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.

­­­­­­

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

The Suckler Cows have started Calving 116

We left the calves with them for most of the winter only weaning them in mid February, by this time it had pulled the mothers down, so almost all of the herd now looks "poor" or should I say slim.


Well its that time of year again and the suckler cows have started calving, so far we have had two.  Three years ago we went through a nightmare calving period where almost every other cow wanted assistance and also we lost a cow and a couple of calves during calving.
We had three sets of twins, one twin calf we found dead at three weeks old with a twisted gut.
 We had not had a cow have twins for almost twenty years, then as they say about London busses three come along all together.
Even the older mature and reliable cows were in trouble, I put it down to a different feeding regime.

The only feed they get every winter is round bale silage made off the same meadows that they graze on, made in July, and containing some of the soft rush rushes that are native to meadow pastures.

Over the winter of 2008/09 we thought it would be a good idea to feed a high energy mineral/ molasses lick supplement, you know the one's where they come in a four gallon bucket, just take the lid off and drop it in the field.
In my opinion, this had grown the calf inside the cow and produced the large calves, it also coincided with the change of bull, and at the time, all the blame was put at his door.

 But on reflection, some of the cows were fatter than we had had them in other years. So the following backend 2009 when we should be weaning all the calves, we sorted out the first calf heifers and a few slimmer cows, and weaned their calves. The rest of the cows that were still too fat, we left the calves with them for most of the winter only weaning them in mid February, by this time it had pulled the mothers down, so almost all of the herd now looks "poor" or should I say slim.

We have always out wintered the cows, none have ever been in a shed other than the first winter as weaned calves. Our herd is almost like a "hefted" herd, as you get in sheep when they know their own mountain pasture and born to that area of grazing. So it is that our cows, they are used to the peaty meadows that are dissected with bottomless drainage ditches, they get used to the ditches as calves and know its not a good idea to slip in, in fact the odd calf does drop in but never a second time, and nearly always get themselves out.

I dread to think of the time when someone else will bring a new set of cattle to graze down there, and the months they will have of dragging cows or cattle out of ditches, until all have learned their lesson. On the other hand, when I retire, the wise new comer could or would or should buy my "hefted" cows off me and continue the meadow grazing in a safe and reliable manner.


 To read more about these meadows refer back to the blog "Farming on a Peat Bog" or just press link     http://bit.ly/rhysHz


Another place where I talk about these peaty meadows "Moles and Meadows" is here along with a few pictures http://bit.ly/dIVOAU

Signs of Spring

Signs of spring are starting to show,
Though on the hill tops forecast snow,
Bright sunshine warms the sodden ground,
Cold showers and hail still abound.

Lawns and fields look brighter green,
Daffodils open and trumpets beam,
Grass it grows on lawn and verge,
Not on the fields, for the stock to purge,

Birds in hedgerow look to build nests,
Leaf buds appear as if by request,
First eggs are laid soon to be sat,
Full cover of new leaves, hides them thereat.

Badgers are trailing litter to nest,
Digging and cleaning for breeding quest,
Rarely seen but they root for worms,
Under hedgerows and cow pats presence confirms.

Soil it warms in the suns rays,
Germinate seeds dormant upraised,
Soon the countryside transformed and fresh,
Everything growing and looking its best.

Countryman

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: If we did not sometimes taste adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

I'm Not an Educated Chap 115

I am not an educated chap, I have difficulty stringing words together to write down, let alone sepllign them correctly, so I find the spell checker on the computer an absolute must.

These blogs of mine on the FWI & Blogger were the first writing I have done, since the essays we did at school some sixty years ago. For me it's a one finger job typing, which is about the same speed as my thinking, and as for putting in the full stops and comers, I get short of breath these days, and I am told, every commer is for a pause for breath, hence, the, numerous, c,o,m,e,r,s, . Okay I am over doing it a bit, but you will know what I mean eventually some day, if you don't already.

This picture is from the corner of our house, we are looking across the front lawn, over the trimmed hedge is the road through the village and the other side of that is the village green. The building on the right is the village school where my mother went from the age of three (1910) taught by Miss Pye who and also taught me 35 years later in the same class. My son also went there from the age of four only having literally yards to walk to school.

I Remember Miss Pye

Miss Pye was our teacher, in the infant's class,
Taught all us to write, everyone en mass,
With big bold loops, and Capitals a Flourish,
We all did our best, so as not to be punished.

Mother she taught, To write same way,
Looks like my writing, as I write my essay,
Holding the pen, and biting my lip,
Concentrate on writing, without a slip.

Numbers and tables, we did recite,
Chanting each morning, without respite,
Letters and alphabet, practiced each day,
Till words we could write, then go out to play.

In winter when cold, big coal fire she had,
And pulled up our chairs, when learning to add,
Kind teacher she was, no cane in sight,
Cared for us all, no matter, how dim, the light.

