1847 – 1965)

The Village Green 61

Yes we still have a village a Green; it has not been built on yet, maybe because it’s a triangular shape with the lych gate to the church on the north side and the village school on the south side just across the road.

As I remember it when going to school, it had not been fenced off and the large triangle of grass would taper off to the edge of the road that passes through the village, the road having a junction branching off west side of the green running off down to the Ford, that is why our village name and the local town ends in Ford.

To the east side of the green are two cottages known as the spite cottages, these were built to hide the view from the vicarage to the large black and white Hall half a mile away. The occupants of the Hall possibly the lord of the manor who owned the estate at that time did not get on with the vicar, and always thought the vicar was spying on him. So these two cottages were built to spoil his view, built out of spite, and there after became known as the Spite cottages, they are Church Cottage and Ivy Cottage.

In the 1940’s there was no public bus serve to the village, then when it did come it only called at one end of the village at a road junction near the Old Hall, as I said half a mile away from the Green. After a short while it was agreed that the bus service would drive up the length of the village and turn on the green opposite the school.

This worked very well all summer until the winter set in, these old double deck busses did not have very good lock and they took the liberty of taking a wide sweep to turn in one circle without the need to reverse. As you can imagine, the front tyre of the bus bit into the grass on the green forming a muddy rut where all the folk attending Church on a Sunday had to pick there way through. This had got to be stopped.

Another regular annual visitor to the green was the Council tar pot, which was parked once a year for about a week while they repaired all the local roads. Originally this had shafts on and pulled by a shire horse, then latterly had a short drawbar to replace the shafts to be pulled by a council truck. The tar pot was on steel wheels all well preserve with the liberal dressings of spilt tar, it resembled a small steam engine with it tall chimney coming out in a elbow at the front of the tar pot, there was a lid on the top where blocks of tar could be lobbed in, in big solid blocks to be melted down over the fire box the was below.

 For some reason this was always parked in the west corner point of the green out of the way, when the men came they would rake out the ashes and when hot enough would test if the tar had melted down the length of the hand lance that the tar was sprayed through,. Over the years this tar soaked into the ground in that area along with the ash from the furnace, and when that practice eventually stopped it eventually grassed over and blended into the green.

So it would be in the 1950’s that it was decided that the Green had got to be fenced off, this stopped the buses from swinging round, the grass area would be reduced and an equal area was paved with tarmac, the kerb and pavement formed and a row of concrete posts put in with a fancy chain hanging low between them and two gateways in the length. From the one gate a path was paved up to the lych gate and through the other was the access to the village pump.

A commemorative tree was requested to be planted on the green, and with permission granted by the parish council and a hole was dug near to where the old tar pot used to be parked some years before. The tree was planted and staked for support, it lasted through the summer of planting then the following spring it failed and did not survive, in all it was replanted another two times with the same result, and no one had twigged the real reason was the ground was polluted from the remnants of cleaning out the tar pot boiler.

The Village School is directly opposite just across the road, and at one time the Green was used as a playground for the older children at break times

Quote from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Village_green

 A village green is a common open area which is a part of a settlement. Traditionally, such an area was often common grass land at the centre of a small agricultural settlement, used for grazing and sometimes for community events. Some may also have a pond, originally for watering stock.

The green is traditionally at a central location and provides an open-air meeting place for the people of a village, for example at times of celebration, or for public ceremonies. May Day festivities are traditionally located at the green, with the Maypole erected at its centre.

The common use of the term village green reflects a perception of a rural, agricultural idyllic past. However the actuality of such locations always has been very wide, and can encompass woodland, moorland, sports grounds, and even — in part — buildings and roads. They may also be positioned far from the centre of the community, especially if the community has moved, or been absorbed into a larger settlement.

   

An unwelcome brush with the Law 60

A Sunday morning brush with the Law

One Sunday morning ten years ago I was taking a load of rotted muck with the tractor and trailer down to an allotment in town, on the way I had to pass the police depot along side the M6 motorway.

