We all need someone to get us out of a pickle now and then. If
you're a sailor surveying your capsized craft, it's the helmeted
chap dangling out of the Coastguard helicopter. If you're a 17-year
old with a souped-up Subaru and a poor grasp of the laws of speed
and motion, it's the white-coated nurse in the local A&E
department.
And an arable farmer with a combine that's just expired? It's
the uplifting sight of the dealer mechanic's van bumping across the
stubble towards his broken-down machine.
Back in the days when farms and combines were smaller, many
farmers would tackle a breakdown themselves. But with one big
combine now sometimes asked to cut 3000 acres of crop a year,
anything major is going to be a job for the mechanic at the local
dealer.
Let's get one thing clear. All combines break down at some point
or other, irrespective of make and age. All combines have little
accidents, too (a thumped discharge auger here, an indigestible
bicycle there).
So for most farmers, it's probably the quality of the dealer's
harvest breakdown cover that is likely to be the most important
factor when they come to choose the colour of their next
combine.
But what's it like being the round-the-clock, open-all-hours
stalwart who comes to your aid?
To find out, we went to the Benington branch of Ernest Doe and
Sons. Although the depot nestles in a chocolate-box village in
Hertfordshire, it's one of the busiest of New Holland's combine
outlets.
The service team at Benington consists of service manager Rob
Freestone, mechanics Steve Gearing, Brian Jackson and Pip Lepper
and apprentice Stuart. But it was Steve who drew the short straw
and had to put up with the Farmers Weekly journalist asking fatuous
questions and kicking spanners off the top of combines (sorry,
Steve).
The day chosen was 31 August. Normally most of the wheat in this
neck of the woods would have been safely in the barn by now, but 10
days of drizzle meant there was a lot of corn out there gently
going black. The weather forecast was perky, but farmers were
getting anxious and combines were being pushed to the limit.
05.10
Steve is loading up the van as I arrive in the yard. There's
time for a gulped-down mug of tea, then we're off to the first
farm. There are a couple of small combine repairs on the agenda for
today, plus servicing an excavator (Steve is also a trained
construction equipment mechanic), but I suspect the mobile phone
nestling on the van's dashboard could soon make mincemeat of our
plans.
Is this unearthly starting-time normal for him? Yes it is, he
says, in fact from the first week in July to the first week of
September he works prodigious numbers of hours, getting up at 4am
and generally finishing at 9 or 10pm.
06.15
We've driven for 45 minutes along darkened Hertfordshire lanes
to a farm south of Milton Keynes. Two combines stand in one
corner of a field, one a New Holland, the other a
Claas. Both broke down the day before, which seems a bit
unlucky.
The wiring loom that runs to the top of the injectors on the New
Holland has had to be replaced because oil has seeped into the plug
and made one cylinder cut out.
There were no replacement parts in the UK so a man from the
Iveco engine factory in Turin brought it over in his car last
night, dropped it off and drove straight back again, a mere 25hr
round trip.
Is this normal, I wondered? Steve nods. He has been doing this
job for 17 years and has seen how manufacturers generally have cut
down the number of parts held in the UK in favour of big
centralised parts centres in Europe.
That might sound a little worrying, if it were not for the fact
that the systems for getting parts here quickly have become very
efficient. New Holland, for one, undertakes to repair combines less
than three years old within 24 hours, whatever it takes. Hence the
long-haul Italian.
Anyhow, Steve fits the new wiring loom, runs the engine and
that's job number one done. Though, little does he know it, but
he'll be back here again before the day is done.
07.00
We're back in the van heading off to the next job, which is a
misbehaving idler sprocket on one end of the header. The mobile
hasn't rung yet but, with about 50 combines on Steve's beat and 90%
of the owners in possession of his mobile phone number, you sense
it won't be long.
I'm intrigued by the strange round-the-clock life that Steve and
other harvest mechanics live at this time of the year, too.
"Perhaps we make a rod for our own backs. The mobile is switched on
24 hours a day, all year round, so anyone can get us," he says.
"Often the calls will be just for advice, but they can happen at
any time of the day or night. I was once phoned at 2am by someone
combining beans who had wrapped them around the top elevator shaft.
I had to split the chain and put on new anti-wrap guards, and I
finished at 4.30am."
Sometimes, after a night repair job, it's not worth going home,
but Steve always makes sure he has a nap before driving again. It
makes for a bit of a chaotic home life in summer, but Steve's wife
Lisa and children Jack (5) and Jessica (18 months) are used to it.
The overtime payments come in handy too, he admits.
07.10
The phone has woken up. Some farmers have obviously had problems
last night and left it to this morning to call in for advice on
what to do.
I'm surprised at how angry some of them are - there's some
choice language on display - but Steve reckons that's a guide to
how much more stressful harvest is now than in the past.
He has the reassuring manner of a doctor or an aircraft pilot,
listening to farmers' woes and providing calm, practical advice.
