College Calendar: Harriet embraces Freshers’ Week

For the past few years, I have been an avid reader of the College Calendar column, anticipating my long-awaited opportunity to be a student. And now here I am – not only a Harper Adams fresher, but a column writer to boot.

It was my father who first pointed out the advertisement in Farmers Weekly, but when it came to gathering in this year’s hay that was soon forgotten. Instead of encouraging me to start writing a winning entry for the competition I was being nudged out the door towards the field.

I’m not quite sure who was dreading my departure the most; my dad having no one to help him load cattle in the early hours; my sister no longer receiving a free taxi service or mum with no one to clean up after.

Moving away from home, albeit 10 miles away, is a very strange concept for me. I think I have finally come to the realisation that I will at some point have to do my own washing, pay my own bills, buy my own food and, even more worryingly, attempt to construct a meal from that food without poisoning myself or a fellow housemate.

Although living close to home has its advantages, mum is still firm in her decision that I am not, under any circumstances, to bring any item of clothing home to be washed. It has also been made crystal clear that being a full-time student does not make me exempt from helping out on the farm at weekends.

Unlike the usual fresher, I am living in a house in the local town of Newport due to the mass intake of students this year. Our little house is home to six girls from a mixture of courses and our two goldfish – Bungle and Bassett.

We have all bonded really well but I have a feeling our electricity bills will be huge thanks to several pairs of hair straighteners, enough blow dryers to kit out a salon and the introduction of several televisions. A more pressing worry is our lack of internet connection – living without the hourly thrills of Facebook has been a daunting concept for all of us.

Freshers’ week was in full swing as soon as we parked up at Harper. As expected, a dreadful picture was printed on my student union card, which will regrettably stay with me for the next four years of study.

The second-year students had arranged a jam-packed 12 days for us, with the emphasis firmly on fun. There have been fancy dress costumes, students appearing naked on stage (I maintained my dignity), long walks home after nights out and even a night spent on the neighbour’s sofa. And that’s before we’ve got to the renowned “Freshers Challenge”.

As a Harper student I feel obliged to keep the details of this particular experience under wraps. However, I can tell you that with a few kidnappings by masked men, and a huge investment in sheep marker, eggs and molasses, it far exceeded my expectations.

Coming, somewhat naïvely, from an all girls school, I feel that I will have to rely on my experiences with the Young Farmers to survive the intense, yet immense, social life that Harper offers. To help fit everything in I’ve been told by many friends to learn how to say “no” when it comes to YFC. Nevertheless, I still found myself competing in the YFC football competition last Sunday night. Although it is great for fitness purposes, my ability to fall over whenever I approached the ball didn’t make for an altogether enjoyable experience.

The week was rounded off with the safari-themed freshers’ ball. The lads rooted out dinner suits from the depths of their wardrobes and the girls swapped wellies for their best frocks and heels. It was a fantastic night and a great end to my first week, but I am certain that the fun is far from over.

An extract from Harriet’s winning entry

When some people think of farming they imagine huge estates with acres to spare and a grand farm house, together with an AGA, a sheep dog and a father who squeezes “OO-AH” into almost every sentence. But farms come in all different shapes and sizes. In fact so do the farmers.

The industry definitely has its thrills and spills. It offers a healthier lifestyle, heaps of knowledge and lots of laughter. We’re the poorest-paid industry for what we do, but there is no other job like it. Whether my sister and I will carry on our parents’ legacy I cannot say, but if we do, I can be sure of two things: we would never be billionaires and I would never be a successful hand model.

COLHW