The Longest Swath 134

The longest swath or the longest furrow is always the one round the outside of the field.
I seem to walk and work about the farm these days in a reflective daze, half looking back, and half looking forward, with every thing starting to overtake my way of working.

I look at the trees and hedges some of which I planted over my life on the farm, and how we used to mow and plough right up to the edge of every field. After all the longest swath or the longest furrow is always the one round the outside of the field. We cut the hedge banks by hand and trimmed the lower branches of young hedge row trees and trimmed the hedges with a brushing hook.

Looking now we don't have the same labour force, but is it so hard to cut that last back swath of hay/silage right up to the ditch or plough that last furrow and plough out the corners properly. They have the excuse now that it's for the wildlife, but back then we had far more wildlife than we have now, or so it seemed.

I see the balance of the countryside gradually changing over the years, and reflect on what it looked like sixty years ago, but then memories can be selective.
When growing up everything around you is the "norm", you take it all for granted that that is how thing have always been, when in reality, your parents and grand parents went through or have gone through modernisation and change over their years. The situation we have today in farming and the world of farming in general is just the "norm" for all those starting up a farming operation now. It's all I suppose what they call progress.

I don't think my father had an overdraft in his life, what he bought he saved up for, worried for days if his cash flow ( the word cash flow is too modern, never heard of it until I went to farm college) was running low.

Friday mornings were the crunch day when mother came home from shopping after calling at the bank for the wages for the men, (about twelve pound a man). It was like a big bank roll stuffed deep in her handbag, and quickly transferred when she got home into father's desk and locked up for the night, wages being paid out on a Saturday mornings.

Money had been very tight for my parents in their early days in farming, and they knew how to run a tight ship, nothing was ever spent if it did not need to be spent.

There had always got to be a guaranteed return, and this habit never left them in all the years of their life, whether it be the first fertilizers ever purchased onto the farm (nitro-chalk, basic slag, Humber fish muck) or whether it be knitting wool for knitting all our socks gloves and jumpers, which eventually became working garments and were darned and repaired many times before they were too holey to repair.

Thrift was the by word then, and we seem to have lost that word from the modern day vocabulary, it's become a throw away society now, nothing is repaired, if it don't work chuck it, and get a new one.
Maybe that's why I still have a couple of old tractors in the shed, still in good working order, but not anywhere near as comfortable as the modern ones, still got an old scythe hanging up and a brushing hook, you never know when you might need them (you silly old Bugger), I probably haven't got the strength now to work them now anyway.

Mother Always Worked So Hard (1945)

Mother always worked so hard, to rear her brood of kids,
As we grew bigger and in our teens, we must have cost her quids,
Four of us lads and our dad, Uncle Jack as well,
Looked after all of us, knitting socks and jumpers she excelled.

Big appetites we had, and thrifty she had to be,
Most things grown about the farm, including all the poultry.
Eggs and chicken, more often old hen, regular we had,
Potatoes beans and cabbage carrots, all grown by our dad,

Rabbit pie most every week, killed a pig and cured,
Only thing she did buy, big lump of beef well matured.
Bottled all the fruit she could, and salted down the beans,
Got the meals and baked the cakes, did washing in between,

Baker came three times a week, six loaves every call,
Corn flakes she also brought, lot of boxes I recall,
Through the war and rationing, never seemed go short,
Well fed, we all worked hard, and not much time cavort.

Owd Fred

Nature is the most thrifty thing in the world; she never wastes anything; she undergoes change, but there is no annihilation, the essence remains - matter is eternal.Horace Binney

The War time Blackout 132

The farm I was brought up on during the war (WorldWwar II) is situated about five hundred yards from the end and on the north side of the main runway of a war time airfield, and across to our west side was the perimeter track where the aircraft taxied round to take off.
Close by was the petrol dump, where the fuel was delivered by road tankers and collect by refueling vehicles and taken round parked planes. If ever an enemy bomb had made a direct hit, it certainly would have rocked our foundations.

Just along from that was a search light, parked on a large circle of concrete some thirty yards outside the perimeter track. There were a number of woods around the outside of the airfield, and this was where the bomb dumps were built with concrete tracks leading all the way round and back to the perimeter track.
The safest way for an enemy bomber to get this far inland was at night, and if they could not find their allotted target, they would circle round looking for lights, or some evidence of a target to unload their bombs.



As you see this is a picture of a picture, the village church of St. Chads is above the cluster bottom right. Right of centre at the bottom is the village school. Left of centre near the bottom is my farm, the only farm left out of five farms. Top left at the end of the road is where we were brought up as kids, the home farm. Then two fields to the left out of the top left of the picture is the old airfield, so we were all fairly vulnerable to attack.

So you can see it was important not to present them with a target in the first place, that was why around the farm yard, every cowshed window had to have blinds made for the "blackout" . A wooden frame was made to fit each window and black tarred paper was tacked onto it. All the cowshed doors were kept closed during dark nights while milking was in progress. Only the down stairs windows of the house had these blinds as when you went to bed it was often with a candle and that was only to see your way to bed.

Electricity had not long come to the village, and the one place that had a generator for some years before mains electric was our farm. It had been installed by the previous tenant and was a 24 volt system with a pair of wire running to the switches then back up to the light bulb. The insulators consisted of a pair of porcelain blocks with a hole in the centre for the wood screw and each side of that was grove to take the wire. The two were clamped together holding the wires just off the surface they were fastened to.

When the mains 240 volts came, a transformer was installed by the electricity meter. That meant that for years, while the old wiring was reasonably serviceable, father had to go to a warehouse quite a few miles away (up the Potteries) for replacement 24 volt bulbs.

No such thing as an earth wire with that system, the radio had a two pin plug as did the table lamp and standard lamps, so for a while there was a mixture of new mains and the old wire running round the house, as gradually mother had an electric cooker and an electric iron on a three pin socket.
The mains were taken across the yard to an electric motor that was installed to drive all the barn machinery including the milk vacuum pump, and the existing loft shaft system. The old barn engine with two big flywheels was disposed of, only the block of concrete that it once stood on, with four bolts sticking up, gave evidence as to where it once had pride of place.
The electric motor had a pulley each side of it and just occasionally it drove the corn plate mill and the milking vacuum pump at the same time. When the mill finished it was a matter of running the long leather belt off the motor pulley with a bit of wood.
The vacuum pump belt reached from one side of the barn to the other across a doorway into the next shed, and during milking times you had to stride over the flapping belt. The mill belt was longer, and the one onto the loft shafting longer still, where it had belts to a chaff cutter, a root pulper, a cake crusher, and at one time a winnower.

Black Molasses In The Barn

I remember at the Beeches, way back in the barn,
A great big forty gallon drum, on a block away from harm,
It contained black molasses; a good half of it was used,
With hot water mixed, poured on oats when they were bruised.

Take the bung out and wait a bit, for it to slowly flow,
We all liked to have a taste; dad said it'd help us grow,
A finger full and then another, it was lov-ely and sweet,
Left your hands all sticky, you couldn't be discrete.