Callers start off in a bit of a lather, but invariably ring off
with a cheery "Thanks mate".
09.00
We've only just arrived at the second job, just
down the road from Benington, which shows how much time is
spent travelling. One of the chains on the side of the header
has become so worn it's bent the idler arm, but there's one at
the depot so the whole repair is about as quick as they
come.
While Steve is fetching the part, I quiz service manager Rob
Freestone about this parts business. It turns out that this
particular branch of Ernest Doe's is big (and busy) enough to
warrant stocking a lot of parts that other dealers fight shy
of.
It even has a pair of rotors for a New Holland CR combine in
stock, which at £7000 a piece must bring a tear to the eye of a
company accountant somewhere. They even have a new combine
delivered each year specifically for cannibalising for unusual
parts.
11.25
We're on the road again and the calls from
service manager Rob keep coming. One farmer combining beans (a
crop that requires the knife to be very close to the ground)
has called in to ask why one side of the table seems lower
than the other. Steve deliberates for a while, then suggests
latching the skids up. The farmer sounds reassured.
12.00
There's just time to whiz over to Sandon to sort
out a Ford 7740 with a multi-vee belt that's broken. Except
that it isn't broken and has flipped off as a result of water
leaking through the water pump seal. A new pump is needed
luckily the stores have one so, after a quick chat with Rob,
he books to fit it the following day.
Back on the road, Steve gets a call from a farmer-contractor
with a knife-head bearing about to expire. He cuts 9000 acres a
year, so he's understandably anxious about any potential stoppages.
But Steve is able to reassure him that there's one in the store so
he rings off happy.
12.50
Father and son Scott and David McLellan have
called to say that they've got a problem with the reverser
mechanism on their well-used but normally reliable 8070
combine. They've done a temporary repair to keep them going
but the whole unit's getting worryingly hot.
A couple of calls establish that the parts needed are residing
at other Ernest Doe branches, but the sprocket is no longer made.
Time for some Poirot-style tracking-down work, reckons Steve.
13.20
There's a surprise call from New Holland themselves. They have a
tracked skidsteer loader that's just been dropped off at the Saltex
groundscare and landscaping exhibition site at Windsor, but refuses
to start. It sounds urgent (and potentially a bit embarrassing) so
we set off on what should be an hour and a half drive.
13.40
Twenty minutes later we're stuck in the inevitable jam on the
M25. "This where we need a blue-and-yellow helicopter," jokes
Steve.
Meanwhile the phone has brought worrying news. The combine he
thought he'd fixed at 6.30 this morning ran for a bit, then died on
the driver and now won't start at all. Steve and Rob do a quick bit
of re-prioritising. They agree that this is clearly the most urgent
job now so we dive off the useless motorway and head back the way
we came.
15.00
More information is coming in on the non starting-combine. It
won't crank fast enough to start, so it looks like the gearbox will
have to come off to check what the problem is. Brian, the other
mechanic, is down there already and sounds a bit worried.
There's good news from another quarter, though. The stores have
phoned back to say another CNH dealer has a sprocket for the
McLellans' combine, so they'll soon be working again.
15.30
We're back at the field we visited nine hours ago
and major surgery is on the offing. The combine driver has
fetched a telehandler so that the weight of the gearbox can be
supported once it's unbolted from the engine.
Prising the two apart isn't easy but once separated, it confirms
their theory that the engine has partially seized. A call to New
Holland's parts centre in France reveals there's an engine there
that can be trucked over during the hours of darkness.
Getting an engine out must be quite a task, I suggest to Steve.
But he's unfazed - apparently it's mainly a matter of disconnecting
the electrics and then lowering it with the telehandler.
19.00
The engine's out. It's been three hours of concentrated and
strenuous work, despite what Steve says. I hardly dare suggest it,
but perhaps he'll be able to knock off early tonight...
19.25
...or maybe not. The phone rings. A combine over near Dunstable
has taken in a lump of concrete which has smashed the rasp bars on
the rotors (ouch) as well as a cast feeder plate. Steve heads over
to survey the damage and order the parts. He gets home at 9pm,
which is pretty normal really.
Saturday 08.00
The engine arrives from France and Rob comes into work so he can
take it out to the field on the back of an Isuzu Trooper and
trailer. However, they still have to wait until 2pm for a damper
plate to turn up. It takes a couple of hours to fit and the combine
is working by 5pm.
Meanwhile there's the Dun- stable combine to repair, the 8070
parts to fit, the skidsteer to sort out and the excavator to
service. And the phone will no doubt bring further dramas and
puzzles.
That's how it's been for Steve for 17 years and he still loves
it - most of the time.
"I've always said that I'll do it until I stop enjoying it," he
says. "I like the variety and the fresh air and I always like the
buzz of harvest."
Another day, another batch of calls for Steve Gearing.