Fields in UK and fields over the pond compared 36

@jddoerr Plainview, Nebraska

I was looking on your link and was amazed  at how straight the roads are and how round the fields are.

Its totally different here in UK.

Fields had been laid out hundreds of years ago with a ditch for the boundaries and a hedge planted on top of the spoil, roads and lanes followed the contours of the fields and twist and turn.

In the picture below the road into the village comes from the left to a corner with a farm track heading top right, main road comes toward the old church of St Chads, corner again to the right and the rest of the village

That is my field top left its about 11 acres, I went in with the tractor and topper and wrote an advert in it in 30 foot letters "Seighford Village Fete 12 July 1pm"  . A light aircraft spotted it, and a big photo appeared in the local press. Not often you get a free advertisement  for our small event.

Same field in the picture below with all the large and small fields all shapes and sizes, in the distance is my neighbours farm and his lane and track winding its way from the road below.
A small wood, or Fox Covert top left with varying sizes of ponds and springs in most fields, and hedge row trees mostly of Oak and Ash
That is some of my cattle in a group bottom left corner of picture



It's been illegal to root out hedge rows for 20 or more years now, so were stuck with all these odd shaped fields, we are paid by  goverment schemes to plant up any gappy hedges, and trim them every other year, to retain berries for the birds to eat over winter.

I must emphasize that there are a lot of bigger fields in other arable areas where they managed to  grub out hedges (before the ban) for the bigger eqipment and big combines to work more efficiently.

Will post some more pictures of the village in later blogs

"Featured Farmer" 35

Yes I am well pleased with the honour of being "Featured Farmer" on a Mid West Farmers website.

That blog "The Longest Swath" has now got their motif and stamp on it now if you look, http://bit.ly/q9EYFL I've have had some positive feed back from over the pond as well here in UK.

Its very kind of Peter and Ally to mention my books, all they are is the blogs printed off and bound into a book, in fact its three books and 160 blogs.

There are a lot of folk my age who don't dooooo computers, who expressed an interest in what I've writ, my own brother is among them, so I have taken up printing and binding as a secondary hobby. I had a report recently that one of my books had been spotted in a second hand book shop looking well thumbed and a bit dog eared.

Folk are buying them for a birthday or christmas presents, (They went well at our Village fair 25th June this year) most country folk can relate to whats written, as can folk all over the world, or so it seems.

Thanks again for your support and backup (the blog averages 180 hits a day).

Fred (Owd Fred)

Track back with me over the last sixty years in my blog, and compare how things have changed.

Verse to theThe Wheelwrights' Shop 34

This was the first I'd seen dead body, and shook me dam well ridged,
Out with his tape and pencil, see how big to make the coffins image

This verse/blog follows on from the earlier blog about the village wheelwright

These men Jim and Bill were the same age and era as my parents, they both retired in 1985 when there was no more call for traditional wooden carts and wagons, metal gates were being peddled by Gypo's in Transit trucks, and the tractors were matched up to three ton hydraulic tipping trailers. The age of the "thimble cart" ( a tipping cart with shafts and five foot wooden hooped wheels) some of these had been converted with a tractor drawbar, but they only carried just less than a ton.

The Wheelwrights' Shop

The wheelwrights' shop, was run,by Jim Clark and his brother Bill,

A wonderful smell of new sawn oak,varnish glue and paint as well,

Soft under foot with the sawdust,and shavings that drop from his plane,

Inside of its door was painted like rainbow,cleaning paint brush yet again.

The timber he needed he fetched,Henry Venables Castletown saw mill,

Oak and elm, Beech and ash,all were rough sawn to plane and drill,

Wheelbarrows carts gates,and wagon wheels, all were made or repaired,

Some that his father had made years before, nothing to compare.

On the way home from school,we'd call to see what he was making,

And watch its progress each day, how and when and why we were asking,

From the fist piece rough timber, laid on his trestles to start,

To when he'd finished painting it,name of the farm lettered and smart,

Jim he was tall with slight stoop, he's broad on his back and shoulders,

His cap was square on his head,sept tipped back a bit when he ponders

Always a smile with his pipe in his mouth,loved to have a natter,

It wore a groove in his teeth,and wobbled about when he chattered.

With bib and brace overalls,and laced up leather tipped boots,

Short overall jacket hangs open, all washed and cleaned like his suit,

Minie his wife took pride in his turnout, never a scruff at all has he been,

She loved her garden not like Jim,-Tarmac it over and paint it green.

Bill kept twelve cows and some calves ,cowshed on the yard by the road,

Jim helped with the milking,and mucking out to the ruck he barrowed,

Milk was carried up to their White house,the lean to a dairy it was,

Three or four milk churns rolled to the kerb, hand over hand without pause.

Bill was quite short and stocky,and smoked his woodbine's all day,

Permanent smile and a grin,always a joke and a pranks did he play,

He was in village cricket team,wild batter and runner was he,

Other batter often got run out,umpire he'd decry with loud plea.

He'd gather his cows on his bike,six o'clock in the morning with woodbine,

Afternoon milking was three thirty,back to the field at five for bovine,

He had to go down to the Sloshes, count his heifer on the meadows,

During the day he helped in the shop,he painted the trailers and barrows.

At dinner time mid day both crossed,the road their houses retire,

For Bill he had an hours sleep,on the heath in front of the fire,

He was the youngest of large family,and slept cause there wasn't a chair

This habit remained with him,curled up on the rug and comfy there.

Jim he drove their Fergy tractor,on Satdee morning carted the muck,

They both loaded onto the cart by hand, in field they made a ruck,

In the summer they mowed their hay,Bill he rode on the mower,

Clearing the blockage, pulling long leaver, that to lift and lower.

Jim he also made the coffins, for any villagers who died,

He was the first to know,he lay them out and measure applied,

In one small cottage with not much room, he lifted off the pantry door,

With no one else about he asked,for me to help lift body off the floor.

This was the first I'd seen dead body,and shook me dam well ridged,

Out with his tape and pencil,see how big to make the coffins image,

With his pipe in his mouth still puffin,he talked to the person by name,

Eggcup under the head, big toes tied together,hands on chest what a shame.

Coffins he made in the evening, the tapping his hammer till late,

His mother and wife they lined it,now ready to load in his mate,

Bill in the meantime he dug the grave,down to the previous coffin,

It'd been a few years since I was down hear,bump with the spade to waken.

Jim and his father made many cart wheels, hubs spokes and fellows and all,

The hubs were made out of elm,spokes and fellows were ash I recall,

When they were ready were wheeled to the blacksmith,

He made the hot metal band,to shrink round the fellows forthwith,

As the years went by, and cheap metal gates, trailers for tractors came in,

This cut down his work fancy gates did he make,along with repairs within,

They both retired as age caught up and wheelwrights shop it closed,

An era had passed when they sold up, into history they were reposed.

Owd Fred

Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with he time, we have rushed through our life trying to save.
Will Rogers (1879-1935)

The Longest Swath 33

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.

(This is the interview I gave and aquired the badge of Featured Farmer of that week
http://farmnwife.com/seventy-years-in-farming.html  )

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 village wheelwright and his family 32

When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay.