We had plenty over the time, but still a lot unused,
Mother said it would move us, but father he was amused,
He said a good clean out, every now and then,
Would tone us up, and help us all, to grow to big strong men.

Countryman

Faith is like electricity. You can't see it, but you can see the light.Author unknown

Black Gold 131

Black Gold (originaly written August 2010)

At great expense they drill for oil, black gold to be refined
Wells are sunk beneath the earth, through rock and soil grind,
Pumped and piped on its way, into many products turned,
Ammonium nitrate, tar and pitch, petrol diesel, n' heating oil burned.

It's running out and hard to find, now digging neath the waves,
Risks are getting higher, as for greater profit craves,
Barrel price keeps going up, and at the pumps the same,
There's plenty more where that comes from, or that is what they claim

Biofuels the thing right now, grown on our land and earth,
Each season brings a new crop, to feed it now not worth,
Another market for our wheat, no surplus stores we need,
Persuade the millers pay the price, and end the waste and greed.

Energy from wind power, great turbines in the sky,
Out upon the hill tops, no wind no power supply,
Tide and wave power harness now, reliable as can be,
Clean and safe, its ebb and flow, the energy is free.

Owd Fred

This was written a few weeks ago before the wheat prices "took off", I have no doubt that very little wheat will find its way to the power stations this year. (Automn 2010) In case you are looking at this in years to come, its the year when Russia had wild fires and very dry season, and burned large areas of standing wheat. Our own season was quite dry and reduced the straw length, which saw straw prices on the field in the swath go through the roof with £60 and £70 per acre not uncommon with odd fields higher a lot than that
The oil well in the Gulf of Mexico that spilt oil into the Gulf has now been plugged, and most of the slick has dispersed, even that disaster has paled into the background, and soon be forgotten.

Oil prices have fallen lately. We include this news for the benefit of gas stations, which otherwise wouldn't learn of it for six months.
Bill Tammeus, in Toronto's National Newspaper, 1991

Fields Lanes and Country Roads all have Names 130

Our Village is a small part of England, as say a motor car is made up of component parts. The largest being the body ,the chassis, the engine , right down to the smallest bolt washer and cotter pin. So Great Britain is made up of England, Scotland and Wales, these are again divided into counties, cities, towns, villages and hamlets and this continues down into individual house names. Where you have Motorways, trunk roads, main roads, secondary roads, by roads, country roads, and village roads.

As in all areas of the country side - it continues into farm roads and lanes. Round our village, starting with the Back lane, you go then into the Moor Lane, which runs north to the railway line and the Flash Bridge.( Railway bridge) Off this lane runs the Love Lane to the north of the village, coming back onto the Bridgeford road below Cooksland House. On the east side, we have got the Moss Lane, this runs to the Ashes Wood. Then to the south east the Oldfords Lane, that runs through to Coton-Clanford. To the south side, we have Smithy Lane, a cow track for the Village Farm cows to go to pasture, and a public footpath. Finally on the west side Clanford Lane (This last one is a council road), leading as it says to Coton-Clanford.

Off all these lanes are fields, the majority of which are named. These would be well known among the people of the village, as nearly all would work on the farms. But nowadays there are very few farm workers, and the vast majority commute to work elsewhere.
Some have logic as to how they were named; in fact all must have at some point. Take the Red Reins for instance, this is a field when ploughed, it turns up in heavy red clay, and when all the ploughing had to be done in "Cop and Rein". (You set a cop with the plough and plough both sides of it. When it meets the previous cop further across the field this is called a Rein where you finish off the ploughing in between). Then you have a field called Hobble End, which used to have a double cottage in it with no services what ever. There only remains a pipe in the hedge which reveals the proximity of the well. There are also the remains of the garden wicket in the hedgerow, this was Hobble End Cottages.

Other names need more and deeper investigation, such as Noon's Birch, Hazel Graze, Big Ashpit, Middle Ashpit, Little Ashpit, the Fosters, and the Pingles, Mill Bank, Hanging Bank (this one makes you think!).
 The Cumbers the row of houses were named after the grass fields behind them. There is also Moss Common, Passage Field and, Glebe Field. There are a lot of small fields about that are Glebe land and were part of the farm attached to the Church, the old vicarage had a cowshed.
We have the Stafford Meadow, the Shed Meadow, and an archaeological dig or even ploughing the old turf up might reveal the remains of a building on this field.
The Public field is on the bank behind the Holly Bush pub, The pub had fields attached to it and the small range of buildings on the east side of the pub car park were the cowsheds to it, which included a coach house for the Trap, a stable, a loose box for young stock or pigs and, a loft with a pitching hole where the hay was pitched in.

 The cowshed is still in the same format as it was a hundred years ago with the old wooden stalls the lot. You step back in a time warp when you go in there.

This has only scratched the surface of the history of the village, and much more can be found out depending on where you look at it from. Everyone has a different stand point. This pattern is repeated all over the country, very little is known by the general public that almost all fields up and down the country have names, some more interesting than others, as with house names it makes life more interesting than just a number.
 

A patchwork quilt of fields around our village, the average size is about six acres with the larger ones around 12 acres. The actual village is just out of the picture top left

Field Names of Seighford

Out in Britons countryside, looks like a patchwork quilt,

Of roads and lanes and field tracks, evolved and some were built,

They lead from towns and villages, and farms, map nailed on beam,

Each field a hedge and ditch and gate, watered by pond or stream.

The fields both large and small have names, you wouldn’t dream exist,

Some relate to owner past, and others the type of land persists,

Red Rheine’s is one of these mean fields, when ploughed reveals red clay,

Unless the frost into it gets, no seed bed though you work all day.

Best known one I’ve no doubt, behind Yews farm is Cumbers,

Ten houses built along the village, take that name and numbers,

Down by the ford is Mill Bank, four acre few trees by the brook,

The Hazel Graze another great name, nut bushes to make a crook.

Fosters by the railway line, named after a soul long gone,

And Pingles also down the Moor Lane, that defiantly is a mystery one,

Noons Birch is the most beautiful name, one that congers’ you mind,

Public Field it was part of the land , run to the pub up back and behind.

Hoble End is another nice name, where two cottages stood in the fields,

No track did they only footpath, lonely place only a well and concealed,

Moss Common a field where the ditch, springs in the middle to pick up,

It is important that they are there, to water the ewes and the tup.

Ash Pits are three fields in a row, the Big the Middle and Little,

Ash trees are the obvious reason, and only one pit in the lot,

Hanging Bank is most sinister name, it’s a cold north facing bank,

More research into this is what’s needed, but all we’ve drawn is a blank

Lanes to the fields also have names, Moor Lane runs way from the ford,

Connecting with that is Love Lane, a grassy rut track half way Bridgeford,

The Oldfords Lane goes up to the farm, to Coton not a short cut by car,

And Smithy Lane runs way through houses, the shortest of all by far.