As I was loaded I did a rolling exit out of a road junction, but unfortunately a motorway patrol car was just coming down off the bridge, (they were just going for a tea break, and thought I had no brakes), I carried on over the bridge and in another quarter mile, then a siren started blasting and headlights and beacons flashing. They pulled diagonally across the road in front of me, as if to test my brakes, the brakes were spot on and did not ram them as they deserved.

One officer went round the outfit and found nothing wrong, so I was loaded into the back of the patrol car and locked in. I might add that around rotted damp muck ruck ya boot get mighty clogged up with muck and all this went into the back of the patrol car. They took a note of my insurance they had already seen the up to date tax disc. So there nothing else to do but breathalyse me, they said keep blowing, blow, blow, blow, all I had drunk, as all I ever drink was tea.

Not able to pin anything on me or the outfit, one got out and unlocked the door to let me out, can you imagine a pair of size twelve wellington boots well clogged up with muck, and the two front seats well pushed back for their comfort, left me no option but to wipe my feet on the way out.

I think they were too lazy to find anything on the motorway to make up their daily quota and found me as a soft touch. It was just a pity it was not pig muck, they would have remembered that.



Progress isn't made by early risers. It's made by lazy men trying to find easier ways to do something.
Robert Heinlein  (1907 - 1988) 

The Hay Sweep 59

A Hay Sweep Fitted to the Standard Fordson

Fire was always a major hazard near the railway lines, a cinder blown out of the chimney with the smoke of the old steam engines, would land in a bit of dry grass and catch fire; this would burn with a bit of following wind up the embankment quite often burning the fence on the way.

Father had a field of wheat ready for the binder, but before he got to it the wind had blown fire through the fence into twelve acre standing crop, and nothing anyone could do to stop it once it got hold. On another occasion it was a field of hay that he and the men had been working in all day, and were aiming to collect it after evening milking, this was done with a hay sweep fitted on the front of fathers Standard Fordson, the crop being pushed up to a stack in the middle of the field. But when we went to the field it was just black smouldering stubble, it had all burnt except in a couple of corners, the half stack of hay left over from the previous year had gone as well.

The lengths men who worked along the railway line, try to keep the embankments cut, and burnt off in a controlled way, but sometimes a cinder would do it for them when no one was about.

It was these same lengths men who would hop over the railway fence and load the farm wagons with shoffs of corn, father would make sure he took down plenty of pitch forks as there was five or six in the gang. The cart was loaded in about five minuets flat, and off back to the farm with his load drawn behind his Standard Fordson, and back with the next one in half an hour.

No money seemed to change hands, but eggs, taters, and other produce on ration was exchanged for work done, and the main meeting for these exchanges was the home guard meeting at the Village hall.


The railway "lengths men" were a gang of about six men who maintained the railway tracks and fences on their length between half way to Stafford and half way to Norton Bridge based at Great Bridgeford. Father got to know them well as they were also in the home guard.

When father was cutting large field of corn they would hop over the fence for half an hour and help stook the corn, with a gang like that it soon got done. It was the same again when it came to loading the shoffs of corn from the stooks. Father always took down plenty of pitch forks in anticipation, and they knew when to be working close by. No money changed hands but he gave them plenty of taters and eggs and in the case of the engine driver he got half a pig.

The Home Guard Contraband

The railway line it ran through, some of father's land,
He got to know the railway men, quite a happy band,
They were in the home guard and all the farm men too,
They often jumped over the fence, to load a wagon or two.

For this he gave them taters, or anything they hadn't got,
Often at the home guard meetings, the sergeant got forgot,
For this is where it all changed hands, just behind his back,
If they ever got found out, they'd be on the rack.

An engine driver was among them, he'd got what we want,
He slowed his train by the field, tender full of coal he flaunt,
Every morning at nine thirty, rolled off big lumps of coal,
Father loaded it on his cart, this man he did extol.