This is the village shop on the left, a farm cottage next along and the third one along was the White Cottage the smallholding which was also the wheelwrights shop. On the extreme right is the village pub the Holly Bush


The White Cottage. [ Or The Smallholding ]
This cottage opposite the pub was occupied by Mr and Mrs Clark. It was a small holding of about forty acres, as on all the farms on the estate, it had some close land, and some on the meadows down the Moss lane, and some over the railway down the Moor lane. This house had only one main room, and a scullery, then a lean-to on the back of the house, this was used as a dairy to cool and store the milk churns over night, until the milk man came the following morning. Upstairs it had two bedrooms, and the only privy was a little brick and tile loo, under a bush, down the garden path. In this house they brought up a family of six children.

The new workshop that Jim amd Bill built is on the left, the two chimneys above were the two new council houses that they lived in later in life. The two chimneys in the centre are that of the village shop,(looking from its rear), and below on the right was the original workshop that their old man used from the 1900's

Old Harry Clark, I can only just remember, not a very tall man, and quite round in his later years. He was a wheelwright by trade, and worked in a low tin roofed shed down below the wooden pole hay barn. He was a man who enjoyed a joke, and quite mischievous in a nice way. It was said that when bagged fertiliser first came out, Charlie Finnimore, [of Yews Farm] sent a new man to spread it on the meadows under the Ashes Wood. It turned out he had spread it on one of Harry's small fields down there. Later Mr Finnemore realised the mistake, and went round to see Harry for recompense, only to be told very politely that he did not want it, and that he could send the man down the following morning to pick it up again, as he did not mind at all!.

Mrs Clark, Harry's wife, could only just get about, and getting a very old lady, like Harry she was quite round, and had her own chair by the fire where she could easily reach the kettle, without having to move. In fact as a child I was amazed that when Mrs Clark was sitting down she seemed to have no knees. Her part in the carpentry business, over the years, was to line the coffins that Harry made, for the local people, who were then buried in St Chad's churchyard.
They had six children, Henry [called Harry] the oldest, Jim, Bill the youngest, and three daughters in between. Henry worked for the post office as a postman, and travelled to work in a little old Austin 7 car, the one that had a straight up windscreen and a starting handle permanently out in front. Henry was the smallest of all the family, and walked with a heavy limp; this was due to him having a short leg and had a boot with a four or five inch sole.

Henry lived with his wife Nell in the cottage next to Lower Cooksland Farm gate, on the other side of the lane was a small garage for his car. Nell worked up at Cooksland House for Major Eld, and her father lived in a small room, or lean-to, on the end of a house on the end of Smithy Lane. He was Bill Ecclestone a very old man when I was a child; he helped around the different farms when needed. His worn-out body seamed to lean forward, almost forming a loop under his bracers, where his chest had been. He wore corduroy trousers that were tied below the knee with string, and old boots that had worn out laces. The shirts worn in them days all had loose collars, his shirt at work had no collar or stud to hold the neck hole together, and looked as though it had seen many washes [ and missed a few as well]. He lived an independent life in his small room, but well looked after by his daughter Nell.

Jim was the tallest of the family, and when married lived in the second house up the Coton lane [turn left at the west end of the village second house on the right]. This had a craft, [Crofters have crafts- small field] where he kept hens and reared a few pigs, I think it had two pig sty's. He worked as carpenter for the estate along with Eric Kilford who was the builder bricklayer; Eric built up Kilfords the Building firm and employed quite a lot of men. Jim took over from his father, when his father became too old to continue, having learned all the skills needed to become a wheelwright, and all the traditional tools that had built up over the years for that trade.
When the Cumbers council houses were built, in the 1950s, Jim moved into No10, and Bill moved into No9, right opposite the farm and workshop. By this time Jim was full time, having taken over from "The old Chap". Jim and Bill built a new workshop, with double doors that would lock, a great deal higher and bigger than the one the old chap used. A complete farm wagon could be built and painted all indoors, and a good deal lighter as well.
As I said Jim was tall, all of six foot, but I expect that working all his earlier days in low cottages, and always ducking his head, he carried his head slightly forward, giving him a slight hump on his shoulders. [Not quite as tall as he should be], they all had caps on in them days, and Jim had his pipe always in his teeth, not always lit. It was St Julian tobacco, that he smoked, and I got as much pleasure, from the smell of the smoke, as he did smoking it.
You get the ambiance of a room when you walk into it, so you did from Jim's workshop, with the smoke from his pipe, or the new cut oak shavings, or the fresh new paint when he's finishing off a job.
  His pipe spent that much time, in his teeth, that it wore his teeth away in that one place, to the extent that he could clench his teeth tightly, and the pipe would still hang comfortably. In normal talk, he would talk with the pipe in place. But if some cussing was to be done, it would be a prodding motion with the pipe in his hand. But more often than not it was tongue in cheek cussing.
It was always a big joke when Jim and his wife Minnie, went on holiday for a week to the seaside with friends. Minnie would have Jim move all the furniture, to dust and polish, "even behind the bl---- wardrobes had to be cobwebbed" he went on, in case someone had to look in, while they were away. Minnie was a big friend of my mothers, and was very proud of her new house, number 10 The Cumbers. She was also keen on her flowers garden, and front lawn. Jim had to do the lawn mowing and dug and planted the veg patch. His comment to these jobs was "Why didn't they build the B motorway across my front lawn, or at least tarmac it" he went on, "I could sweep it off and paint it green each spring and save all this work."

Bill, the youngest of the family, looked after the cows. Up until the 1950s they were hand milked, and then they had their first milking machine. Then followed a few years later with a bulk milk tank, they stopped picking milk up in churns shortly after that. Bill had 14 cows that was the maximum that the sheds would hold. They were well looked after, and heavy milkers, and nearly always turned out for the night onto the craft opposite the Holly Bush Pub. During the day they went down through the ford, to the banky field at the end of Moor lane, or the field at the top of the road bank on the right. At the ford the cows came from all directions, Village Farm cows came down the bank to the ford the up the Moor lane, Church Farm cows went down the same way as Bills. On the village green, Green Farm cows would be going out, and also Yews Farm cows went across the green to the Moss Lane.
On a few occasions Bill would have to encourage his cows to move across the path of another herd, or sometimes meet another herd head on. He always had a long nut stick, and always on his bike when on the road with the cows, and when a problem like this came up, he would get off his bike, and gently tap his cows on through the opposing "team ". He rarely lost any or picked any extra up, the cows knowing there own fields or sheds.
In his younger days Bill was in the village cricket team, often he was wicket keeper, then when in batting he would hit and run, and really liven the proceedings up, scoring some very quick runs, or getting himself or his colleague run out. The cricket square was in the middle of the present village football field. It was a football field then as well. During the week the cricket square was fenced off, and Bills cows would graze round it.

Bill in this picture is the small man fifth from the left behind the gentlemen with the bowler hat.


Always a joker he would examine a persons ploughing, to see if it was strait. If it was one of us younger ones, and it was crooked, he would be relentless in telling anyone who would listen, as to how many dead rabbits he had picked up. Telling them how they had broken their necks, running round the bends in the furrows. Another wease he had was when someone had spent a day working hard at cleaning or sweeping up, he would say "That looks better, which have you done ?", then watch for the reaction, then laugh.
Only a small man, he had a job to reach the floor when astride his bike, and with his Woodbine lit, and his nut stick across his handle bars, set off promptly at three fifteen to fetch the cows in. As long as everyone else was at the regular time, the herds would not clash.