Moss Lane is one that runs eastwards, cow lane that it is can be seen,

Grass up the middle and is long, see cattle grazing fields so keen,

It has path that runs up it, and gates shut on each end,

The path is quite long; it comes out near Doxey on bend.

________

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
John Howard Payne (1791 - 1852)

Mother made her Pastry (1940's) 129

I would like to bet there are not many women these days that make pastry every week like our mother did, and in the volume now only seen in a super market bakery, (I am exaggerating a bit).

But with seven of us (our father and his brother uncle Jack, and four of us lads)  in the farm house to cater for at that time, and just when we were growing up, she showed us how to cook and bake cakes, and of coarse make pastry.

Mother made her Pastry

Mother made her pastry, mixed in a great mixing big bowl,
Then thumped it on the table, with the rolling pin she'd roll,
Used all sorts to cut the rings, no proper cutter got,
A glass or cup or old pan lid, something just right size she'd spot.

Jam tarts large with fancy edge, jam tarts small and neat,
Mince pies filled with lid on top, all look too good to eat,
Spare pastry given to us kids, to roll and make our own,
Rolling out and cutting pastry, just like we'd been shown.

It went grey in our hands, our hand got cleaner too,
Currant flap-over sealed down, whipped egg brushed on for glue,
Then we used the pastry tins, greased the inside more,
So they'd pop out without sticking, as mother did before.

Should go on the cooling rack, but ours were not there long,
Eaten soon as cool enough, so as not to burn our tongue,
No crumbs left of what we made, and mothers dare not touch,
Cooled and stored in an air tight tin, to last a week's too much.

Countryman (Owd Fred)

A cold need the cook as much as the doctor.Scottish Proverb

Irreversible Changes in one Small Village 128

Undertaker in the village, was at the wheelwrights shop,
Lays out and measures them, made a coffin non-stop,

As in all small villages it changes over the years, in some way for the better, in others for the worse. The village pumps went some fifty years ago, these were a meeting point for gossip, and news was soon spread from end  to end of the village.

The school on the other hand has expanded, the frontage is as it was in years gone by, but round the back a complete new complex of class rooms has been developed.

The blacksmiths shop closed with decline in the Shire horse population and tractors took over the heavy work about the farms.

The village wheelwright's work shop closed when the wheelwright retired, which coincided with the metal hydraulic tipping trailers and the popularity of the light metal gates and wheel barrows. The coffin making gradually ceased when the in town undertakers took over with the motor hearse. In the early days the hearse was a four wheel trolley housed behind the church, and the wheelwright took the coffin on the hearse on foot to the house or cottage. For the later years I remember he worked with one of the town undertakers, he made the coffin and dug the grave, they did the transport. Another craftsman and his trade has disappeared from the village.

The village pub has survived up until recently when it closed for some months at the end of 2009. It has been hit by the recession along with a lot of other country pubs, it  opened again for food , and seems to be bumping along, only just surviving. It is hoped that it will pull through as it will take the heart out of the village if it closes for good. (Footnote; It (The Pub) has now in 2012 been bought by the villagers, and hoping to open as a Free House (not tied to a brewary) at least its not being demolished

The post office shop closed some years ago when the GPO decide to do away with many rural post offices, that again is or was right in the middle of the village, the shop itself went into decline with the rise of super markets and the improvement of transport, nearly every household has at least one car.

The postman used to come on his bike four miles from the sorting office to deliver mail and parcels, that changed over to a van a long time ago, in fact some forty years its been delivered by van.

The farms have reduced, ours is the only one left in the centre of the village, four other "in the village" farms have been amalgamated with the surrounding farms. Where at one time all the cottages had farm workers in them as they were all tied cottages to the different farms. Now nearly all the cottages have been sold off or let to folk who work outside of the village.

The church itself has not changed but the vicars job is now spread over three other village churches, spreading his message to a greater number of people over a wider area.

A Country Village (1950's)

The Village has its own clock, for to tell the time,
On the tower of St Chads, every half hour it does chime,
This its done for many years, and to wind it up you climb,
Three big weights on cables, crank it many times.

In the tower set in oak frame, sit its ringing bells,
Ropes and wheels for swinging, its congregation tells,
Come to church for service, to have your sins expelled,
All the parish can hear them, peal of Village bells.

The vicar has his job to visit, all parish elderly and the sick,
Take all the Sunday services, with sermon long and epic,
Christmas Easter Harvest, Christenings funerals and weddings quick,
He is kept so busy looking after, all village elderly and sick.

Out and down the church path , is the village green,
Under the lynch gates, standing all serene,
Looks a little weathered, for all the years its been,
Guarding the church yard, on the village green.

Also on Village green, was the village pump,
Standing in the corner, on a grassy hump,
To prime it work the handle, almost had to jump,
Water all the cottages, from this well and pump.

Across the road to educate, is the village school,
Teacher at the blackboard, sitting on a stool,
There to help the children not to be a fool,
Basic reading writing, maths in the village school.

Further down the village, was the blacksmiths shop,
Making all the horse shoes, on the anvil hot,
Hammer always ringing, shaping metal without stop,
Give the horses new shoes, to make them clip and clop.

Undertaker in the village, was at the wheelwrights shop,
Lays out and measures them, maked a coffin non-stop,
Family lines the coffin, his brother dug the grave,
All the week they made farm carts, spokes whittle to a stave.

Next again is Holly Bush, our local village pub,
As well as drink you can get if hungry, a little bit of grub,
For a gathering of the locals, this was the hub,
News and gossip turned around in the village pub.

Down at the post office, in the village shop,
Sells all essentials, also chocolate sweets and pop,
Letters parcels postal orders, have a hefty whop,
Rubber stamp saying S----ford, in the village shop.

The postman came on his bike to visit, six days of every week,
Delivering post and parcels, each morning his bike it creaked,
Collecting all the gossip while, having cup of tea he'd speak,
All about what he'd learned, on his round six days every week.

On all the farms they had cows, and they produce the milk,
Beef and chickens hens and geese, sheep with fleece smooth as silk.
They had mixture of everything, corn for cows and pigs,
Hay and roots, rolled oats and peas, feed the cows produce the milk,

In all the cottages were the families, men who work the land,
Herdsmen, n' wagoner's, n' those to anything can turn their hand,
Early start in all weathers, generally a happy band,
They work late at harvest time, all these men who work the land.

Owd Fred

A sense of curiosity is nature's original school of education.

Dr. Smiley Blanton.

It could have killed my whole herd of cows 127

It happened one fine summer afternoon

Each cow that went through the gate stumbled onto their knees, scramble back onto their feet and panicked, and fled down to the far end of the yard.

It happened one fine summer afternoon, when I went to bring the cows in for milking, they all get strung out when the cows decide, as usual, to all walk single file over the foot bridge over the ford in the back lane. To make the job slower, some of them stop to rub an itch on their nose on the bridge side rails,

,

very few liked to walk through the ford itself because of the round cobbles stones in the bottom.
They turn into the farmyard off the lane between the farm house and the double cowshed where they would normally amble through the doors and find their own stalls.