A coal house full of best steam coal, mother to do the cookin,
Big bright fire that roared round flue, she was so pleased herein,
Only cost a half a pig, its contraband you see,
Delivered by dad and Eric in a coffin, the law could not foresee.

Countryman

Talking about war time rationing, I still have my own old ration book, and it still has a fair amount of coupons still in it. On looking it still has nearly all the sweet coupons, most of the tea coupons are used and the cheese and fats and sugar coupons.

There no meat coupons left, but mother took all the books with her and tended to use all the coupons out of one book before she picked up the next, but then you should not use coupons in advance of the date.

So she must have saved up and got a "stock" of coupons in the various books. This book is for the year May 1953 through to May 1954 but then some time early in that period rationing must have been withdrawn and rationing ended.

There is twenty six pages in the book and on the front has a F.O. CODE No. M - J - 1 and a serial no. AT 565118 Ministry of Food the my name and address.

We had our own eggs and milk, and early on in the war mother would make cheese and butter, and very occasionally she would make some bread.

Refer you to Blog 22.08.08 ( press the Tag "Weather")The Weather Forecast by Owd Fred's Mother at the bottom is "I remember Mothers Pantry"

Now Eric had a Big Car

I remember during the war, and after for a while,
Everyone had ration books, cues could stretched a mile,
In the village it was not too bad, as contraband it moved,
Under the policeman's nose, the law they disapproved.

Now Eric had a big car, with a carrier on the back,
And when someone died, the coffin he'd take on rack,
Covered in a black cloth, everyone knew what it was,
From the wheelwrights' shop, no attention draws.

The coffin it was just made, no lining did it have,
Father had just killed a pig, in exchange for coal he halved,
Laid the half pig in the coffin, for transport to his mate,
Then lined the coffin and delivered, just a little late.

Countryman

The village wheelwright made the coffins and dug the graves and laid people out, read the two wheelwright blogs



Education is not the filling of the pail, but the lighting of the fire.
W.B.Yeats

The Standard Fordson 58

This was drawn by the Standard Fordson

The tractor getting worn and old, its steering getting stiff,
On every blooming corner, became a bigger loop and if
Only it would straiten up, and not run corn down,
Father on the binder would be warring his worst frown.

One foot was still in a loop of rope

I remember as a kid of six or seven how we loved to have a ride on the empty trailers back to the field to be loaded. On this occasion I had just missed my chance for a ride and I was on my own, when I though I would run and catch up and climb onto the back end of the wagon.

This was drawn by the Standard Fordson driven by my father, and with the noise of the engine I could not get his attention. When carting the shoffs of corn (wheat) it had got to be roped on as it had got to travel across five fields and gateways, and the ropes were always wrapped up, drawn together in large loops and bound round the top with the last bit and hung under the back of each trailer.

When I caught up with the outfit, I thought I could put my foot in the swinging rope and claw myself up the backend of the gormers and onto the trailer. But it did not turn out like that at all, having slipped with my grip I fell backwards to the ground, it was only a few inches off the ground, but fell. Trouble was one foot was still in a loop of rope and it started dragging me across the fields, my god it was lumpy, and the old Fordson could only go at eight miles per hour (thank goodness).

 I rolled this way and that, I curled up to try and free me foot time and again with no luck. Eventually one of dads helpers saw my dilemma and stopped him, all he did was to unhook my foot, put me across his knee and gave me four of five good smacks across my back side to teach me a lesson, across a back side that was already battered and bruised from the drag, it was one lesson well learned.

I Remember Father bought a tractor

Father bought a tractor, to help the horses out,
Twas a green Standard Fordson, bit noisy had to shout,
Spade lug wheels iron up front, to give it grip in mud,
War time demanded ,plough up grass,to grow a lot more spud.