They had a little grey Fergy tractor, which was used to cart the muck out to the field in winter, and in the summer, they would mow the meadows for hay. Then when they wanted timber for carpentry, they would be off down to Henry Venables timber yard on the tractor, sometimes for wide elm boards, still with the bark edges, for trailer floors, or oak for making gates, or timber for making a coffin.

If anyone died in the village, Jim and Bill would be called. I remember one occasion when Bill was not available, Jim called my brother and I to help him lay out a neighbour who had died that morning. The first thing we were asked to do was to lift the pantry door off its hinges, and put it on the floor and  helped lift the deceased onto it the door to lay her out,then up onto the table, this was a normal procedure as there is not much room in a lot of cottages, and pantry door or scullery door had hinges like a gate, and could easily be lifted off.
When Jim was walking off down the village, with a long notched stick in his hand, we knew he was off to measure a body for the coffin. People did not have long measuring tapes, as we have now, so a long measuring stick was used. [Carpenters usually had a wooden two foot rule]. If you are a person living in one of the Seighford cottages, you may never realize what your old pantry door had been used for, besides blocking a hole in the wall.
After having got the measurements required from the body, Jim would proceed to make the coffin. This would take all afternoon, and he would work into the evening to get the job done. On occasions Eric Bennion would call with his car, to transport the coffin to the deceased's house, discreetly covered with a blanket. His car had a large carrier rack on the back the right size. I heard a story about Eric, carting a coffin about on the back of his car, when food rationing was on.
There were strict restrictions enforced by the police, usually by the local bobby on a bike based at Great Bridgeford the next village. Eric, Jim and Bill had to move a pig that had just been killed at one of their houses, to someone who wanted it, but shouldn't have it because of rationing. So the obvious way was in a coffin, covered up on the back of Eric's car, and at night. I believe they passed the police but were never suspected.
Of coarse all the men of working age at that time, were in the "Home Guard" based in Great Bridgeford village hall. No end of contraband food exchange hands without a ration book in sight, not all of them worked on farms or were farmers.

Owd Fred

A verse relating to the wheelwright will have to follow on another blog so look out for it.

The consumer's side of a coffin lid is never ostentatious

Stanishaw J. Lec  (1909 - 1966)

Never discourage anyone........ who continually makes progress, no matter how slow. Plato (347BC-427 BC)

"Trotters" 31

This is a follow on to the thread "Trotters"

We watched when we were kids, fingers in our ears,
Then bang the butcher shot him, cut its throat mid tears,



I never knew who owned the pig bench but it went round all the village to who ever had got a pig ready for killing.


I Remember Killing the Pig

About once a year the butcher called, for to kill a pig,
Scrubbed off the pig bench, it was heavy and big,
Don't know whose it was, but around the village it went,
To lay the pig on when it's killed, four wooden legs all bent.

Starve the pig from day before, empty belly they need,
Then the butcher prepares his tools, then the pig to lead,
By a noose round his snout, mid squealing protest struggle,
Took three men to lift on bench, to hold it on they grapple.

We watched all this when we were kids, fingers in our ears,
Then bang the butcher shot him, and cut its throat mid tears,
It happened fast, the kids will learn; catch the blood in bucket,
Kicking stopped, and bucket full, into pantry put it.

Very hot water poured all over, and scrape the hair all off,
He scalded the hooves, with a hook ripped the hoof clean off,
This was the worst when he opened it up, all put into the barrow,
Save the heart, liver and kidneys, same sequence always follow.

Then with a "tree", like a big clothes hanger, lifted pig to beam,
Left to set almost week, butcher returns, to watch were keen,.
The head comes off to make the brawn, boiled in a great big pot,
The rest is quartered, for to salt down, onto the setlas brought.

Some fresh pork saved to use right now, take the neighbours some,
Other do the same as well, almost every month a treat become,
Two hams in muslin bags are hung, on hook in pantry cool,
The bacon too is done the same, enough to make you drool.

Mother makes the faggots and black puddings from the blood,
Nothings ever wasted, fat is rendered down, the scratching's good,
Lard for frying and cooking, stored all in big stone jars,
Lined up in the pantry, all the work done, by our poor old m'a.

Owd Fred

Mother would not kill off a hen that was young and healthy, or an old one that was laying, it was always a bare arsed one, that was almost spent out. They were never aloud to die, she would get them just before that get it plucked and in the pot never having gone cold.


I remember Mothers Mid Week Chicken Dinner

In mid week we often had, "chicken" for our dinner,
Tough old hen more soup than meat, always it was a winner,
So after breakfast mother went, to feed the laying hens,
On her way she would note, the one who's still in pens,

If it looked as if not laying, she would ring its neck,
Hang it in the coal shed, all flap and no more peck.
Pulling on the old tea cosy, well down over her ears,
And an old mac kept for this job, doesn't matter how it appears.

Feathers and the fluff do fly, and also mites do run,
This is why she's well covered up, as it is so often done,
With the news paper on the table, to be drawn it is now ready,
And out with good sharp knife, off with legs and neck all bloody

Nick below the parson's nose, with hand the guts she pulls the lot,
Saves the heart and gizzard, also neck to make the stock,
Into the pot this tough old hen, no time for it to go cold,
Steamed for a good two hours, till lid is hot to hold.

Into the pot goes all the veg, and a heap of part boiled taties,
Given another half hour simmering, before it hits the platters,
We all come in for dinner time, lunch to someone posh,
Plates piled up, our bellies to fill, we loved our chicken nosh.

Owd Fred


In the kitchen at the Beeches the kitchen floor sloped from east to west, with the fire place range on the south side. (Get the picture)It was a blue brick floor the same as in the stable, and the walls were the bare bricks painted, one colour usually green half way up and a lighter colour round the top usually green, to the side of the chimney brest was mothers new Jackson electric cooker, where she cooked the bacon or porridge in a mornings before the range had properly got going.
I remember the porridge would lift the lid with cooking and spill down the sides welding the pan to the cooker, Porridge had to simmer for an hour just to cook, no instant heat and eat, like the two minuet porridge of today, they were rolled raw oats.

To the other side of the chimney brest was a built in cupboard with a half bottom door and half top door stable door style if you like to call it, there was some hot pipes running through this cupboard and the Kellogg Cornflakes were kept to keep dry, along with the sugar and flour. This was a cupboard that was often raided by mice but they disappeared up into the ceiling following the pipes.
To the north side was a large cupboard with four draws at the bottom, and two big opening doors on the top half, on the top shelf dad kept his pipe and bacca though he did not us it that regular, us kids tried it out one night with dried tea leaves, cus we could-na find any bacca. We all had one good drag and it literally spun us off our feet, and I never ever smoked again, perhaps a good lesson learned early.
Also on the top shelf was the shot gun cartridges, quite a few boxes, stacked as these were used to get our rabbit dinner once a week, and occasionally a poached pheasant. In the rest of the shelves were the bottles and jar that had been opened and part used like jams and pickles and that posh word for salt vinegar and pepper, a cruet.


The Kitchen Floor it sloped.

I remember when we were kids, kitchen floor it sloped,
Sat down at meal times, mother to top end coped,
Kitchen table vinyl cloth, also it did tilt,
Father down one side, safe from anything that spilt.

Always there is one, who's clumsy as a kid,
Put him at the lower end, own mess he is amid,
Tip the water over, or a cup of tea,
It runs down the table, straight into his knee.