Countryman

In the "Big" school that we went to at the age of eleven in town, we had wood work and metal work lessons. A whole half day for the whole term, in fact the class was split into two, half the class went woodwork, and half to metalwork, then swapped over at the end of every term ( a school term is short of 3 months).

Everyone, that is the pupils, got on well with Harry Nutter in the metal work class, he was kind and patient with those who were not very practical, he guided and helped them and he aloud us who had finished our item, to help those who struggled.
We started by making a round washer, then a square washer, and on to make a brass toasting fork (Toasting forks went out of fashion years ago, I doubt if most of the younger generation now know what one even looks like let alone used one) .

 Then we made a round copper bowl with a brass bead round the edge and the same round brass rod soldered on to make the base. The copper had to be rubbed with soap then heated until the soap went black, to soften the metal, then it was beaten on a leather pouch filled with sand with a ball pane hammer, this process was repeated until it was deep enough, and the shape that was desired.

We even helped Harry Nutter to cut panels out of his Morris Thousand van, an ex post office van, and helped him fit the glass in the sides. This was done in his lunch hour, and he was glad of a bit of help. Eventually we were shown how to work the lathe, on which I made a tractor drawbar peg complete with a pointed end and a small hole in which to put a retaining clip, a thick washer was brazed round its neck then the handle was shaped and heated and bent across almost 45degrees to form the handle, it lasted for a good many years before it got lost.

The wood work teacher was another matter, he was almost the opposite to Harry Nutter, his name was "Bulldog" Lees, he had a permanent scowl on his face and all the fours years at that school I never saw him crack a smile. He did not seem to mix with the other teachers, at break time he would be tatting about his immaculate classroom checking on how sharp his chisels were and touching up the saw blades. (There were twenty of every tool and ten benches with two vices on each)

All the tools were arranged in two wide cupboards at the back of the room, so that when the doors were wide open, small tools were in racks on the doors, and larger one on the allotted shelf, any tool missing would be spotted before anyone left the classroom. There were no power tools back then, he showed us how to saw without putting pressure on the saw, "if the saw is sharp, its own weight is enough to do the cutting" we were told, and he could soon tell if we had not listened.

His response to any deviation from what you were told came in a loud booming deep voice that almost shook the glass in the windows, and anyone who dare to cross him more than once (in a lifetime), he had your card marked for good.
Bulldog even demonstrated his anger one day by throwing a chisel, from the front of the classroom into the back of an open store cupboard on the back wall dagger fashion. It was rumoured that he had been a sergeant in the army where he trained men hand to hand dagger fighting, and dagger throwing. I can tell you when that happened it frightened all the class ridged, and no one dare even ask a question.

We Had a Woodwork Teacher (1950 ish)

We had a woodwork teacher; we called him Bulldog Lees,
Had stern face and bad temper, no one dare to tease,
If he could not get class attention, throw a chisel hard,
Hit the back wall cupboard, like a dagger stuck and jarred.

All the class it stood and quivered dare not cross his path,
The respect was thrust upon you; dare not stir his wrath,
No one liked his lessons, even those who could push a plane,
Perfection in this man and all his tools, but he was a bloody pain.

Countryman

Also read Numbers Galore here   http://yewsfarm.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/numbers-galore-car-numbers-and-engine_23.html

Natural ability without education has more often attained to glory and virtue than education without natural abilityCicero (106 BC - 43 BC)

Dairy Cows of Old 114

Milked by hand some cows had teats almost as thick as your wrist , with front teats sticking out "east west".

Dairy cows of old, bore little resemblance to the diary cows of today. Back in the 40's every herd had its own bull often reared out of one of your own cows, served by a neighbor's bull, which was boasted to be the best in the neighbourhood. Blood lines and pedigrees' meant nothing when you had a fine looking bull running with the cows, however what came out of the "pot" was very often a different picture. This you would not find out until you had used the bull for three years when the first heifers calved down and came into the milking herd.

Up until that period in time; most herds were milked by hand and cows with teats almost as thick as your wrist were common place, and front teats sticking out "east west". Pendulous udders in the older cows, with udders only inches from the ground, these were kept on because perhaps they were easy milkers and perhaps the highest yielders.

Some of these cows were almost impossible to milk with a machine; the thick teats were not too bad as long as all four teats pointed "south". Some cows had low back quarters and empty looking front quarters, which did not suit the machine milking, I remember a big "duck stone" would be place on the claw of the milking machine, and then a cord would be over the cows back to hold the units up onto the front teats. Often the udder would be so low it was almost impossible to reach down to even get the units on.