 But on this one day each cow that went through the gate stumbled onto their knees, scramble back onto their feet and panicked and fled down to the far end of the yard. It affected some cows worse than others, and with them arriving all spread out in single file from around a corner it caught each one by surprise.
Not knowing what was happening way back at the rear of the herd I realise something was wrong when the last of the cows in front of me collapsed then scrambled with hooves slipping on the concrete and race off to the others standing startled in the far corner of the farm yard.

As I walked through the gate I too felt a tingle through my boots, a shock, a currant of electricity, my feet had boots on that part insulated me from what all the cows had just experienced, it was quite clear it was not going to be a normal pleasant afternoons milking.

We investigated what could be making the yard "live", but it came inconclusive, we turned all mains electric boxes to the off position, but still the yard was "live", so the Midlands Electricity Board (MEB) was called. It was a mystery to them at first, as they found nothing amiss on our premises. They started to follow the main wires out to the first pole out on the roadside, then up to the next farm, then to a group of cottages, at each stage they disconnected and re-connected to eliminate them as the cause of the leakage.
 The village school connection then another farm, then the blacksmiths shop, then on to the village pub. Here they found that electricity was being fed down the neutral wire for some reason and on down to our cowsheds and running to earth through our earth wires, which in turn was clipped to the underground water pipes leading from the house to the cowsheds.

 Once the pub was disconnected from the mains everything returned to normal, and we had the job of coaxing the cows back up the yard and into the shed to be tied up. We were some two or three hours late milking that day, and the cows had had time to clam down and stood chewing their cud wandering why they had not been milked.

On deeper investigation it turned out that the publican had just bought himself a new second hand cooker that he had wired in himself, and made the wrong connections when he installed it. I have no doubt that the MEB would have had a few sharp words to say to him, and the danger he had posed to other villagers and livestock.

Had the connection been made an hour or so later, when all the cows would have been tied in the shed by metal chains, to metal stalls, attached to metal water pipes, connected to all the water bowls, it could have killed the lot. It seems that as low as thirty or forty volts will kill a cow, where as us with wearing boot or wellingtons and we have the ability to run out of the sheds are more likely to have survived the situation.

I was surprised the following day to hear back from someone who was in the pub that night how the publican was laughing and bragging how he had nearly killed off a herd of cows when he turn on his cooker, fried beef and all that, but then I suppose it made a good talking point at the bar for quite a while, but it was no laughing matter at the time for us, it was before the time when earth trips were invented and became compulsory. Electricity is an invisible killer.


Faith is like electricity. You can't see it, but you can see the light.

Author Unknown

Oh How We Love the Land 126

Oh How We Love the Land,

Each day that we wake up, on the farm we love,

Seeing what the weathers like, look at the sky above,

Breathe in all the fresh air, as from the fields it drifts,

And hearing all the bird songs, your heart it does uplift.

How the village looked when I was growing up

Its now (2012) been fifty three years since I started farming at the age of twenty one. At that time, and fresh out of Farm College you are prickling with enthusiasm to bring in the latest ideas and the new ways of working. http://www.fwi.co.uk/community/blogs/fretaw/archive/2008/10/02/to-farming-college-i-was-sent.aspx

 In hindsight its always a bit rash to commit to new ideas before they have been proven, so it was my fathers frowns and disapproval that tempered my enthusiasm at some of the thing I wanted to try out.

Silage was just being “trialled” at college , this was hand fed with a pitch fork into a chopper blower and blown into the top of a concrete tower silo. This was reined back to a weld mesh circle with tarred paper lining, the story of that is told here http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2012/03/our-first-attempt-at-silage-making.html

Cow cubicles had just been invented, and we went on a farm visit with the college to see the very first cubicles and the cows using them. At home we were tying up cows by cow chain in stalls twice every day, which limited the number of cows kept, and of coarse the milking parlour came in hand in hand with cubicles

 On my third year of farming on my own, I had four more calving than I had got stalls for, and proceeded to built a timber block of four cubicles, the pattern and dimensions were taken from the Farmers Weekly, they published all the new ideas and up to date information of that year.

Sugar beet had never been grown in our immediate area, and to my fathers credit he went for it, ( late 1950’s) http://www.fwi.co.uk/community/blogs/fretaw/archive/2008/09/07/father-grew-sugar-beet-1950-s.aspx  the beet all being hand pulled (we did have a lifter that lifted the beet a few inches enough to break it free from its anchor tap roots) then topped and loaded and taken down to the local station to be loaded into 20 ton rail wagons.

 I recall that we were trained as students on how to correctly pull and top beet to maximise the weight of sugar beet loaded for sale to the factory, and while we students pulled and topped the entire headland round the college field of beet. We were then told a sugar beet harvester was coming on trial from a manufacturer. This was the first beet harvester ever seen by almost every one at the college.

 I grew a few acres of sugar beet for a few years until the stock number grew and the land was required for kale and mangols for the cows.   

Another new invention that first appeared around then was the disc mower, up until then it was all finger bar mowers, which had themselves had had a good fifty years run of unopposed monopoly of grass and corn (wheat oats barley) cutting before that.

The funny thing is that the most up to date combines still use the finger bar blade for cutting the crop. 

 A Good Old Way of Life

 There are the wise and the old, and the young who want to learn,

There’s the hard working not so olds, their fortunes try to earn,

Farming’s got a grip on them, they know no other way,

Come hail or rain or sunshine, it’s just another day,

From early in the morning, till after dark at night,

For crops and stock their caring, they are their delight.

Working hard day by day, in a green and pleasant land,

Don’t have time to stand and stare, have a good look around,

Take in the beauty of where they work, the fields the trees and lanes,

All the years of care and sweat, well out weighs the pains.

It’s just a good old way of life, their families there to rear,

Health and hope and happiness, the harvest brings good cheer.

Countryman )Owd Fred)

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honourable, but more useful than a life doing nothing.
George Bernard Shaw  (1856 – 1950)

A glance back on the farm 50 years to 1962 125

Just a look back in my own farm diary of 1962 reveals how farming had just started to recover after the war time restrictions. Machinery inventions and innovations had helped with the shortage of man power, seeing a revolutionary turning point in farming.

In January 1962 we were threshing shoffs of corn out of the stackyard that had been bindered at harvest time (August 1961) just the same as it had been done for almost fifty or more years before that. Then in September 1962 we had a combine in to harvest the wheat and oats, the grain of which was bagged and the sacks slide off the combine onto the ground for carting before it rained.  And until the sacks had been cleared you could not bale the straw.

It was around this time that AI (Artificial Insemination) was just getting established by the then MMB (Milk Marketing Board) . And we had started weekly milk recording to find which were the more productive cows to breed the next generation of heifer calves from.
Every herd back then had their share of cows with long pendulous udders, often with their front teats pointing east west so to speak, not very compatible with the milking machine.