Four of us took it in turns, not to be so clumsy,
Other three would laugh, all sitting dry and cosy,
A dam good lesson that it was, with instant results,
Chair at the lower end, reserved for bumble foots.

Owd Fred


We had visiting mice in the house from time to time but mother was crafty, and they did not last long, She always had a couple of mouse traps and a lump of stale cheese pressed onto them, being thrifty the same piece of cheese would often catch more than one mouse.


A Mouse in the Cupboard

Sitting in the kitchen one night, by the kitchen fire,
Mother knitting father reading, us lads getting tired.
Then we heard a rustling, in the cupboard by chimney brest,
It was Kellogg's corn flakes trickling, a mouse the little pest.

He had sat and chewed a hole, right through cornflake box,
Found food for his little belly, where our mother keeps her stocks,
He disappeared up round some pipes, still the flakes they fell,
Keeping warm and well fed, if we find him give him hell.

Set the mouse trap on the shelf, loaded up with cheese,
For this it would attract him, one bite would make him sneeze,
Spring will slap him on the head, teach him not to steal,
Wasteful little blighter, to us it was our meal.

Owd Fred

Quotation
A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.
Aesop (620BC-560BC)

How do you define a working farmer’s car? 30

Pulled out all parcels and shopping and stood back, while the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the middle of the road.

 The old Austin Montego Estate Car, it was a farmers car, or life before we had a Landrover   1970’s / 80’s.   

(This is the Land Rover blog http://bit.ly/k0C2mG  )

How do you define a working farmer’s car, a car that can pull almost anything, a car that you can chuck anything that will fit in it, a car with a drawbar that is good and shiny not the one with the plastic horses head knob cover.

A car that when the dirt gets thick enough it will peel off in the sun, a car that is always at the ready for the umpteen short journeys be it lanes or fields, and almost invariably low in fuel, no time to go into town to fill it up.

A car that when a big bullock walks up the tailboard it lifts the ass end of the car off the ground, and when he walks to the front of said trailer it almost bury the drawbar in to the mud, (good suspension).   

A few years ago we had an Austin Montego car, a five door estate model, bought it second hand never having seen mud or cow muck, it was in mint condition. It did good service for us but as always it would be almost its last home.

The first thing was to have a drawbar fitted so it could pull a caravan and the stock trailer; the caravan was a nice stable steady pull although only just up to the job.

The stock trailer was another kettle of fish, it all depended on how many beasts were loaded into it, on odd occasions it got positively over loaded, heaving up and down on the drawbar when loading and unloading, and then on the road it weaved as the speed built up to 30MPH.

As it happened I bought the standard drawbar fitment for that make of car, the arm reaching under the car just bolted with four bolts to the tinwork under the spare wheel in the boot.

There was a lip that reached up to carry the weight of the drawbar going up behind the plastic bumper again bolted into tinwork.

As you can imagine after a couple of years work with intermittent use to pull the stock trailer these bolts holes cracked in star fashion round the holes and eventually pulled through to tin bodywork. To remedy this we welded an angle iron to the carrying bracket so as to spread the load all across the back end of the car, if it pulled out again it would take the whole of the back end off the car. I got to know when things were getting dangerous when you could hear a continuous creaking coming from the spare wheel housing.

After the beefing up with the angle iron, the long arm that reached under the spare wheel with its four small bolts started to creak and these were washered up with large round washers, but still it creaked under load. The car then started to over heat intermittently as though the rad was blocked, they did not have a fan belt, but a thermostat connected to an electric fan, and it turned out that this thermostat was faulty , not switching the fan on when it called for cooling.

Everything worked normally when travelling along briskly, the wind blowing through the radiator did its job well, but this one bank holiday weekend we went out into the Derbyshire hills and got stuck in a great line of vehicles mostly stationary, on the run up to a road junction.

As we kept moving up so the car got hotter, we had the heater on in the car (on a hot day) to try to help cooling the engine, then to our relief we got past the junction and onto open road again, the snag then was we had a long two or three mile climb, working the engine hard, and although the wind was blowing through the rad it was not enough to cool the already hot engine.

Then on a long down hill where we cracked on with speed and not too much work for the engine when a cloud of steam burst from under the bonnet and we coasted to a halt in the mouth of a quarry, looked underneath to find a pool of oil, the car had expired in a cloud of steam

After getting a lift home we collected the car a few days later, towing it home on the end of a chain.

As it happened we did get the engine going again and sold it on to a family as a “second” farm car, another rough lane for it to negotiate and a bigger family of kids.

Some months later we heard the they were travelling home from Christmas shopping, loaded up with kids and parcels, going along a remote lane when the engine burst into flames,

The mother pulled out all the kids and parcels and shopping and stood back, while the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the middle of the road.

It had not done a big mileage with us or the folks after us, but it had worked hard, pulling the stock trailer, and after us we found out he was pulling a double deck sheep trailer, so it had earned its keep over those few years. This is why we always say “It’s come to its last home when it comes to us”   

If the automobile had followed the same development cycle as the computer, a Rolls-Royce would today cost a hundred dollars, get a million miles per gallon, and explode once a year, killing everyone inside.”

Robert X Cringely, Info world

Father always kept Ayrshire Cows 29

Father always kept Ayrshire cows, but there was just the odd Friesian, which, when asked why, he would say tongue in cheek "Oh we just keep her at the end of the shed to wash the shed down with, its blue milk, no butterfat."

This was how The Beeches Farm looked years ago when we were kids. The building on the right in the back ground was where all the grain was stored in the loft and milled or crushed in the shed below, it also had the mongol pulper and straw chopper, from the days when it was all carried round the sheds to the cows.
Father and his neighbour sometime went up to Scotland to a breed sale and would buy about twenty incalf Ayrshire heifers between them, enough to fill a cattle lorry.
We would get a phone call in advance about how many to expect and to prepare a suitable shed for them to be dropped in. Quite often the wagon would arrive back here before dad and his mate, at two in the morning.They put up in some digs over two nights and got home about lunch time the following day.
I recall that they had bought the first dehorned cattle in the area, and everyone was inquisitive to see these Ayrshire cattle with no horns. It was not long after that that he had the horns cut off all the cows and dehorned all calves as they were born. It was a gruesome job, and performed in the stalls where they were tied up, the vet tied string tightly round the base of the cows horns as a tourniquet, then used four foot shears to clip them off in one swift cut. It took two or three men to close the shears on the older cows, and on odd ones where they had cut close too the string, the string slipped off and blood spurted up in a fine spray up into the rafters of the cowshed.
Talk about rivers of blood. After a day or two the wounds dried up, but it was noticeable that the cows that had always done the bullying now got a very soar head when they butted the others.

Father ran a dairy herd

Father ran a dairy herd, of mainly Ayrshire cows,
These were housed traditionally, tied in stalls in rows,
Brought down for milking, had to be tied with a chain,
Each knew there own stall, a left and a right contain.

Cows were used to standing, to their own side of the stall,
They would part to let you in between when you call,
A bowl full of corn, and in with the bucket and stool,
Milked by hand while they're eating, was good job when it's cool.

He was one of the first to try, a new fangled milking machine,
A vacuum pipe was installed, new motor and pump had to be,
Four unit buckets and a spare, four cows milked nice and clean,
This was quicker by far, once the cows got used to routine.