Father started his herd by exchanging a sow for a cow around 1930 progressing on to a few more cows in small buildings with a cow shed and fifteen acres next to his father's farm. Then he married mother and they took on a farm near the edge of town where he was able to expand his herd. These would be a bit of a mixture of breeds including shorthorn and a few black and whites and everything in between.

Most of the milk went in Churns on the train into Birmingham and some mother made butter and cheese which was sold locally to shops or at the door. Then at some point the dairy started sending a lorry to pick up the churns from each farm, probably when the Milk Marketing Board was first set up.

This is what I remember of Butter churning

We Had an Old Butter Churn

We had an old butter churn, it was on a wooden stand,
A big handle on the side of it, to turn it all by hand.
The lid it had a sight glass, a valve to vent the air outright.
The lid clamped on with three screw clamps it up real tight

Mother turned the handle, till butter grains appear,
Drain the butter milk, rinse n' wash grains to till clear,
Add some salt and knead them, butter pats for this,
Packed into grease proof paper, on hot toast its bliss.

Countryman

It was mid 30's that father broke his arm and that meant he could not milk cows by hand, and it was around this time that the local machinery dealer had got the first milking machines in. They were keen to get a machine installed on farms in their patch, and father decided to go for one, he bought an Alfa Laval four unit outfit. Of course it took a bit of getting used to the new way of milking, and did not help that a lot of the cows had "rough" udders not particularly suited to the new teat cups.

Father got impressed by the herd of cows that the neighbour ran, these were pure bred pedigree Ayrshire's, most of his cows had nice small uniform well placed teats and compact udders that stretched forward under the cows belly. On looking at them from hand milking point of view, it would be finger and thumb milking, but this was the era of the milking machine and these cows looked as if they were designed for it.

When we moved farms up into the village the herd could be expanded, and along with his old neighbour they went up to Carlisle to the pedigree Ayrshire sale and between then bought a lorry load of incalf heifers, this would total I think about twelve, the cattle wagons were not as big as they are today.

 This they did for the following few years, one of the last loads that came down were polled, they had no horns, these were the first we had ever seen and they were bullied by the cows with horns.You may have seen old pictures of Ayrshire cattle, their horns curled up pitch fork style, and they knew how to use them.

To remedy this father spoke to his vet and he had all the cows horn cut off. As the cows were all tied by the neck in stalls it made it easy to restrain them, first the vet tied string tight round the base of the horn to act as a tourniquet and I cannot recall whether they were injected with pain killer. The instrument for cutting was a huge pair of shears with five foot handles, and the grip of three men to close them. A barnacle was put on the cows nose and a cord held by another man while the operation took place.

The local name for this gadget for holding a cow by the nose is Barnacle, the rough drawing above gives you an idea of how its opened, by drawing a spring up the shank to open the jaws, then place it in the nose and let the spring go, it been such a long time since I used ours that I cannot find it to photograph it. The ring at the top is for a rope, then you can hold an animal the same as you would hold a bull by its ring, I can tell you they don't appreciate it at all, and it has the benefit of taking their minds what you are actualy going to do at them.


They made rapid progress down the shed doing about twenty five cows on some cows the string had rubbed off letting the blood flow readily, squirting high into the rafters of the cowshed, it took a couple of hours for the vet to stem the flow from first one cow and then another.

When the calves were born, each calf's horns were cleaned with a fluid to remove any hint of grease and a type of glue applied called "colodian" this ceiled the horn bud and in effect dehorned the calf. It was a bit hit and miss some calves having one horn of in some cases both horns, it all depended on how clean the bud was when the colodian was applied, and how old the calves were, they had to be done in the first few days after birth. This went on for two or three years when a pair of dehorning irons were bought and the horn buds were burnt out ensuring that no horns were missed. These were heated on a blow lamp one being heated while one was in use, and the forerunner of the modern gas dehorning iron.

It was predominantly Ayrshire cows that made up the herd for the next twenty years, when the British Friesian cows with modern udders and higher yields and father started using a Friesian bull through artificial insemination on the Ayrshire cows. In the 1950's the Milk Marketing Board start the improvement of cow confirmation, by the use of Artificial Insemination, and monitoring the progeny born this way to provide proven bulls.

Over the following twenty years or more the udder and teat confirmation improved and where everyone had more than a cow or two with curled up toes and deformed feet, these were improved as well. Then in the following twenty years again saw the tremendous improvement in yields, and this coincided with new improved management techniques such as cubicles self feed silage and parlour milking, and a change over to Friesian cows.

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

Ayrshire cows always had a noticeably better butterfat level that could be seen in the milk bottles that it was sold in, Friesian cow on the other hand were often down to 3% fat, with the "blue water" up the bottom 97% of the bottle. Because father had just the odd Friesian cow in his herd, when asked "why keep a Friesian cow in a herd of Ayrshire" he always replied "we wash the shed down with her milk if the well runs dry".
Cheese - milk's leap towards immortality.Clifton Fadiman (1904 - 1999)

War Time Horses 113

War Time Horses

I watched a program about War Horses the other night, only to realise how many were taken from this country and North America to work abroad during the First World War.