And every herd had its share of cows with bad feet, curled up hooves, all these traits were gradually improved over the next twenty years with the use of AI. Up till then everyone had there own bull, kept off what was judged to their best cow, but all too often the best milker often had one of the above “faults” and of coarse when that bulls young stock eventually came in to their second lactation some six year after your decision to breed from that bull, the truth suddenly come to the surface and you have a quarter of the herd with bad feet or ugly udders. All that change as proven bulls became available through AI.

I had an allocation of sugar beet to grow for 1963, and this was before the beet harvesters had been anything other than experimental, though we did have a lifter that eased under the root to loosen the tap root, to ease heavy back breaking work. The main reason for growing beet then was that the tops of the beet would be used to feed to the cows, instead of kale and we would have an allocation of sugar beet pulp back from the beet factory, and a cash crop of sugar beet to sell to the factory.


It was also around that time that the cow cubicles had been invented, the cow men could not believe that a cow would stay and lay down in a stall without being tied up.
The only alternative to stall housing was deep straw bedded. And of coarse with the loose housing came the milking parlour, which up to then had been abreast parlours, now came in the herring bone parlours.

Tractors suddenly it seems, had live power take off’s (PTO) and live hydraulics’, up to this point when you dipped the clutch on the tractor, the baler stopped as well, and when loading muck or buck raking  you could not lift with the clutch depressed.

Father’s Tractor

 Father had a Standard Fordson, all painted in dark green,

It came with iron wheels, and was quite a powerful machine,

Doing the work that four old horse, took all day to do,

Up and down the furrows and it never lost a shoe.

  When fathers horses finally went, he then had tractors two,

It was a David Brown, all new and painted bright red all through,

It had hydraulics and P. T. O., so modern it wasn’t true,

Never missed the poor old horses, walking miles that did accrue.

Countryman (Owd Fred)

Invention is the mother of necessity.
Thorstein Veblen (1857 – 1929)

People and Families Born in this House. 124

Going back 150 years, if walls could talk. In twenty two years the family had eighteen children.
Its always a mystery how people lived years ago, particularly in the house that you live in. Our house in its present form was built around the first half of the 1800's.

But there is evidence of a previous house. It must have been taken down to door top height ( or did it burn down around then) as it has narrow two and half inch bricks on some of the outside walls, then when a larger foot print built it was with larger standard three inch bricks.

When the house was extended, the "new" back kitchen where the washing and laundry was done was built over the old well, a well that served both the house and the farm and livestock. In dry summers it ran dry and another well was dug in the 1930's deeper about five yards just outside of the house.

Our house is right next to the village school, the old farm buildings at the top of the picture are now redundant.
Two tractors are in the picture and a blue stock trailer by the house  

The back is the older section of the house

Under the floor boards of the older section we found they were supported on fir poles cut directly from the local spinney, cut to length and dropped in place with all the bark still on. The same up in the roof void, the joists and the perlins are ‘bark on' fir poles, then in one fairly long room where the joists wanted supporting half way along there is a pair of old bowed ships timbers part of which are exposed in the bedroom, these are of very old and very hard oak still with the evidence of sawn and chopped out joints with peg holes for fixing. These are likely to be part of the old timber frame from the previous house.

The family who I took over from had lived in the village for three generations, starting with William F-----e born in 1828, he did not marry until he was in his mid thirties, his wife being some fourteen years younger. Over the next twenty two years they had eighteen children. William, Edward, Ann & Mary twins, Cecilly, Earnest, The seventh child Charles (1872) was the one who took over the farm at the age of twenty three when his father died in 1895, then Ellen, John, Walter, William, Horace, Florence, Arthur, Eleanor, Dora, Arnold, and last one Frank.

One of the lads from this eighteen, eventually became a notable judge in the law courts of London, some went out farming to South Africa, and others spread out all over the world to make their fortune.

Over the years that we have lived here, we have had overseas visitors/relatives who are descendants of William (1828) wanting to look round the old house, and look where and how their grand parents lived and how they were brought up.

I know the family had a reunion a few years ago, with family members flying in from South Africa , Australia and all point of the globe, with, in the region of a hundred members turning up. On the family tree that I have to hand drawn up in 2009 by a descendant living in the north of England, a retired vet, there are over four hundred names of relatives stemming from William at this house and farm, it is thought that there are still some of whom have not traced.

As I said the seventh child Charles (1872) took over the farm on his fathers death and eventually married and they had five children. Marion who worked in the house and no one ever saw her, Ruth who worked in the farm dairy cleaning the dairy utensils, but if anyone came in the yard she would scurry round the back way and back into the house, Earnest who eventually took over the farm in the 1950's when his father died, and Frank who did go in the air force during the war, then worked on the farm. And Margaret who worked at the milking and rearing the calves, it was said the she did have an admirer at one stage in her younger days, but he was sent packing when her mother judged him to be "not good enough" for her.

None of these five ever married and so there were no grand children for Charles (1872).
Earnest was trained as a chemist in his younger days and then came back to the farm taking over from his father and stayed tenant until 1983 when he retired due to ill health, that is when I moved here and took the tenancy..

One interesting item we found in the garden was a huge pestle and mortar, we think it must have been the property of Earnest, it was in good condition and would hold I would think two gallons in capacity, the mortar was made of turned elm wood and starting to decay with age, but the stone/marble mortar or what ever its made of is as new and stand high on a shelf in our kitchen weighing a good quarter of a hundred weight (13.5 kg to them's who need to know).

Their mother Elizabeth, Charles's wife, was very dominating; the children went to school next door but were not allowed to play with the other village children. At play times every day, mornings and afternoons they had to return to their own front gate and wait for the bell to go, before returning to their studies. The children never got to handle money, and had not got any grasp of its value until their parents died.

That was when the brothers started to buy machinery, after a short while they bought a David Brown Cropmaster which had two seats so the brothers could work it together. Then they went on to have two Ferguson Massy 35's, one each, and the matching equipment. The biggest snag for them was that they had no idea of maintaining or repairing machines, all repairs and adjustments were made by the local machinery dealers, they being more stock men.

One of Earnest's early purchases was a bunch of very fine Hereford cross steers for fattening off on grass, he had not been used to bidding at market and his excitement of the day, which was quickly picked up by the auctioneer and the seller of the cattle, he paid well over the odds. When the same bunch were sold some twelve months later they fetched less than when he had bought them. This trend of not knowing the value of money dogged them all the years the brothers farmed.

The same went for the three sisters, it was said that they went into a milliners in town on what must have been their first ever shopping spree free from their mother's domination, and bought five splendid hats each. Not for any special occasion as they never ventured out very often, but just to feel the power of spending money.

The eldest daughter lived in her bedroom for the last twenty years of her life, no one in the village had seen her in all those years. The second daughter worked hard in the house and dairy and fell down the back stairs and broke bones, being old she had never been away from the house and was admitted to hospital, the shock of other people working round and on her killed her. The last sister and two brothers were not able to continue farming, as age was against them and they retired to a house in the next village.