Milk was cooled in the dairy, with water from the well,
The dairy collected it every day, had to be cool to sell,
The fridge was a copper heat exchanger hanging on the wall,
On top a Dee shaped receiving pan, fresh milk we poured it all.

Well water runs on the inside the fridge, milk run down outside,
Churns were filled for the dairy, to a measured mark inside,
Labelled with where it's to go, at one time went by train,
Now a lorry picks up the churns, from a churn stand on the lane.

Thirty more years he milked this way, in churns milk was poured,
Restricted now by the number of stalls, yields he did record,
Bulk tank came and a pipeline too, milk tanker every day,
This took Father to retirement, very modern to do it this way.

Owd Fred

Father always reared all his heifer calves, and when AI first came about he used it on his best thirty cows and his own bull on the rest, the bull calves going off down to the market when old enough. Calves reared were started on their mothers milk and continued on cows milk for a couple of weeks when gradually they were introduced onto gruel, which was mainly Linseed, and this had to be scalded before you could feed it to the calves. There was no powdered milk equivalent available then and gruel was the best option so the maximum milk could go to the dairy.

Linseed Gruel for Calves

Always reared our own replacements, for the dairy herd,
Soon weaned off mother's milk, linseed gruel prepared,
Gruel it had to be scalded, to kill the enzymes off,
Otherwise the calves would scour, and then begin to cough.

Just a week on full cow's milk, then started to feed them gruel
When they were a month old, it was the only fuel,
Along with a bit of cow corn, and a rack with meadow hay,
Reared, a bit pot bellied, when out they're turned on grass day.

A couple of years rearing and growing then put them to the bull,
They will be replacements, for the ones we have to cull,
Calved down at three years old, to be a well grown cow,
Years in the dairy herd, good feet and health allow.

Owd Fred

As it has always been, there was dairy inspections, and these came when you least expected them, but the time to work seriously at cleaning up was on a very wet day.
The old white wash was scraped off the walls with garden hoe's along with the splashes of dried on cow muck, and a new coat of lime wash applied, this included the dairy where the milk was cooled and run into churns.

A Wet Day Job

On days when it's too wet work outside, find a job indoors,
Grab a couple of garden hoes; scrape cowshed walls and floors,
A good soaking and scrubbing, get the cow muck off,
Where the cows have splashed, and had a dam good cough.

Out with a small tin bath, bag of quick line pour,
Mix with water till a thin paste, ten minuets stand before,
Brushed up the walls, with an old house brush soft,
Gleaming white and clean, right up to the old hayloft.

Spot check by the dairy inspector, they turn up out of the blue,
Just when you don't expect, look at the sheds right through,
The milk house where milk is cooled gets same job done,
Cows wary of the new décor, inspectors' inspection won.

Owd Fred

Molasses, has come back into fashion in the last twenty years or so, but when we were kids father had a forty gallon drum in the corn shed on a block so he could run off some when it was needed. The drum was half used and thick with mill dust, and the lower small bung was only finger tight. We used to take this bung out and wait for the treacle to slowly ooze out and get fingers full of the stuff before replacing the bung

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, and spread 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.

Owd Fred

A quarrel is like buttermilk, the more you stir it, the more sour it grows(Bolivian Proverb)

To Farming College I Was Sent 28

Tipped us all out into a huge rhubarb patch, the clumsy driver was the head of department, that cart was decommissioned shortly afterwards as too unstable for the job.

This is a story as it happened, of some of the highlights of my year at college


This is a picture the old Hall, the windows on the second and third floors were the dormatories for the male students. One hot night one of the lads moved his bed out onto the narrow balcony above the french windows, (good job he got out of bed on the correct side). On one occasion an item of girls underware was flown from the top of one of the very tall fir trees just on this lawn, no one dare fetch them down, or admitt to putting them up there in the first place

Rodbaston Farming College 1958

In my late teens it was arranged that I would have twelve months at Rodbaston Farm College, this was when I lost touch with Eileen, and it was to be over sixteen years before we met again. It was a residential course and I only got home every other weekend if father had time on a Saturday afternoon to fetch me and take me back on a Sunday evening. Some of the inmates took the course seriously and a few other younger ones fooled about and learned very little.

It was about this time that the first combines were just beginning to appear in our area and the very first sugar beet harvesters were being tried out at the college while I was there, both machines revolutionised farming, by eliminating a lot of very heavy hand work. Another machine just coming out then was the crop sprayer and there were just about two options of spray to go into it. One dealt with thistles and docks in corn, the other did thistles and buttercups in grassland. There were no annual weeds to deal with to speak of in them days as every one followed a strict rotation.

Spraying allowed continuous corn cropping (Mono cropping) which in turn encouraged annual weeds. The latest tractors were also tried out and demonstrated at Rodbaston some of the largest were over a hundred horse power, and with these bigger tractors came ploughs to match them and other cultivation equipment.

In the livestock section the first milking parlours were just appearing where the cows came to the milking units and not the other way round as in the old cowshed milking, and cow cubicles were just invented. The college still milked cows in a double cowshed tied up by self closing yolks.

On the social side of my stay at Rodbaston there were quite a few memorable incidents. Every so often we (the students) would be invited to another college or a visiting college would be invited to join us at Rodbaston for a social evening. As you may realise there was a great demand for baths, not many showers about in those days. Those in first or just early had the maximum hot water, the second lot the hot water system could not keep time with the demand and had cold baths, so as disgruntled students are, displeasure was shown in the testing of the drains around the student accommodation. (The maintenance man had been trying to clear a blocked drain all day)

This was achieved by the filling of all the baths (about ten as I recall) full to the brim with cold water and all the wash basins, then at a given signal all the plugs were pulled, all the toilets flushed as many time as possible.

On observing the manhole covers, the first iron lid by the kitchen door lifted and floated off then one in a rose bed lower down, over flowed washing the soil down the road side and a hundred yards on the into a road drain. It was very fortunate that it was all done with clean cold water. The system passed its test but its capacity was a little suspect, and for a while the header tanks seemed to be under sized and took a while for the water pressure to recover. A fire hose on the top floor seemed to be in vacuum (negative pressure) so it was a good job no one suggested testing the fire drills at the same time.

On the middle floor lived the bursar, and at night he would go on patrol at a predicted time. It was timed soon after one such patrol, that two of us were to down to the battery hen house, just down the college road to collect a dozen eggs for late night supper.

Then quietly into the small room (one was on each floor) where there was a kettle and a toaster for the students use, when on early call for milking or stock duties. All the eggs were quietly put into the electric kettle, filled with water and switched on, four slices of bread were put in the toaster ready to switch on when a bursar alarm was heard (his door opening). All six of our group went hell for leather back into bed and was fast asleep in seconds, after half hour of prowling about the bursar settled and his door shut again.

Gingerly but very quickly we went to rescue the eggs, it was too late, the kettle had boiled dry, the egg shells had turned black but very hard boiled. The kettles did not turn themselves off at that time and the small amount of water in with the eggs soon disappeared, so the kettle was spirited into the dust bins by the main kitchens, and a fresh one acquired from the store room adjacent to the dining room.

The leader of our group at Rodbaston (there was six groups of six lads and two groups of six of girls) clashed with a lad in another group, so much that one day one ended up being thrown into the pool in the garden and horticulture section, I would call it a pit with dirty black mud in the bottom.