Winter ploughing with a tractor, quicker it would be,
But colder with the sitting, and no walking so you see,
You cannot have it both ways, to hurry was a must,
So on with army great coat, a hat and scarf, no dust.

We came to move to Seighford, to spade lugs he fitted bands,
To stop the lumpy driving, from Doxey, need many hands,
Lot of road work at the Beeches, up to furthest fields,
Rubber tyres then were fitted, with the higher yields,

As the years went by, we lads we kept on growing,
We learned to drive the tractor, as trailers men were loading
It progressed on to bindering, to cut the corn make sheaves,
The men were all occupied, to stook the corn till eve.

The tractor getting worn and old, its steering getting stiff,
On every blooming corner, became a bigger loop and if
Only it would straiten up, and not run corn down,
Father on the binder would be warring his worst frown.

His anger at a driving era, was there for all to see,
If the whip he had for horses, it would soon be used on me,
It soon became apparent, that, good driving is a must,
At each and every corner, the steering to adjust.

Countyman

As we progressively older and into our lower teens, we in turn were able to start driving the old Fordson, the first most important job that seemed to go on for a week or so none stop was that of bindering the corn, that was where we took it in turns to drive. ( Corn - wheat ,oats and barley. for you lads reading from USA) and sometimes beans and often had a field of dredge corn, which consisted of barley, oats, wheat, peas and beans, this was a difficult crop to binder as if you did it too early the wheat would be still green, if you did it too late the barley or oats would be shedding.


When the dredge corn was threshed the grain was in them days as near to a balanced ration for the cattle as you could get all home grown. During the war and for quite a few years after imported grains , maize and soya were in short supply as were groundnut, palm colonel, and linseed cake. These were the by product of the oil crushing mills in Liverpool where Bibby's produced a balanced cow corn in cubes,or was it their soap factory (remember ASTRA perfumed soap, it made a change from the war time carbolic soap) where they utilised by-product into dairy cake.


It was on a factory visit to the docks (Father had started using Bibby's Dairy cubes) at Liverpool to Bibby's factory that they also took you round the soap factory as well, and they even gave out a few paper wrapped bars of their Astra soap to each of their visitors, I can't tell you how thrilled mother was with "her" perfumed soap, but needless to say we never got a smell of it.

At the docks we saw no end of pair of shire horses pulling wooden wheeled wagons about with up to six tons at a time, of coarse it was all level pulling on cobbled and paved streets in and around the docks from ships to warehouses, but of coarse Bibby's factory was right on the dock side.

Another thing we saw that day was steam lorries or wagons still working from docks to warehouses a bit further inland, in fact when we were going home on the coach we saw then them chuffing along the main roads at amazing speeds fully loaded. I have never seen one in work on the roads since that day out to Liverpool.

I seem to have got side traced from my original story; the old Fordson was getting well worn by the time we got to working it, in particular the steering. On full lock the inside front wheel would turn its angle almost to touch the engine, and it took an enormous effort to get it from there to the other lock. Cutting corn with the binder this happened on every corner, and occasionally did not make it soon enough, and ran some of the corn down in the process.

Father always rode "shot gun" on the binder as he was very particular as to how low the straw was cut, he almost licked it off the ground, and he adjusted the string to where the shoffs were tied according to the length of straw, and originally would have had to steer the three shire horses pulling it as well.

But now we were steering the coarse, and any deviation would be shouted at of very severely and heavily frowned at, in fact we were glad that he did not still have the long whip in its holder that he could "title" the shires with or I've no doubt it would have soon been used on us.

Needless to say our arms got stronger by the minuet and rarely ran into, or even edged the crop again.

We got that used to the job it was up to us to convert the binder back onto its road wheels, on to the next field and back into cutting mode again, when you think back we were doing it "Formula One" stile pit stops, a lot faster than the men could do it so they let us get on with it.


Father always had a policy "Flog the young" but then another saying he had contradicted that "Wear the old bgugers out fost"