Margaret died partly from the stress over the previous few years, and partly from not being able to cope with a small house, the furniture they took with them filled the house as if it were warehouse and they could not move around. The two brothers could not cope on their own and went into a rest home together. This did not last long as they kept falling out, and one of them moved to another home, they visited each other on a regular basis when they too died after some years in care.



Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.  

I had an encounter with an A10 Tank Buster - 123

I had an encounter with an A10 Tank Buster

As you will see, here I am mixing farming with the military US air force.

As  a pr-amble,
 I had never ever met a soldier currently serving the British Army, we live and farm out in the countryside and the only soldiers we ever see are the ones on parade  such as during the recent Jubilee celebrations on TV.
So, just recently I was privileged to meet a young man James P.  he had recently finished a tour of duty in Afghanistan, and now just returned to his base in Germany 10.06.12 after some weeks of leave back home. I was telling him about this encounter I had with these three A10 tank Busters and he was showing us a photo album of the work they were doing out in Afghanistan, showing all too graphical the dangers they faced every day out there on duty. His story and pictures, needed no words, and only now it has brought home to us how much we appreciate the difficult and dangerous work they do.
 It makes my blog pale into insignificance, however here goes. and thank you James and show this your mates, it may make them laugh out loud at my bit of a fright. ----


A few years ago, while ploughing in one of our furthest field, I had an encounter with a United States  A10 Tank Buster, or should I say three of them.

It was the time of the Gulf War, and some American war planes were on training exercise in the UK before being sent on duty giving air cover the troops out in the Gulf. Each day around mid morning three of these aircraft came over at high speed at around a thousand feet, banking and turning so as not to fly directly over outlying villages or towns.

They were like nothing I had ever seen before, being a very distinctive shape and outline, it had twin fins one at each end of the rear wing, and two engines saddle bag fashion half way along the fuselage. They followed each other perhaps a half mile apart, the sudden noise from the first one, particularly if I was driving or looking the other way, it was enough to frighten anyone, then I knew to expect the next, and the third one.

It was the third day when I was working in that same field when I noticed them coming in the distance over the horizon, approaching very rapidly, then when about a mile or so away I realized that they were flying directly at me. Not over me, not round or down on side or the other, but directly at the tractor.

In my mind they had locked their radar, or sights, and aiming at me in the tractor as if it were an enemy tank. I stopped the tractor and in effect froze; it was no use me weaving at four miles an hour to avoid the rockets which could have been deployed in those last seconds. Then when about quarter mile away the pilot must have pulled back on his stick and swooping up from lower than normal, passed directly over the tractor, the following two did exactly the same. It must have given them great satisfaction to have had a "sitting duck" part way through their manoeuvres on which they could practice.

It left me sitting in the cab shaking like a jelly, and could not believe what I had witnessed; what with the noise of the jets over head and what might have happened if one of them had actually produced a friendly fire incident. On the main news that night it reported that A10's were being deployed to the Gulf from their base in Britain.

The exercises continued for another week then all of those aircraft must have flown off on their mission abroad. I have not ever seen another one of those aircraft since other than on the news programs, so if I in my small way had helped those pilots, good luck to them, they will never know me and I will never know them, but I thank them for keeping their fingers off those triggers, and left me to go home for my dinner, shaken but safe.


You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you.Eric Hoffer (1902-1983)

The Village Policeman 122

 

This is a true likeness of how the village policeman worked, he rode around his "patch" ( which was three or four villages forming a parish) on his bike and would suddenly appear from nowhere, often catching an offender red handed. Then they supplied him with a motorised Vespa Scooter, the noise of which blew his cover from quarter mile back. He would get there quickly but the thief would have plenty of time to duck down and run.

The old police house up into the 1950's when a purpose built police house was built with its own lockup for anyone arrested. This was repeated in all the parishes and at that time the police supplied them with a Vespa Scooter to get about more quickly around their beat.

We had a village policeman

We had a village policeman, and he rode round on his bike,
Quietly ride round lanes and tracks, to catch a thief and strike,
Early morning late at night, never knew where he was,
The law he did uphold round here, and to find the cause.

He lived in the police house, and it was brand new,
With a lockup cell, for the criminals he pursue,
Patrolled the parish every day, on his trusty bike,
Pedalled miles kept him fit, his flock to him they liked.

Often stopped for a cup of tea, local news he glean,
Asking who was round about, and of who we seen,
Strangers snooping, stolen stock, thing he wants to know,
Its law and order he must keep, hunt them high and low.

Smugglers of contraband, of food that's all on ration,
Sold or moved outside the law, looked and he took action,
A quiet word with farmer friends, back hander think he got,
Turn a blind eye here and there, as long as it wasn't shot.

Local poachers, knew them all, could keep a watchful eye,
He knew the places where to look, sit and watch and spy,
Catch them red handed on the spot, take them to his lockup,
Question who and where and when, the others to round up.

To get around much quicker, he had a motor bike,
It was a Vesper Scooter, no longer he catlike,
Could hear him coming, along the road way back,
His cover blown fore he gets near, for this we gave him flack.

A panda car, that was next, to keep him dry and warm
Take on parishes more than one, for miles away he's drawn,
His cover stretched too far and wide, not seen about so much,
Of calling on the local folk, he was out of touch.

The local station that was closed, from town they had to come,
Call them on the telephone, so remote they had become,
Every time, a different one, we didn't know who he was,
They didn't know the area; they could have come from OZ.

So bring back the local bobby, give him back his beat,
Get to know the local folk, and walk and get sore feet,
Know the villages round about, woods and tracks and lanes,
Were all behind him, bring him back, the local folk campaign.

Owd Fred

The problem with any unwritten law is that you don't know where to go to erase it.
Glaser and Way

"Time and Tide waits for no man". 121

As they say "Time and Tide waits for no man".

Time is ticking by, time that will not be repeated, were not living life as a rehearsal, we live life now, this minute, this hour, this day, this week, this month, this year.

Time is one of those things that when it is passed, it is gone for ever, then, it becomes history. There are people who think they can look into the future and make predictions on what is to come, but decision are often made reflecting on past performance and hope to improve and expand on that.

New inventions alter the way things are done, but no one can invent extra time. The seasons stay the same, and in the same order, plants are geared to the annual germination, growth, flower and seed cycle, as are many of the animals of our planet.

A lifetime is pulled down to years, and years to seasons and months, months to weeks, weeks to days, days to hours , hours to minutes, right down to the ticking of the hall clock, and once it's passed, it's gone.

Land is the same, no one can expand the land in this world, the more land that is put under concrete, and the less land there is to sustain the livestock and people of the world. Food is the balancing factor that, when it is in short supply it automatically culls those that rely on it, be it garden birds surviving the winter, or the human population not able to feed itself. No food, equals no life. It has always been the same over millions of years, the world and everyone on it has to be in balance, and we as humans now have the ability to upset that balance.