The launch pad was just to the left of the picture, the bottom of the pool was full of peat, or years of dead leaves, in my book I would call it a pit, but then it was landscaped and planted with shrubs, so now its a lake

He was launched off the high bank head first into the pool, and came out with weeds round his shoulders and thick black mud from head to toe. The second big clash came a few weeks late when the victimised victim had his hair cut off in lumps and steps right down to his scull, He never canted or complained to anyone in authority, but it was plain to see his haircut was involuntary. On his weekend off he must have gone home and his parents; they were not impressed and reported their complaint to the top man the principle. There was a full enquiry into the incident which ended up with the aggressor being expelled. After that it left me as leader of a short group only five for the next two terms, all the practical work had been calculated to six in the groups so we had on occasions to work all the harder.

In the rotation of practical training we undertook, one was horticulture, and to get about the Halls extensive gardens a group of students and all the tools, they had a three wheel motorised tipping cart. The single front wheel was the same size as a tractor rear wheel, and in the hub of the wheel was a single cylinder Petter engine. The frame of the cart came up from under the body in a goose neck onto a king pin on top of the front wheel, the driver stood inside the goose neck at the controls and it had a vertical steering wheel. It was designed to carry one ton, and at one time used by the county council highways department, who had any number of such vehicles. When they were made redundant in that department one was assigned to Rodbaston Horticultural department. The head of that department was driving us briskly along side the walled garden in the three wheeled cart, and being a little unstable he had to concentrate hard on keeping on the narrow track. On the back we all five of us were making it sway about, until we came to the corner, then we all threw our selves onto the wrong side of the cart. This had a dramatic impact on its stability; it tipped us all out into a huge rhubarb patch (a soft landing) the driver as well. No one was hurt, but our man in charge never knew that we were really to blame for the up tip; he hurriedly got us to right the cart and asked us not to report the incident. With the clumsy driver being head of department, that cart was decommissioned shortly afterwards as too unstable for the job.



Same story but this time in verse



To Farming College I Was Sent



When I was in my late teens, farming college I was sent,
To learn the latest way of doing thing, but it only meant,
Living away from home all week, sometimes weekends anall,
First time slept away from home, strange hard bed by the wall.

No where else to sleep, but in this old and worn bedstead,
Its springs were slack and hung, like a hammock not a bed,
The mattress was so thin, had an imprint on its back,
Of diamond pattern bed springs, like sleeping on a rack.

It had iron bed posts one each corner, tilted to the middle,
Only narrow like a ladder, would make good tater riddle,
A couple of sleepless nights at first, then slept like a log,
Getting out next morning, it was a blooming slog.

Eight o'clock the breakfast bell, half an hour for that,
Plenty of eggs and bacon, cornflakes or porridge splat,
Tutors at the top table, in a row they sat,
Students were in groups of six, very quietly they chat.

Eight groups of six there was, time table of duties given,
Alternate weeks it was early start, to the livestock bidden,
A group for milking and a group for pigs to feed and clean,
Group for sheep and poultry, five thirty start not keen.

The next week it spoiled you, lay in till breakfast bell,
Lectures every morning, from nine to lunch time I do tell,
Afternoons back to the farm, maintenance chore to do,
And the afternoon stock duties, till five pm and that'll do.

College was having trouble with the big house drains,
Rodding flushing and all the rest, had a hose pipe from the mains,
So word went round the students, thought we could give a hand,
A bigger flush was what they wanted, so together we band.

It was decided what we do, to store up water for very big flush,
Ten big deep baths on three floors, were filled and kept it hush,
Fourteen wash basins also filled, and waited for the bell to go,
All the plugs were pulled at once, and every toilet flushed also.

This surge of water lifted the lids, all the way the pipe did wend,
Flooded flower beds down the drive, happened to be weekend,
It cleared the drain of silt and ***, no more faffing about,
An enquiry was held, but it did the job, to no one they could shout.

It was curfew each night at ten, when hunger pains start to show,
I wasn't alone that same night, and we felt a bit gung-ho,
Boiled eggs we thought, with fresh bread and butter,
Fetched dozen from battery cages hen, all whispering in a mutter.

Tiptoed past the bursars door, for he was a light sleeper,
But got the eggs back to boil, landing kitchen kettle no cooker,
Got dozen eggs in electric kettle, filled to brim with water,
Then it had just got to boil, the bursar was seen by our spotter.

All back to bed in a rush, good half hour afore his door closed,
Crept round to the small landing kitchen, a smoking kettle nosed,
Eggs boiled hard black and burned, water boiled and gone,
Kettle started to melt, no auto switch to switch off and on.

It ruined our night and ruined our kettle, no early cuppa for us,
Binned the kettle and eggs welded in, cold drink cold morning we cus,
In a couple of days another old kettle we found,
Didna try that again, electric from main, in all cost us two pound.

Learned how to cut hedges, with brushing hook down wards strokes,
Bring the hedge to an ‘A ‘ shape, with hawthorn had good hopes,
The Principle cut his garden hedge, to demonstrate how to do,
This skill and method was short-lived, as machines invented anew.

Learned to shear the sheep, A New Zealand method by gum,
Clear the belly and up the throat, then down the shoulder and rump,
Pull the head up between ya knees, shear the other side,
Release the head ewe will rise and walk through ya legs astride.

Wrap the fleece should be all in one, tail end n flanks to the middle,
Roll it tight cut ends outside, with your knee bent double,
The neck you twist to form a bon's, long enough go round tuck in,
Pitch it into the woolsack, tread it well down within,

On the pigs we helped with the farrowing, piglets born by the dozen,
See they got under the lamp, dry out and suck on a ‘button'
In the first week they had, and injection prevent anaemia
Iron it was into their little leg, mid squeals made sure heard ya.

Cows were milked in stalls, tied with a yolk to the neck,
Milk was recorded every day; compare each cows ration a check,
Airshires they were quality milk, good colour and butterfat too,
Calves were reared as replacements', suckle by the livestock crewe.

Gardening n' horticulture also learned, no great interest in that,
Pruning and preparing apple trees, plums and pears we tat,
Seedlings in boxes put out in cold frames, harden off for while,
Sit on hot pipes in the green house, thaw out in case we got piles.

Sugar beet grown, all done by hand, from singling to pulling the root,
A harvester came to demonstrate, the first one I'd seen to boot,
It broke down a time or two, modifications made a many,
But the work it saved, and backache too, must be a pretty penny.

Dealers sent their latest tractor, for students to try and admire,
When we get home to old bangers, persuade the old man to retire,
So we could buy that new tractor, a diesel with starter and cab,
Spoils you when get back to reality, old tractor remains on the tab.

Countryman



Educations What You Wan

Educations what you want, or that is what I'm told,
Get on in life and see the world, seek your pot of gold.
More to life than toil and sweat, let others soil there hands,
Let education guide the way, nine till five, five days a week demand.

Over the years most folk done this, for better jobs they travelled,
Men they left the land in droves, off into town they pedalled.
With better money they bought a car, get about much quicker,
Then travelled even further a field, became the city slicker.

Countryman



Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten

B F Skinner (1904-1990)

Norfolk Four Course Rotation (1950's at college) 27

All the young farm college students will laugh me off this page, because there does not seem to be such a thing as a full rotation these days. It seems a rotation for pests and diseases, and that's all. What you young un's must understand that there is a rotation to cope with weeds, mostly annual weeds.