What an important role they played in the transportation of supplies out to the front line in the most horrific conditions.

During the Second World War horses was still in short supply but possibly for a very different reason, food shortage.

My own memories of the horses we had in the early 1940’s was that we had two mares and a gelding, the mares stayed with us into old age when tractors started to take all the hard work away from them, the gelding went to a young farmer just starting up who needed the horse and his harness, and all this as father had just bought his first Standard Fordson tractor.

The picture shows my father with Flower and Dolly mowing a meadow by the brook at Brook House Farm Doxey.

It was quite a few years before the tractor took over the job of mowing, because it would make it into a two man job. One to drive the tractor the other to ride the mowing machine operating the lift and lowering the blade.

Ploughing and cultivating were the first heavy jobs taken off the shire horses, with specifically designed two furrow ploughs and cultivators the “trip” lifted and lowered into and out of work.

Around this time, and as it was years before, there came a travelling Stallion came

round through the villages, with its handler both on foot. He had a pack slung on the stallions back as he had farms were he was put up for the night and his charge stabled.

As had happened in the First World War, horses were taken for the war effort and mainly mares left to work on the farms where they could be used to breed the next generation of work horses.  A travelling stallion or a couple of stallions in an area would be used to service the mares needed to be put in foal. The in foal mares would work right up to foaling, and then often worked with the foals following if the work allowed. That way they would be used to being handled and the work environment they were brought up in.

So as the 1940’s progressed and tractors came in, there was less and less need to breed more shire horses, and the travelling stallion had further to travel between mares, and the practice stopped by the end of that decade.

It was often pointed out by the old “wagoners” that horses did not consume fuel while working, unlike the new tractors that were becoming so popular. That was always countered by the tractor drivers by saying, ahaa but the tractors don’t consume fuel while they are in the shed standing idle.

It was the young up and coming farm workers who took to the tractors, and I can not recall any old wagoners ever changing over to using a tractor. The change over came gradually, as the old men retired, so the old shires were not replaced, and no more were bred on farms.

It was always a sad sight to see the shires being transported to a knackers yard in the next village, they were brought in from a wide area, their heads were above the top of the sides of the lorry and head foreword over the cab with the wind blowing through their manes. Not all were slaughtered, the fit and useful ones were grazed in an adjacent field where anyone who still wanted a work horse could go and buy it off the field, and this was often done.

In the Black Country there was still a community who ate horse meat, and a butcher’s shop that sold nothing else but horse meat, but as time went by that shop ceased to trade and horse meat no longer available. That sort of trade then transferred to France, and horse meat is now exported. 

 

This was the blacksmiths shop in the 1940's.

The big cast iron circle out on the front was where the blacksmiths fastened down the wooden cart wheels while hooping. The tall narrow door and lean too on the right was the hoop oven where they heated the steel hoops, it has wooden shutters on the widow holes but no glass, the double doors was where the horses were taken in for shoeing, and the pile on the left hand side of the doors was the pile of scrap horse shoes

I Remember Blacksmiths Shop

I remember blacksmiths shop, all dingy dark and dusty,

Great big pile of horse shoes outside, all a going rusty,

Tom Giles was smithies name, all jolly strong and hot,

With shoeing father’s horses, he did the blooming lot.

When setting off to school one morn, the horses we would take,

To blacksmiths shop for shoeing, would make us very late,

On going home for dinner, these horses we would ride,

Pitched up high on Flower, the others led with pride.

Welding cutting bending shaping, everything was there,

To make it new, or fettle up, to make a good repair,

His stock of metal had a rack, but most of it had missed,

It lay about in piles around his forge, which was in its midst.

All day you’d hear the hammer, a ringing out aloud,

Hitting out the red hot metal, made him very proud,

The different shapes and sizes, needed for a gate,

Lay around the workshop floor, no need for him a mate.

Alone he worked all day until; we kids came out of school,

Then he would be invaded, his metal then would cool,

On his forge he put his kettle, there to make some tea,

We kids tried out his drilling tool, great flywheel turned by me,

With tongs we tried to heat the metal, in the furnace hot,

To make and shape we would try, to bend on anvil, but,

Not hot enough to work it, so pump the bellows up,

It made the spark fly every where, our school cloths covered us.

The water in the blacksmiths shop, was warm to wash our hand,

With dowsing all the things he’d made, red hot metal into bands,

With our cloths soiled and singed, and not a hole in site,
Mother knew where we had been, she said it’s late it’s nearly night.

Countryman

Old minds are like old horses; you must exercise them if you wish to keep them in working order.
John Adams   (1735 – 1826)