The leaders of the countries around the world all end up sooner or later getting things out of balance, be it war or the economy or even wage levels of those who produce nothing to help sustain, or maintain the health or wealth of the world.

Each generation has its own go at getting thing right, and each generation starts from what they were brought up to expect. Each generation likes to think they can improve on the life they had as youngsters, but many do not know how to use land and what it's primarily for, and here it's getting into an almighty imbalance.
The day will come and not in my lifetime, where food will again become important enough to be appreciated. Fewer and fewer people alive now will have lived through the last war, with all the rationing that followed for years afterwards. So we must learn from history, and take note of what sustains life.

Time is ticking by, time that will not be repeated, were not living life as a rehearsal, we live life now, this minute, this hour, this day, this week, this month, this year. Make the most of it, as time passes you by more quickly than you realise. Then you turn round and look back and wonder where all that time has gone.

As they say "Time and Tide waits for no man".

Time is measured in portions

Time goes by for ever, to history that we can't reset,
Minuets made up of seconds, sixty seconds every minute,
And hours are made up of minutes, sixty minutes show,
Days made up of hours, twenty four in a row,
Week made up of seven days Monday to Sunday peaks,
A month is one of twelve, in which it has four weeks,
Spring summer autumn winter, winter has the snow,
A year it follows the seasons, four seasons in a row,
A decade that is ten years, for knowledge to acquire,
A score of years is twenty, at three score five retire,
A century seems a long time, for humans to cavort,
Time is measured in portions, sometimes long or short,
A lifetimes usually shorter, but it varies quite a lot,
Time on earth it tests you, before you hit your plot.

Countryman (Owd Fred)

Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to saveWill Rogers (1879 - 1935)

I've got a little Breakdown, 120

Drill bits with the edge knocked off, the saw it hit a nail,
Hammer's got a headache, and it needs a brand new stale,


I'm sure that I'm not alone on these scribing's, most folk won't admit to how their workshop looks, and how it is in every day working. It's not untidy, its in a natural order of priorities state, you know where every thing is (when you can find it) or where it should be.

On walking through the workshop if that's possible, you nearly always see thing that are not wanted right now, and see thing that you had been looking for last week, and now turned up. Things like grinding discs are shoved onto a nail driven into the workshop wall, new hacksaw blades and tap washers the same, various sizes of jubilee clips tied in a loop of string on a nail.

 It seems now when I come to look, the higher the nail the more valuable the item, and it goes right down to the size of the nail to match what it's got to hold. Put it like this, if I threw myself high up the wall, it would be impossible to slide slug like down to the floor, not that you can see much of the floor.

Am I exaggerating on all this? You will never know.



Axle Stand and his mate, Hydraulic Jack, Live in the workshop, right at the back,
We know how it should be all tidy and straight, But never got time to put back all polish its late,
As long as I can walk up the middle OK, And find where I chucked it, neat pile to display.

I've a little breakdown

I've got a little breakdown and its needs attention now,
Take it to the workshop, to bodge it up somehow,
Need to clear the work bench, with scrap its piled high,
Things that needed mending, I failed but had a try.

Spanners come in sets, they're spread all round about,
The very one your wanting, one you conner do without,
Spend all morning searching, and you end up with a wrench,
Round the corner off the nut, then find its on the bench.

The metals rusty, flaking off, got it to weld somehow,
Clean the edge and got some gaps, must be done right now,
Spitter spatter stop and start, resembles pigeon siht,
Grind it off and fill the holes, and hope it wunna split.

Drill bits with the edge knocked off, the saw it that hit a nail,
Hammer's got a headache, and it needs a brand new stale,
Screwdriver hit with hammer, when the chisel conna find,
And the spirit level lost its bubble, ta guess work I'm resigned.

Have a dam good clear up, and throw the rubbish out,
Then look for where you've chucked it, that little bit of spout,
Ventualy it all comes back, n' builds up on the floor,
Praps a bigger workshop, cus I conna shut the door.

I'm really tidy in my mind, but sometimes I forget,
When I'm in a hurry, and black clouds and rain a threat,
Job is done, tools chucked, in the workshop miss the bench,
It happens all the while, but I stick with a big old wrench.

But on the whole I'm not alone, but people don't admit,
They pretend to be so perfect, spanners back in tool box fit,
A breakdown always happens, when you least expect it could,
Then back to get the job done, as quick as ever should.

Countryman

I visualize things in my mind before I have to do them. It's like having a mental workshop.Jack Youngblood

We are not alone in the house (mice) 119

Can hear them chewing under the floor, middle of the night,
The very board bed stands on, a hole right through not quite,
We are not alone, apart from the livestock we invite into the house, the dogs and cats, there are others not quite so welcome. While we cannot see them, we can see where they have been and our other four legged freinds know too.

There cannot be many houses these days that have mice in the house, and just occasionaly a rat, but in the old houses where the floor boards are creaky with the odd gap or knot hole dropped out. This is just the sort of invitation mice need especially when the weather turns cold.

There's a mouse in the house (or more)

We often get winter visitors; they come in from the cold,
They find a little hole or two, and squeeze through being bold,
Then look for food and hide away, they come into our house,
Who can blame them I'd do the same, that crafty little mouse.

Can hear them chewing under the floor, middle of the night,
The very board bed stands on, a hole right through not quite,
And running along the water pipes, so warm to their little feet,
Nesting in the airing cupboard, in kitchen find crumbs to eat.

You're lucky if you see one, ya can see where they have been,
Chewing at the cornflake box, for food they're real keen,
Whole family of them hiding, wait for us to go to bed,
Then rummage round, find some food, attack the loaf of bread.

The cat he knows where they are, but he's old and doesn't care,
Our dog she sniffs and finds them, hiding under the stairs,
Barks and make a real loud noise, but come out they will not,
So all the livestock live together, I think we've lost the plot.

Countryman

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' men, Gang aft agley,An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain. for promis'd joy!

This is the same verse translated
( The best laid plans for mice and men, oft go awry,And leave us nothing but grief and pain, for promised joy!) Robert Burns (1759-1796), To a mouse (Poem, November,1785)

The Load Tipped Over 118

It was as if the tractor was on an elastic band springing gently from its precarious position, with me hanging out like a yatch man holding its balance,

My old International B250 & Fordson E27N at the start of a tractor rowd run

You may or may not know that feeling when you know a trailer that you just spent a lot of time and energy loading by hand tips over.

Set the scene, it was 1960, I was fresh from farm college and had set out farming on my own fifteen months before. A seven acre field of seeds hay had been down in a week of good weather and we had just baled it. The tractor was my International B250 with a three ton tipping trailer suitably adapted to carry bales, the side boards had been taken off, and an extension fitted to the rear end to extend the floor area and what we call gormers fitted front and back( uprights at each end of the trailer)to support the load.

Half the field had been shifted and this load had been loaded from the lower end of the field, the balance of the trailer was dramatically altered by having an extension out the back so less of the load was on the drawbar. To enable the tractor to pull the load up the slope to the gate I set off diagonally across the field and progresses steady without wheel slip.