These are what build up in arable land into a "seed bank" this needs a break and a rest for a few years in grass. We were learned the basic rotation devised by "Turnip Townshend" back in the 18^th century, Roots , Barley, Seeds (two or three years), and Wheat.

Not all these old ideas can be rubbished off hand, and could well be adapted to suit the modern farming methods. You need to assess how much nitrogen can be "fixed" by a good two year stand of predominantly a red clover/grass mix, clover left to mature and flower into a tall crop of hay/silage, has a tremendous root system with the accompanying nitrogen fixing nodules, bigger the top growth the bigger the roots.

In years gone by there was no bagged fertiliser, and this method improved output and yield, only now a tittle of nitrogen on top of the above idea could well would match many of the modern yields of today. The moral of this story is to cut costs, i.e. nitrogen and not plant second wheat's.

Now oilseed rape will cover as a root crop in this rotation, and to those who have never heard of it, under sow the barley with the grass / clover mixture. Time the seeding right and a bit of good fortune with the weather, and you soon get the hang of a good rotation saving on sprays as well.

Norfolk Four Course Rotation (1950's at college)

At farming college we were told, how important it was to learn,
The basic four coarse rotation, good yields and a living to earn,
Roots Barley Seeds and Wheat, it kept the ground in good heart,
This was the basic rotation, from which to make a good start.

Roots you hoed around until, the leaves met in the row,
Smother any smaller weeds, nowhere for them to grow,
Always left a good clean field, and always in good heart,
Next crop had the benefit, of getting a jolly good start.

Spring barley follows the roots, too strong a land and it will soon go flat,
Drilled in March when the soil warms, an even plant stand begat,
Under sown with grass and red clover, establishing the best
Docks were pulled and thistles ‘spudded', first crop for to harvest.

The seeds grow on, once barley's cut, light sheep graze in back end,
It tillers and bulks tremendously, for winter feed depend,
Red clover with its vigorous growth, its roots beneath to match,
Fixes fertility down in the soil, from side to side of the patch.

If you graze the seeds and keep it low, doesn't produce the roots,
Fertility from the sun to leaves, only small leaves stems and shoots,
Mown for hay grown to maturity, for two years if you can,
Will give you a wheat crop you never had, at least that's the plan.

When the hays been cleared, and a fresh good cover of green,
Plough it in, green manure, the clover roots have been,
To fix the Nitrogen in the nodules, best crop of wheat you've seen,
No sprays or artificial needed, to return to a proper rotation I'm keen.

Organically speaking, this is the way, make the sun and the leaves,
Draw the goodness naturally; a shower of rain receives,
Plants are working how they ought to, compliment each other,
A good plant stand, and big broad leaves, weeds you hope to smother.

Owd Fred



I was fortunate in that my father helped me set up on my own 96 acre rented farm, and helped in that I could "borrow " odd thing and machinery from time to time. I started with 26 milking cows, and he let me make my own mistakes, as he said you learn quicker that way, particularly if it hits you in the pocket.

But I have known a lot who have worked for or with there fathers, and have had to wait years before they are allowed to take the "reigns"



It's a Fifty Year Apprenticeship

The farmers still a learner, till his eyes begin to blear,
Apprenticeship under the old man, for at least fifty years,
Ruled in turn by his father, the old ways are always best,
What bit of money he ever made, in land he must invest.

From round the kitchen table, the orders given out,
What to grow and sell and buy, and what to do without,
Frugel's what you call it, but he always has last say,
All his life, make do and mend, only time for work, no play.

Seventy five is just about when; he says he's had enough,
Say to the young ones now, in their fifties, now its tough,
Modernize and hit the cheque book, let's get up to date,
First time after all these years, they say it's never too late.

Owd Fed



Old ideas and old ways have a habbit of being re-invented, so try to keep some old ideas in the back of your mind, they may come in handy some day.
I have'nt got a patent or a copy right on this page so print all the copies you like I dont mind.
Ideas have to be planted, before they can come into fruition.

The definition of a weed --- A weed is just a plant out of place.

Food Miles 26

Educations what you want, or that is what I'm told,
Get on in life and see the world, seek your pot of gold.

Food Miles is such a wide area to cover in a few pages, and is skimmed over to give an overall view of the trends of where were going. This is how far we have got just in my lifetime.

Food Miles

On looking back when I was young, all them years ago,

The horse and cart were still about, a lot we didn't know,

Cars and tractors taking over, plenty of fuel they sup,

Fuel brought in from over seas, and local garages set up.

This has snowballed over the years, cannot comprehend,

Where all the traffic's going to, so fast around the bend,

Miles per gallon's going up, so is car's per mile,

Speed is what's on most people's mind, then end up in a pile.

Everything is carried about and often back again,

Out to distribution centres, finding jobs for men,

Wear and tear on tyres and roads, burning up the miles,

Costs all added onto their goods, customer pays up and smiles.

At one time, veg came out the ground, flour came from the mill,

Chickens walked about the yard, pecking happily to get their fill,

A pig was fattened on scraps, from the house and garden,

Talk food miles, it was food yards, when things were all on ration.

Only thing that Mother bought, was cornflakes in a packet,

Then tins of peaches she would buy, from other side the planet,

Had these when bottled fruit ran out, ate with bread and butter,

Wheat was ground at water mill, bread baked next to the butcher.

Packaging's the thing right now, it's wrapped and wrapped again,

Keep the food clean and fresh, or that is what they claim,

Bin through many hands, and machines to wrap and pack,

Getting older by the minute, a use-by date on pack will slap.

Where do you put all the waste produced, pop it in the bin,

Land fill holes are filling up, rotting down n' methane begin,

It all boils own to negligence, in what were doing to our earth,

How it's changing for the worse, all getting bigger round the girth.

On looking where it's going to, well beyond my years,

Food's way down the list to buy, as" farmers" get the jeers,

Bring it all in from abroad, more transport still is needed,

"Look after those who tend our land", make sure this warnings heeded.

Owd Fred

All this in the name of education, a little more thought should be put into basic living and our ability to feed ourselves in the event of shortages. There must be a few people in power who remember rationing, but I recon those that do were not having to live in real poverty, just shortages, and that's the difference. Not enough emphasis put on self sufficiency.

Wrapped and Wrapped Agen

Food miles are talked about, from all around the globe,

Fresh is what they say it is, but had time to gain microbes,

Chilled and travelled round the world, tired it must be when,

It hits the shelves with sell by date, wrapped and wrapped agen.

Fresh is when its local grown, few miles up the road,

Picked and dug same morning, not long to unload,

To the Farmers market, a stall all well set out,

Fresh from our own fields today, that is what we shout.

Owd Fred

Educations What You Want

Educations what you want, or that is what I'm told,

Get on in life and see the world, seek your pot of gold.

More to life than toil and sweat, let others soil there hands,

Let education guide the way, nine till five, five days a week demand.

Over the years most folk done this, for better jobs they travelled,

Men they left the land in droves, off into town they pedalled.

With better money they bought a car, get about much quicker,

Then travelled even further a field, became the city slicker.

Owd Fred

Learning without thought is labour lost, thought without learning is perilousConfucius (551 BC - 479 BC)

Another Mile Stone 25

Is this normal, is it what everybody goes through, or am I wearing out quicker than everyone else.


Passed Another Mile Stone

I have passed another mile stone, each year it is the same,
Birthday's come and birthdays go, the excitement's getting tame,
Not so quick at doing things and hair it's gone all grey,
After lunch we have a nap, and bed times half past eight.

Walking's steady, running's out, pace myself a bit,
Now I have a shooting stick, on which I often sit,
Got to eat lot less now, the weight it going up,
I'd be sent to market now, if I were a fat old tup.

Eye sight not too bad but, cannot read without some aid,
Glasses need up dating now, the eyes they have decayed,
Should have longer arms to read, new glasses conquer that,
They hit you in the pocket hard, on the old ones I have sat.

Driving very cautious, cannot see what's round the bend,
Reactions slowing up now, braking distance I extend,
Reversing on the mirrors, the distance hard to judge,
Backing up to a big old gate post , no wonder it wunner budge.

I thank my lucky stars that, I'm being looked after very well,
Still here on this old planet, writing down my tale to tell,
Recording what I've done in life, and all the folks we met,
Come hail or rain or sunshine, but we still get bloody wet.

Owd Fred





Is this normal, is it what everybody goes through, or am I wearing out quicker than everyone else. On top of what I've' already mentioned my sense of smell has all but gone, but thank goodness I can taste my food and imagine the smell from days when the nose was up to it.

Over the years I have had a few repairs, look back and see my blog on "Knees", or click on Metal Joints , that was a long drawn out session, it was eighteen months before I felt the full benefit of the new knees, up to now I have had eight years pain free, can't expect to run like we did in the school sports.

It goes back to when seed grain came in one acre bags one and three quarter hundred weight a bag, that's 196lbs, or 88kg in new measurements, now no ones aloud to lift much more than 25kg or 56lbs. You can only imagine carrying more than three of those and a bit more. When we were threshing wheat for sale, they often sent the hessian sacks, and it was stipulated they had got to be weighed to 75kg one and half cwt. as it was then. Seed sacks there would be thirty or forty to un load and load up at drilling time, but the wheat for sale it could be anything up to seven or eight hundred sacks, despatched in ten ton loads. These were bagged off the back of the threshing machine weighed up then wound up on a sack hoist and carried on ya back to the store, They had to be stacked in rows two high with a gap between rows, to allow the cats to get in and keep the rats controlled, just a few sacks piled together rats would nibble hole in them the same night,
Then the wheat had to be re bagged and re weighed and a mess to sweep up as well. It was usual for us to work in pairs loading onto a wagon with a short stave of wood under the end of the sack , it saved ripping ya finger nails and easier to swing up to that height. At the mills where the wheat went they had chain hoists and sack trolleys to move them about, it was only on the farms where it was only a few heavy days work a year on that job that it was all done by man power, and thankfully it was only few more years that combines came in and bulk harvesting was here to stay.

Needless to say all this heavy lifting and carrying was sure to take a toll on the health of the individual, the evidence of which you can see at any gathering of older farmers, bowing legs and far from an upright stance. The old saying "hard work never killed anyone" is right up to a point, as most who have done graft all their working lives, have also eaten well, and very often healthily.

Through all the days of rationing in the forties and fifties, we always had eggs beef pork and bacon, old hen, nowadays called chicken, rabbit, goose, turkey, and always grew potatoes. Every garden in the village, be it farm or cottage always had a sizable patch for vegetables a pig sty and hens. If you were lazy, you did not eat so well.



God gives every bird its food, but he does not throw it into its nest.J. G. Holland

Our Spotted Stallion Domino. 24

It was fourteen years ago that Domino was born to a small black Shetland mare, a mare that was not big enough to go in the standard Shetland show classes 38/42inches , and too big to go in the miniature Shetland showing classes 30/34 inches, in fact she was about 36 inches tall.
 See the whole story on this link

Domino, he stands at 33 inches tall, this was taken 7 years ago, in his winter the black spots in his coat stand up like a shaving brush while the white areas of coat lay fairly flat

Going back five years before this, it had been decided that we would let the little mare go and sold her as a companion horse to a large  hunter horse come race horse.

No more was seen or heard of her until some four years later we had a phone call from a dealer down in the south west; he had got a Shetland mare with its pedigree papers, he had rescued her in very poor condition, he had found that our name and address were on those papers.

Immediately we said we would have the mare back, the problem was she was 250 miles away, and almost a two day job to collect her. After a few months of regular phone calls to the dealer, it was established that he would be attending the National Shetland show and sale at Reading that October.

This being a sale that we had been to on quite a few occasions, it was arranged that he would bring the mare with him to Reading, and we could complete our transaction there. It was good for us, as it was only about 110 miles, and in effect we had less than half the journey that we otherwise would have had.

A thin and dull coated little mare duly walked down his tailboard and up into our trailer, after a few hour of rest for the pony we set out and brought her home.

I think, in fact I'm sure she sensed that she knew she had come home again after almost five years away recognised some of her field/stable mates and quickly settled in. She was wormed, as that is the most likely cause of her poor condition, and put on a cattle grazed pasture for the winter, as we do with all the Shetlands. We spread them out to range in winter, they need very little hand fed hay.

The following spring as soon as the grass starts to become green again, the Shetlands have to be tightly restricted on their grazing, Shetlands are well known to put their heads down and never know when to stop eating, ending up with laminitis, from which once afflicted are very prone to get it again and again.

So the little mare was put onto a small paddock next to our orchard only a ‘cock's stride' from the house. Some of the other mares had foaled and moved onto larger house paddock, leaving as we thought three baron mares on tight restricted grazing.

This small paddock by the orchard can be seen from the house widows and a good observation paddock to see who is looking likely to foal, and with three baron mares on there, we astonished to see this little mare we had helped to rescue had a black spotted foal running with her, skipping about, born during the night , as they always seem to be, licked dry and suckled, and now running in and out of the three mare who seemed to be as bewildered as us as to the colour and markings of this the smallest foal we had ever been born on this place.

Domino was registered with the Spotted Pony Society, and the dealer from whom we fetched the mare had a good idea where and when the mare could have got to a stallion and which one, and so he had a named farther for his certificate.

Over the next few years he was entered into spotted pony show classes, drawing a lot of attention as he had a sharp presence and alert ears and very vocal when other horses were about, in other word he was showing off, to tell the truth so were we.

Much to the annoyance of large spotted riding pony owners he often got put up above them, but shows with spotted pony classes were very few and far between, and he did not go out as often as some of our other ponies.

 This is Domino's daughter "Dotty", as you see she is getting a bit over weight and in her winter coat

Now retired, he still is a challenge to the blacksmith who periodically has to trim his tiny hooves, he never likes a hand gripped tight round his fetlock, so the blacksmith tried a trick he had been told by an old blacksmith from years ago. He gets a towel and puts the two ends around his fetlock and twists it tight then holds the towel ends between his knees, this improves his ability to settle the pony, but Domino does like to pose a challenge as he's strong, and on odd occasions I have to grip his nose, twitch like, until he knows who has to win the battle.

This is a little character who will never leave us, he will be here to the end of his days,

He is part of the family of ponies that have all retired, enjoying the care and attention given to them. We our selves are getting older, and are not able or fit enough to run them out properly to show them, although one of the younger of the old mare was taken out last weekend and came home with a rosette, shown and run out by our daughter.

I told you it would be a long story, more than a few lines, and feel that we have been so lucky to own and enjoy such an individual little character.  ---

   Domino.