The load was firmly roped on and being carried on only one axle (it being a tipping trailer) it swayed with every small indent of the field, in this one area of the field was a burrow (fox or badger)with a mound of soil spread out from the excavation, so I decided to go top side of it still along the side of the slope. I thought I was well clear of any possible collapse of the burrow but how wrong I was.

The tractor was well past the burrow when the wheels started to slip , the trailer wheel sank as the lower side wheel of the trailer was carrying ninety percent of the load, it was a slow motion where you could se it happening and could not stop it.

The whole load tipping sideways in one whole block, well roped together it took the trailer with it, the only thing it was still hitched to the B250 on the ring hitch hook. Just as the load finally touched down still enblock it lifted the top side rear wheel of the tractor two foot off the ground just by the twist of the ring hook, this again was slow motion, by this time I had put it out of gear and had move to a position on he side of the tractor as that of a sailor in high wind, trying to counter balance the impending disaster.

 It was as if the tractor was on an elastic band springing gently from its precarious position, with me holding its balance, one of those times when things happen quickly, but in very slow motion in your mind, it seemed to be hanging for ages, hanging off the side of the tractor then I reached for the hydraulic lever and lowered the hook, which gently lower the tractor back onto the ground releasing the trailer.

There was ninety six bales on the load and every one had to be left on the ground while the trailer was righted, no damage was done other than the ring on the trailer drawbar had now got a permanent slight twist by which it had lifted the tractor. There is nothing more annoying than having to do a job twice, and with me driving I was the one to pitch the bales back onto the load. By pitch I mean pitch with a pitch fork, and seeds hay baled firmly they were heavy, and towards the end of the day when the whole field could have been cleared, but for the mishap.



This is it after a few months work on the engine, new mud wings fitted and the wheels painted. See how weathered and green the back end was, it looked in a sorry state when we first pulled it out to do it up.
Thats still the same ring hitch hook under the tractor by which the over turned trailer lifted its rear wheel well off the ground , see the right hand lower picture.

(The following has been published on an earlier blog, but here it is again)

My Old Tractor -International B250

I drove this tractor from new in 1956, It stood unused for almost twenty years, and now it is fifty years old, its been brought back to life.

My old tractor standing there, for years its not been started,
Drove it myself from new, and now almost departed,
Roof is now blown off the shed, and it's rained in down its pipe,
The engines well stuck and rusted, on the inside full of gripe.

For fifty years that I have had it, while working never faltered,
Apart from rust and lack of paint, appearance never altered,
Got to save it now before, it rots and rusts away,
To pull it out and look at it, do it straightaway.

Some tyres flat and perished now, but they will hold some wind,
Enough to carry it to shed, where it can be re-tinned,
Off with bonnet wings and wheels can see it undressed now,
Get into heart of engine see, if can put it back to plough.

Water in two cylinder, have rusted pistons solid,
Sump comes off to loosen; big ends then are parted,
Hammering and thumping, to get the pistons out,
New set of liners n pistons now, cheque book its time to clout.

Got new shells for big ends, and set of gaskets too,
Back together now and see, what there is next to do,
Injector pump with lid off, is pushing up stuck springs,
With little bit of persuasion, knock down plunger fittings.

New injectors they are fitted , valves are well ground in,
On with lively battery, to turn it mid smoke and din,
Firing up it comes to life, from near scrap recovered,
Can concentrate efforts now, look better newly coloured,

Bought new wings and new nose cone, old ones full of dents,
Standing on its jack stands, it's far from those events,
Gunk and solvents' liberally, to wash the oil and dirt,
Lying on your back beneath, and get all on your shirt.

Ready for the primer now, and get in all the corners,
Always find some bits not cleaned, drips along the boarders,
Rub it down where paint has run, ready for its top coat,
Don't want dust or flies or any damp, gloss I must promote.

Front and back wheels now back on, brand new shiny nuts,
New exhaust enamel black, tin pan seat to rest your butt,
Fit the loom and lights and switches, oil gauge and ammeter,
Needs new steering wheel and nut, to set it off the neater.

Out on road run we have booked, got a logbook too,
On red diesel it runs at home, some run on white a few,
Insurance and a tax disc now, new number plates as well,
Will miss my cosy heated cab, frozen Christmas tail to tell.

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Countryman

This is the old tractor now, just about like new, we have not got hold of a new steering wheel yet, or the headlight's, it has taken part in a number of road runs and light work about the farm.
As always in pictures, its whats in the background that interests most folk, such as the Fordson E27N set of steel wheels, and on the right a Fordson Elite plough.
Seeing as its hay we were carting---

Hay is more acceptable to an ass than gold.Latin Proverb.

Calving time 12 April 2012 117

Calving time for the Suckler Cows12 April 2012

This is a last years photograph, and the calf about three weeks old, on good grass and plenty of milk a small birth weight calf will soon grow and catch up on the high birth weight calves, and you get less calving problems. 

I was reading just recently on someone’s blog that, if you feed the incalf cows late afternoon or evening they are more likely to calve during the day. Well I started doing this three weeks ago, and now had ten days into calving, and about half of them have calved.

It has turned out that the majority have calved during the day, but yesterday we had an incalf heifer looking as if she was ready to start to calve and she was looking around where to calve, just in the late evening.

Two hours later and just going dark, her water had broken and she had got two calves with her, but they looked remarkably dry and well licked from the distance. She had if fact taken to two other young calves that were only a day or so old and keeping them close to her. The danger here was that when she eventually had her own calf she may follow one or both of the calves she had “adopted” and forsake her own calf.

Try as I may, I could not persuade those two calves to go back to their respective mothers, but for the mothers, they were close by, and the one that’s yet to calve was following and getting between the calf and that calf’s own mother, and by this time it was going dark.

I went back to the house for couple of hours and left them to it, then went down again to see what the outcome was. Sure enough she had calved and was licking her own calf, and the other two matrons were close by and had claimed their calves back.

At first light this morning everything was okay, they had all separated and the right calves were following the right mothers.

Alls well that ends well, but it was building up into a situation where if she had claimed another cows calf, the cow that had lost her calf would not very likely take to the newly dropped calf, and that means problems all round. Also her newly dropped calf could have been abandoned, just after dark and got chilled and possibly died by morning. There was no end if situations that were building up, but common sense prevailed on the part of the new young cow that had just had her first calf.

Fingers crossed for the next two weeks, and we should have almost finished calving, all the calves so far have been remarkably small, this I put down to not over feeding them in the last three months with too good a silage, in fact they had equal quantities  in number of bales of wheat straw and meadow silage.

A few years ago we had very large calves  http://bit.ly/f0kUPG      and almost every one had to have assistance, with losses as well, I think that a small healthy calf will grow and make up for a light birth weight in the next few months of good milk and ample new grass

 Also another blog on the Suckler Cowscows  http://bit.ly/fLJvyE